Tearing Up the New Testament

Minister of Knesset Michael Ben-Ari caused an uproar this week when he publicly tore out and trashed pages of the New Testament in a Bible sent to him (and to all MKs) by Victor Kalisher of The Bible Society, a Messianic Jewish organization (i.e. Jews for Jesus). Two brief points I'd like to make on this:

1) I'm far more concerned about the "messianic Judaism" of Ben-Ari than I am about the group who sent out the Bibles. Let me put it this way - in the continuum of beliefs (from better to worse, in my opinion), we have:

a) rational/benign
b) delusional/benign
c) rational/dangerous
d) delusional/dangerous

Jews for Jesus are in the "b" category, as are most decent, moderate religious folks. But Jews like Ben-Ari earn a solid "d". Yes, sending the New Testament to Jewish MKs is provocative in its own right, but that is altogether different than reacting by publicly antagonizing 2 billion Christians by destroying their holy book on camera, inside a Knesset office with the Israeli flag in the background - and in so doing unilaterally damaging Israel's relationship with the Christian world.

I'm all for standing up for what's right even when it's unpopular, and occasionally being a bit radical if that's necessary to get things done (by writing a blog like this, I guess that's obvious!), but the priority always has to be people over ideology. And that requires the ability to be pragmatic and flexible, to work with people, to compromise, and seek out live-and-let-live solutions. By deliberately alienating, provoking and essentially "flipping the bird" to the entire Christian world in order to show everyone what he thinks of the New Testament and attempts to proselytize to Jews, Ben-Ari has proven himself to be ideologically narcissistic, a "kanai" (zealot), a loose canon who has no business holding public office or representing the State of Israel. He's lucky it was a New Testament, since Christians are by and large civilized folks who don't take to the streets in a frenzied rage whenever a stupid stunt like this gets pulled.

2) I also want to mention this article from yesterday's Jerusalem Post: Christian MK calls for legal action against Ben-Ari. What I find particularly unfortunate about this is, assuming any legal action is warranted here, why should it be that a "Christian MK" is the one who has to call for it? Is what Ben-Ari did a "Christian" problem, because it was an affront to Christians? Or is it something we all need to be concerned with and do something about? Jews generally have a good track record for defending the rights of others, standing up against tyranny, injustice and intolerance, even when it doesn't impact us directly. But in this case, out of 120 MKs, it's the one Christian who has to take the lead on this. I find that highly disappointing and frankly embarrassing given the fact that this is not simply a case of "the other guy" being intolerant - it's Jewish intolerance, of a highly charged religious variety.

Jews, and especially Jewish elected officials in Israel, need to stand up in defense of Israel's Christian minority, in the same way we'd want Christians to stand up in the 99% of other places in the world in defense of the Jewish minority (which for instance would have been appreciated in the recent ban on circumcision in Cologne, Germany). Because that, my friends, is how we're going to survive and thrive in this world. Decent, benevolent, good-willed people need to have each other's backs. We need to be willing to fight the other guy's fight, when that fight is righteous, as if it's our own. The same goes for the Israeli-Palestinian issue. The only way this situation is going to resolve positively and peaceably (again, in stark contrast to MK Ben-Ari's "Kach" approach) is for both peoples to adopt a "got your back" mentality. But that's another story for another time...

Why Don't I Feel the "Unity"?

I was reading the Jerusalem Post over Shabbat, and I found a writeup about a conference which took place in South Africa a few weeks back called the "Sinai Indaba" (indaba being Zulu for "business" or "matter"). The conference, arranged by Chief Rabbi Warren Goldstein, featured an array of international speakers "from almost every walk of Torah-faithful Jewry".

Let me start off by saying I'm sure it was a productive, stimulating, enjoyable conference for all involved. It sounds like a great event, and I have absolutely nothing negative to say about the conference per se. That said... Let me quote from the Post:

The inclusive nature of the Indaba is a core element of Goldstein's aim to replicate the unity experienced by the Jewish nation at the foot of Mount Sinai, described by the sages as being "like one man with one heart." This unity is understood to be a prerequisite to the proper acceptance of the Torah, and is perhaps one of the greatest challenges facing today's Torah world, in which partisan allegiance to particular brands of Torah often creates great schisms in Orthodox Jewry.

To overcome this challenge, Goldstein looked for the core commonality underlying the various groupings, around which he built the Indaba. He explained: "The common feature uniting the rich array of topics and speakers is the acceptance of the basic tenets of Judaism as defined by the 13 principles of faith set out by the Talmud and codified by the Rambam [Maimonides]. At the heart and soul of the Sinai Indaba is the principle that God gave us his Torah for all times, all places and all circumstances; and, therefore its breadth and depth are limitless, as is its capacity to inspire, enlighten and guide Jews in every generation."

