What faith might be I’d dreamt about it…again. In fact,
I’d awakened in a tormented state; I had to have more hot and sour soup from my
friend’s Chinese restaurant. It was a kind of love at first taste. Every time I
ate there, my meal included that unique hot and sour delicacy.
Not once was I disappointed. Nor were the many I convinced
to try it. It was that good, so good that I regarded the chef almost
reverentially. To skeptics, I would say, “Trust me,” as if I knew that my
insistence appeared tantamount to asking them to perform an act of faith.
Perhaps it was.
That’s not to say I’m advocate of a soup-based faith. Not at
all. But I was suggesting that the taste of that soup could transport anyone
who savored it to a realm of appreciation that went far beyond that of ordinary
food. At least it took me to an area of perfection and satisfaction that
appeared to be akin to an accessible level of spiritual harmony.
There were no prayers to say, no incantations from rote, no
Hail Marys! Just soup sipped well. Divine!
In other towns, at other kitchens, I would order hot and
sour. Seated before my steaming bowl, I would prepare myself for reverie. But
something was missing; that feeling didn’t return. Joy and its peace, I
discovered, depended on a very specific recipe.
But, in a very similar way, all acts of faith are like that.
If we act in ways that please a higher being or a higher calling according to religious
edicts, our faith is confirmed and our path to gaining that is made more clear.
Familiarity and repetition coupled with a genuine belief
that you’re doing the right thing makes faith possible and, like soup,
tangible. Real feelings of goodness and worth are the result.
Hope and appreciation, too. For some, there are also
expectations that may include belief in the possibility of miraculous
intervention. How many times have I heard, “It’s in G-d’s hands!”? Once said,
that ends most conversations.
I’ve heard that especially when conditions are dire. Recently, a friend who endured two traumatic
surgeries shared his comments regarding his faith as he transitioned to weaker
and weaker states. His faith, first focused on recovery, eventually shifted to
expectancy; his faith had led him to find comfort in knowing paradise awaited.
Although his faith had prepared him well for that, others
have not been so willingly expectant. As my friendship with a Holocaust
survivor has deepened, I have found his reflections on faith to be remarkable
and profound. What he experienced in the death camps left him wary and
incredulous. To this day, like so many survivors of that life shearing tragedy,
he asks, “Why?” and “Why me?”
He wonders why G-d would have allowed such persecution. On
the other hand, he questions why he was fated to survive. Had that been G-d’s
will?
Often, I’ve been reminded that I can’t know; some have said
I shouldn’t ask. How can I, if I pray my prayers in earnest? I was gently
reminded of that when I wrote to my most faithful children. To the three of
them, I sent the same letter to their residences in Israel.
After being rattled one too many times by that modern Haman,
the evil stooge Ahmadinejad, when he called for the extermination of Jews in
Israel, I wrote to my children urging them to be prepared to escape his threatened
Holocaust. Echoes of history sounded; I was reminded of the Grand Mufti Haj
Amin el Hussein and his collusion with Hitler. But I didn’t mention the
psychopathic Haj Amin to my children. I pled with them to prepare for the
unthinkable.
When I mentioned what I’d done to my Holocaust survivor
friend, he wrote, “Concerning the new Haman from Persia who calls himself Ahmadinejad in
this reincarnation, I am afraid that it will take more than Queen Esther
to have him hanged…but many overestimate the military might of Iran. In an eight-year
bloody war against Saddam Hussein, they didn't do so well at all. When Saddam
started shooting rockets at Teheran, the war was over and not in favor of Iran.”
Relieved after reading his candid appraisal, I noticed that
he had not mentioned faith in G-d as a deterrent force. My remarkable children
responded otherwise. One was hopeful, under an umbrella of faith. Another was
more expressive:
I view the
gas masks and emergency supplies like a safety belt. But I'm not worried. I
can't tell you the whole story at this point, but suffice it to say for now
that I've seen enough of G-d's involvement in my life to know that He's in
charge… It behooves us to make reasonable preparations, but ultimately
everything is in His hands, and I will die when G-d decides that it's time.
Chances
are that my children might describe my faith as little more than pint-sized.
Most likely, they never will say that out loud. Perhaps they share with me the
notion that faith emanates from a conviction so personal that its dimensions
appear to be tailored by the believer.
Almost
any amount of faith is O.K. with me as long as its desired end isn’t evil. That
said, I question anyone who believes that Ahmadinejad is not a man of faith.
History has taught that such men of faith are brutal and sadistic.
What
a waste of faith that is.
B. Koplen 10/18/12
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