Lost in Space: On being distant from God

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again
American Pie

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me.
Bob Dylan, Every Grain of Sand.

I imagine the view of earth is quite beautiful from space. Even from the i360, Brighton's very own moving observation tower, there is something quite cathartic about looking down at dozens of tiny dot people going about their daily lives. Fascinating to watch, yet ultimately, so irrelevant, so petty as we soar high in the clouds.

This sensation of distance crops up frequently in daily life.  I felt it a few weeks ago during Tish'a b'av and I feel it again during Elul: 
Rather than creating emotion,  the occasions present a slideshow with clips of every possible meaning and emotional stimulus, and I simply observe them from a distance. 

 Tish'a B'av is a classic example because it's supposed to be so sad. But instead I go through the following process of considering all the various approaches towards the occasion. For instance,  outreach organisations will focus on points a,b and c using tools x.y and z.
The more modern orthodox will make sure to avoid those dramatics and instead do e,f and g to prove their intellectual credentials. I will probably try and remember something from childhood and attempt to trigger an emotion that way.  
But all this time I am an observer, somewhat curious but very removed from it all.

It is strange and rather sad to find yourself approach religion in this way, particularly when so many other areas of life are filled with such immediacy.

Quite often I hear my own former arguments about habituation and the need to stir oneself to religious feeling through action. I know every answer you could throw at me, I say back, and yet something makes me lack the inclination to do so.

And so it seems that what has been several years of obsessing over authenticity has led to a curious conclusion: I only value ideas when I find them interesting. Therefore I hate clear conclusions, easy answers or ideas that I have heard many times before. Interesting=good. Boring=bad. 

It seems that in the last few years, any ideas that don't seem to be moving or causing some sort of mental friction lose all their relevance.

What I think drove me more bananas about outreach organisations than anything else was the fact that these clearly intelligent people were content to dish out the same soundbite answers to life's problems year in year out without ever seeming to consider adapting, evolving or improving them.

It was like having to listen to Oasis on repeat for the rest of your life.

But I have the same problem with those who abandon religion altogether. It is as if they have simply given up when the going gets tough. For me, it may be a long and windy road but to shut out the great avenues of possibility and richness of the quest for God is a disappointing choice to make. I am no empricist, needless to say.

And this, perhaps, is the intrigue of mysticism for me. Not, necessarily in any recognisable form, but more the fact that mysticism is distinctly personal and hard to define. It has a point which recognises that the God-man relationship ultimately has a drop off zone where words fail. When I discovered this very notion in Maimonides it gave a whole new dimension to his rationalism.

It also raises the very simple point that you have to be honest when it comes to religion. What do I honestly care about? And what does it mean to believe in God beyond belonging to a particular social group?

 Honesty often comes at the price of conformity. For me, perhaps it was the stark realisation that I will only find God in those areas where I find that real passion, that raison d'etre in life.

And most of those areas are anathema to the mentality that I had been surrounded with growing up in north west London.

 Whilst I commit to halakha and particularly appreciate the rhythm and structure it gives to life, that isn't what gets me up in the morning.

 Go away society.
 And hello darkness my old friend.

Three weeks after tisha b'av I sat in shul thinking about the moments I used to use to feel solidarity with my fellow Jews and instead of those images inspiring a particular feeling I realised that it was more likely to be the process of image making that made it for me. It used to be leadership on youth camps that invigorated me but at one point it stopped.

The challenge of facing that emptiness and distance is part of what makes life worth living.


Life calls on you to find 'it' elsewhere and keep chasing. So I try to chase. Sometimes it is to challenge my comfortable opinions; sometimes it is to get irritated by postmodern nonsense;
sometimes it is that very same desire to impart education. Other times it's just watching the waves rolling back and forth.

And in the end, I think, feeling detached from all the things in religious life you are meant to feel attached to? Not such a bad thing. As an insider, people and things can drive you crazy. Drudgery can make religion a tiresome burden. And the guilt can drive you crazy.
But from a distance, that view is truly beautiful.