I Belong

Earlier today I was asked, "Who are the Jews, anyway?" I gave what I hope was a meaningful answer, but the question stayed with me throughout the Sabbath. With the setting of the sun I sat down to say a bit more. This is what poured forth:

I belong to a tribal people whose fundamental passion, though oft betrayed, is for “doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly” with the Divine (Micah 6:8).

I belong to a tribal people whose sense of mission is to be a blessing to the world (Genesis 12:2).

I belong to a tribal people for whom nature is God’s glory (Isaiah 6:3).

I belong to a tribal people for whom humanity is the image of God (Genesis 1:27).

I belong to a tribal people whose way is teshuvah and tikkun, forever returning to God and repairing the world with godliness.

I belong to a tribal people whose imaginal faculties are devoted to envisioning a world where “nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more,” (Isaiah 2:4).

I belong to a tribal people whose primal call is to abandon the conditioning of the known, and to walk boldly into the unknown (Genesis 12:1).

I belong to a tribal people whose God does not defeat chaos, but calls order out from its midst (Genesis 1:2).

I belong to a tribal people whose God questions more than commands, speaking sometimes through the "sound of sheer silence" (I Kings 19:12-13), and sometimes through the awesome terror of the whirlwind (Job 38:1).

I belong to a tribal people whose commitment to justice demands that even God do justly (Genesis 18:25).

I belong to a tribal people committed to dialogue, even argument, for the sake of heaven— not to triumph over another but to transform oneself.

I belong to a tribal people who place their faith in doubt and the promise of doubt to free us from what is that we might glimpse what can be.

I belong to a tribal people whose spiritual ideal is Yisrael, the wounded godwrestler (Genesis 32:28), who walks at the pace of the nursing calves and children (Genesis 33:13).

I belong to a tribal people whose sacred books lack vowels and require the breath of the living to midwife the meaning of the words.

I belong to a tribal people whose revelation is fluid and unfixed, yielding fresh wisdom as we breathe today’s spirit into yesterday’s texts.

I belong to a tribal people whose dream of a homeland has thrust us into a crisis of power, challenging us to live our humility–birthed values in a hubris–drenched land.

I belong to a tribal people hated and feared, exiled and beaten, ghettoized and gassed, yet whose anthem is Hope (haTikvah), fiercely believing that one day “all shall sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid,” (Micah 4:4).

I belong to a tribal people whose values are holy, whose failings are many, and whose vision compels my loyalty, my love, and my on-going efforts to bring her gifts to the world.