A few reactions to this. First off, I have to admit I don't quite know what to do with the idea of "unity". It obviously has a powerful emotional appeal. I'm a sucker for tearing up when thousands of people are singing the Star Spangled Banner or Hatikva - it's something about people from different backgrounds coming together to stand for something, to express gratitude, affiliation, and yes, unity. And I recall very well the first few days following 9/11, there was a feeling of unusual goodwill among Americans, strangers on the street. People were more polite, more considerate - it was a sense of being "in it together". Of course this is a generalization, but the positive sentiment was palpable. That's a unity based on acute awareness of there being an "other" - which happens in times of war. Israel has had that kind of "unity" thrust upon it all too often. It's the one silver lining in the dark cloud of war.

Speaking of clouds, it would be easy to envision the Israelites feeling unified at the foot of Mount Sinai if indeed they all experienced the clouds and thunder, the ground shaking and fire consuming the top of the mountain, with the voice of God booming out at them. (Forgetting for the moment about the historicity of the story.)

Yet unity is something that makes me nervous. Unity can mean group-think. It can mean a North Korean-style "common purpose" whereby the value of the individual is based almost solely on their contribution to the collective. It's a kind of totalitarianism, like the Tower of Babel, where what looks like great unity of language and purpose ends up being the very thing that destroys them. I recall Dennis Prager once saying that we should be extremely wary when we hear people make calls for "unity", since too often what it really reflects is a person's desire for everyone to "unify" around their own position - "Things would be so much better if everyone would just think like me!"

My experience is that it's actually diversity, not unity, which makes us strong. That thought is expressed in the Torah tradition as well. For instance, R. Nachman of Breslov talks about "machloket" (disagreement) as the "ikkar briyat ha'olam" - the main ingredient for creation. Disagreement keeps us sharp, helps us refine our thinking. Diversity keeps us from being a homogeneous blob. The key is how you deal with that disagreement, how you live with that diversity. To me, that's where unity comes in.

So now let me get to the other part of the quote. What is the unifying factor of the conference, according to the Chief Rabbi? The "acceptance of the basic tenets of Judaism as defined by the 13 principles of faith". Well I feel positively left out! Not only don't I believe in all the 13 - I don't believe in any of them! Now, if there were God, I suppose I'd believe that God was "first and last". And I'd probably believe God has no body. But since I'm not particularly inclined to believe in God - and certainly not "with perfect faith", it pretty much puts me out of the running on any of the 13. So despite the fact that I'm an observant Jew, enjoy learning Torah, and am positively steeped in Jewish life and identity - I can't join the club. Unless I check my particular mind at the door and adopt this set of beliefs, I'm "michutz lamachaneh" - outside the camp.

Now of course, I'm sure the Chief Rabbi and others would have let me join the conference if I really wanted to go. I give him that benefit of the doubt. I have a feeling the "13 principles" notion represents an "official" atmosphere of belief that he hoped would permeate the event. But still, the notion of supernatural belief as a unifying principle is something that gives me pause. Especially when there is so much more within Judaism worthy of believing in - values of life and compassion and justice, freedom and peace and mutual responsibility, the list goes on and on. And I would imagine that in all likelihood it was precisely these kinds of values - and not belief in the supernatural - which comprised the actual core of the conference.

So I leave you with the following questions:

• Do we really need a belief in the supernatural to be able to believe in and strive for all these other values? 
• Does Judaism really fall apart without it?
• Is unity of belief the right kind of unity to envision, or is it unity despite differing beliefs?

Knock knock. Who's there? Hashem!

I was at a "vort" (engagement party) this week, and one of the speakers suggested that the way to ensure a healthy and happy marriage is to "let Hashem into your home". At this point my wife and I looked over at each other and smiled. Neither of us is much into God-talk. And while Hashem may be "in our house" by virtue of the fact that we have a Torah home, and we're both kindhearted, ethical people, God rarely if ever enters into the conversation (except sometimes to point out the God-motivated craziness that goes on in the frum world), and neither of us does what we do out of a sense of reward and punishment or Divine scrutiny. We both simply see the value in being observant. So thank God we're basically on the same page! Because I know of situations where that's not the case, and it can be a terrible strain on the marriage. Baruch Hashem, we have a happy and healthy marriage - and without "letting Hashem in" per se.

That said, I understand what the guy was saying in his speech. If you let Hashem into your home, meaning you are living with an awareness of God's will, expectations, presence, and ever-watchful eye, this has some "potential" benefits:

1. It focuses the couple/family on a common goal/ideal.
2. It helps keep people from acting inappropriately or disrespectfully toward one another.
3. (Related to #1 and #2) It helps one transcend everyday interpersonal frustrations.

