Hazzan Dulkin

Spirituality: the word itself elicits either enthusiasm or eye-rolling. You may associate spirituality with an ecstatic, emotionally charged prayer experience, or perhaps with a particular practice, such as meditation, fasting, or chanting. It can also be a more gradual, evolving process: I define spirituality as a search for a personal, intimate relationship with the Divine. It is a process of becoming, of cultivating the divine spark within oneself, and I believe that each Jew is as obligated to explore his or her relationship with God as they are to do the mitzvot. The paths to God are many within our tradition, yet do we even begin to talk about or think about our relationship with God, when we don’t have a clear concept of what or who God is?

It all begins with the name. What to call God? HaShem simply means, “the name” –made popular because God’s true name, the yud-hey-vav-hey, is no longer known to us. Yet, upon closer evaluation, we have many names for God apart from the yud-hey-vav-hey; just examine our liturgy, our text, and our experience. Why so many names? Each one of us relates to God differently, and this relationship evolves throughout life. A child may relate to the image of God as parent (Avinu), while as an adult he relates more to HaRachaman (Merciful One), or El Chai V’kayam (the living God who makes things possible). When tragedy strikes, our relationship to God may be challenged: God seems pushed away (The One whose Face is Hidden), or brought close as a refuge (Tzur Chayyeinu - The Rock of our Lives). There are personal names for God (Elohai – My God, Adonai, My Lord) and communal names for God (Eloheinu – Our God, Elohei Avoteinu – God of our Ancestors). There are names of God that inspire fear and awe (Adonai Ish Milchama – God of War, Adon HaNiflaot - Master of Wonders), and names of God that inspire familiarity (Shekhina Indwelling presence)

With all these names for God, none of them appear in the Book of Esther, which we read this month. At first glance, it is a story whose plot is completely driven by the human characters. Haman, Esther, and Mordecai interact and affect each other’s actions directly. God doesn’t step in with a mighty hand and outstretched arm, nor does God call from the heavens. In this drama, not only does God not have a speaking part, God is not even referred to by the characters! The Rabbis, naturally, had trouble with this: how can God not be present at all in the text? They remedied this problem by suggesting that the word “HaMelech” (The King-referring to Ahashverosh) appears as a name for God. Therefore God’s name does appear in the text, but only as a hint, a possibility of divinity within the humanity of the story. The Rabbis invite God in to a story that ostensibly excludes God’s presence, and, in doing so, teach us that we must do the same.

In 21st century America, like in ancient Persia, we don’t hear God’s voice, and we don’t see God: so can God’s presence be felt? We use the tools of human expression available to us to attempt to articulate our understanding of who God is. We write, we make art, we compose music and poetry, we meditate and rationalize and experience and live, and somewhere along the way, we may come to an understanding of divinity in the world that works for us at that moment. But the meaning is made in the journey, to finding the name that speaks truthfully to our hearts, minds, and souls.

Dr. Neil Gillman, a professor of Jewish Philosophy at JTS, and my beloved teacher, likes to relate the following story: someone will approach him saying they don’t believe in God. Instead of trying to convince them that yes, God exists, and explaining why it’s possible, Gillman says to them, “Tell me about the God you don’t believe in, and I probably don’t believe in that God either.” In other words, many of us have been taught, perhaps by a well-intentioned but misdirected teacher, that who God is, and how God is, is not to be questioned nor explored. The God-concept we were taught about as children needed to be “un-taught” at adulthood, such that when adversity struck, there was no choice but to leave God behind. As Jewish adults, we must have the tools to negotiate science and faith: Gillman teaches that it is both possible and necessary to believe in both God and the Big Bang Theory. As Conservative Jews, we consistently negotiate the line between maintaining tradition and balancing changes in that tradition, because we live in a world that is complicated, nuanced, and unpredictable. So too can be our relationship with God. In this month of Adar, may we reveal what is hidden to us. At the time where we honor Esther, whose name itself means “hidden,” the challenge awaits each of us who asks the question, “who is God, truly, in my life?”

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