I’m a Jewish mother. Like my mother before me and hers before that. (Any farther back and we’re talking about turn of the century Jews in Eastern Europe, and I can’t vouch for that). I am proud of this role. And I’m good at it. And I’m also 54 years old. My days of carpools to religious school or b’nei mitzvah gift shopping are behind me.
The longer my Jewish child is out on their own, the more I recognize that, for nearly two decades, my religious practice has been for my family. It became time for me to focus on myself again.
I signed up for something that has been getting a lot of public attention in the Jewish community: A Mussar program. I didn’t really know what it would entail. I also didn’t expect what it would bring to me.
The course involves a lot of reading. My program was rooted in the work of Alan Morinis, the Canadian anthropologist who founded the Mussar Institute in 2004. His work has been influential in a revival of the Mussar movement and of the implementation of ethical Jewish living.
It was the idea of living an ethical Jewish life that drew me to the program. More than just reading, the process involved participating in a collective study group, a direct partnership, and chronicling your actual living choices. I was concerned it would feel like homework. But it didn’t. Instead, it felt like I was holding a magnifying glass on my past Jewish practice, my current Jewish study, and my future Jewish choices.
I was struck by how much this practice interacted with my life, particularly the Jewish life. I took a self-inventory and recognized that a lot of Jewish-y behaviors that I had had been my practice since childhood. And they had become less meaningful and more habitual.
The most direct example for me was paying attention to my own rituals. For example, I start every morning with the prayer Modah Ani and end the night with the She’ma. I usually said them in my head, by rote, and in a perfunctory manner. As a part of this program, I challenged myself to read them each day in English. My Hebrew language is pretty functional. I knew what the prayers meant. But by actively reading them in my native language, I was reintroduced to why we say them. (Spoiler alert: the morning is about gratitude, the nighttime about trust).
Overall, the Mussar program got me to slow down and pay attention to my Judaism. I tried new practices while sharing and being supported by others on this path. I also disagreed with some of the book’s presumptions and found some of the recommended practices to be far out of my comfort zone. And even with that, I have signed up to do it again. Because I can’t wait to see what happens when I dive in a little deeper.
Minnesota’s Living Mussar groups practice a “Soul Curriculum” as a way to make your own story and choices as you let Jewish curiosity lead you to places of joy and wholeness. (I don’t work for the organization, but I definitely recommend it. More information can be found here.)
So if you are looking at your own Judaism and wondering how to make it fit to the adult you are now, I highly recommend exploring this process. I know that for me it has offered a new harvest and a renewal in my own practice.