Are we trapped by hearing the same messages of freedom every year?

Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake
Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned an’ forsaked
Tolling for the outcast, burnin’ constantly at stake
An’ we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing

'Chimes of Freedom' Bob Dylan. 

The idea of freedom implies an ability to be able to control our lives without external hardships preventing us from doing so, but it is also a passionate cry of hope:

Freedom of expression, freedom of religion, freedom of information. 

Often closely linked with equality, all these 'freedoms' look towards a future that is better than the present, given the access to what is being requested.

But what that means is never quite clear. Once one freedom is realised others will be sought. Freedom chimed in the sixties, everyone became disillusioned again in the 70s, God blessed America and fat corporations in the 80s and 90s Internet came along in the noughties and now in the noughteens it thinks for us. 

So, Pesach 2016, what does freedom mean in a religious sense?Generally, one of two things. Option 1. Freedom to serve God.

Hmm Re-defining the term and not exactly an explanation of how this is achieved so bit too much lip service there.

 Option 2. Self liberation. Certainly an admirable idea. Break out of self-imposed limits. Good message.

But it becomes frustrating when it is the only thing said again and again, without questioning whether thinking on such an introspective level a. is useful for everyone b. whether it is a helpful message or c. just boxes us into narrow thoughts without thinking about the wider community?

 Whilst the chagim/festivals can at times be spiritually revitalising at other times the cyclical concept of time seems like an endless merry-go-round. I struggle hearing the same things too often so I try and find different ways to look at these messages.  

My own quest thoughts about freedom over Pesach is closely related to how I understand personal creativity and dynamism and how that struggles to express itself in a community framework. 

Many of the people I know with the most interesting perspectives on life feel no relationship whatsoever with the Orthodox communities that surround them, even if they are nominally involved. 

How do we, as Jews, create a society which is both loyal, traditional, spontaneous and dynamic - and how do we get people to want such a society? Why is it that institutions that associate with 'frumkeit' tend to be one dimensional, boring and fail to appeal beyond a certain age? 

This is something that Nathan Lopez Cardozo constantly talks about in his blogposts (Thank you Michael for showing me his latest one) and I used to never pay much attention to but increasingly it is a message that resonates.

From some of my own experiences of 'outreach' organisations who share this vision, there can be a quite blatant manipulation towards a particular, very specific agenda,  and the list of jaded participants is long and depressing. 

To keep this short I will share two corporate-sounding suggestions: Need and empowerment.  People feel invested when they feel needed. But not just needed as a body to turn up to an event to make up a number but as an individual with their own mad ideas, appreciated for their own oddness. 

People in leadership are not always the best listeners, even if you feel listened to, and simply communicate their conviction about the rightness of their position. It helps if you are clever, loud and slightly arrogant.

So let's empower, somehow, and listen to what people think and have to say about the world. Risk it, and we might set ourselves free.       


 

  

Drunken Jews: Two hours of optimism, once a year

May you build a ladder to the stars, climb on every rung, may you stay forever young. 

Purim, forgive the pun, can be a very sobering experience (This is a bit late, admittedly). Whilst explanations for inebriation on the day range from expanding God-awareness and exposing a profound inner world to blurring the lines of reality to see the hidden nature of God in history, the reality is usually far more mundane. Nevertheless it has one quality that stands out which remains longer than the hangover the next day: optimism.

More than any other festival, under the boozy haze scattered with flashes of religious sentiment, this message shines through: No matter how bad things get, things will get better and there is always hope. Not for any particular reason, but because God runs the world even if we do not see it.

This is not just a message of Purim but is also expressed in the unusual bonds of solidarity that the festival helps to cultivate. People who never normally speak to each other become best friends, talking and laughing together. Under the cloud of inebriation, people forget their social differences and there is a general feeling that the world can be transformed for better but also not to dwell too much on the negative aspects of this world. 

But then tomorrow comes, and like most other inspiring experiences, fades away. Ten days later, it has already disappeared over the horizon. But it asks a question of those who claim to be religious, particularly in the aftermath of the terrible terrorist attacks that occurred a few days before Purim: 

Do we honestly feel optimism about the future? One of the great qualities of faith, one that I and I'm sure many others struggle with, is the ability to incorporate negative life experiences into a positive, transformative mindset to persevere regardless of the consequences. 

And it is one that I question whether the Jewish world is particularly good at. Anti-Semitism and anti-Israel issues are certainly real and need addressing but must they dominate in such a prominent manner? I recall a facebook post by a particular rabbi during a time of rocket fire telling people off for trivial posts during a time of attack but is this a useful, helpful or positive way to see the world? Sometimes it seems that on a public level, protest against problems actually gets in the way of cultivating a vibrant and positive attitude to the world. Fear, guilt and indignation can become crutches that we lean upon in religious life to the extent that we can't imagine life without them.

Purim doesn't necessarily teach us that things will get better tomorrow but it does provide a useful antidote against despair about the world around us. We would do well, as Dylan prayed for his newborn sung, to try to stay forever young.