Now I'm not naive. Certainly being "Hashem-minded" is no guarantee whatsoever of a happy home, or for that matter of any of the three benefits above. (In fact there are many ways that a religious mindset can be downright damaging psychologically and interpersonally in the home, but I don't want to get into that here.) But I do think it's fair to say that to the extent "Hashem" helps give people a common goal and gives the impetus to be "ba'alei middot" (people of more refined character), that's a good thing.

It happens to be that my wife and I find Hashem to be superfluous in this regard. The most critical part of being observant, as far as we're concerned, is treating one another respectfully, kindly, conducting oneself honestly, with integrity, and doing what we can to improve people's lives. You want to use Hashem talk? Ok, use Hashem talk. But the important thing is to walk the walk. I always maintain that I'd much rather have a neighbor who believes in fairy tales and is a gem of a person than a neighbor who's a rationalist purist but acts like a jerk. Hands down.

And come to think of it, that's probably part of the reason I like living in a frum community, even if the Hashem talk drives me bonkers sometimes. We live among so many fantastic families - true gems! That's the "ikar", the main factor in quality of life. Not believing in fairy tales - sure, that's also important, but in a sense I see that as arguably more of a "mehadrin" position.

"Torat Emet" for Atheists

First, a quick aside about the word emet. Emet is linguistically related to emunah, "faith". That is, emet does not mean "truth" in the sense of "ultimate truth". What it means is being "true to" someone or something, being faithful. Something is referred to as "emet" when it can be counted on to follow through, when it's reliable, trustworthy. A witness' words are "emet" when they are "true to" or faithful to what actually took place. The Torah uses the phrase "chesed ve'emet" in the context of brit, to imply doing kindness and being true to one's word.

I bring this up because the phrase "torat emet" is usually taken to mean that Torah = truth, in the "ultimate" or cosmic sense. So the more Torah we learn, the more we connect to ultimate truth. But this is not the meaning of the phrase. More accurately, torat emet means that Torah is true to its word, faithful, and therefore something we can rely upon. Now, whether or not that's "true" is something we can debate, but at least we should understand the terminology correctly, to know what the phrase means and what claim is being made.

Clearly, the Torah understands that being true to one's word is a value of highest import. To promise something and then not deliver is a blight on a person's good name. To make good on one's promises is the mark of emet. However, I don't want to completely discount the more colloquial meaning that emet has come to imply, meaning "truth" itself, as in "conformity with fact or reality". What would it mean to say that Torah conforms with fact or reality? That the world was created in six days? That Adam was formed out of dust and brought to life with the breath of God? That the Sea of Reeds split? That God said to Moshe [anything]? That X, Y, Z stories in the Chumash are "facts" in the sense of real events which happened? Someone who thinks reasonably and objectively will certainly conclude quite the opposite: If that's what's being touted as "emet", then what we have is a "torat sheker" - it's simply a lie.

Now, I admit that many (most?) frum Jews have this conception of torat emet, and that they vigilantly maintain that everything in Torah is factually true, against evidence and against reasonability. I also understand why they do it - because it's considered sacrilege to say otherwise, because everyone else around them thinks that way and we're affected by our surroundings, because they've been educated that way from early on, and because once a person accepts other "magical" beliefs, to claim that the Torah is historically or factually true is not that big of a stretch anymore.

How do I personally understand torat emet? I'll say this: To call superstition, myth and metaphysics "emet" in the sense of conforming to reality, is a farce and makes a mockery of emet. But even the "softer" definition of "torat emet" - that Torah is faithful and reliable - I can't fully abide by. While I like try to give Torah credit for being remarkably relevant, usable and applicable, even 3300 (or whatever) years later, I don't believe for example that if I love Hashem with all my heart, and follow the commandments, that there will be rain in its proper time, etc. While I see the depth and beauty in Judaism, I look around and see very religious Jews, and I don't particularly see that piety translating into greatness. Of course there are great ones out there, but I'm saying that I don't see Torah as being entirely true to its word, that by keeping the mitzvot we necessarily have blessings rain down on us. Now in fairness to Torah, it could be like the first chapter of Yeshayahu, where he rails against Bnai Yisrael for being "pious" where it comes to Sabbath, festivals, sacrifices, etc., but that all these are meaningless - detestable in fact - when the people don't act in accordance with justice, kindness, compassion, etc. So perhaps that's what's going on. Maybe if we acted decently AND kept the mitzvot, we'd see the the blessings promised by the Torah fulfilled in spades. "Maybe", but as a person of reason, I don't believe in that.

So in essence, I'm left making my own construction of the term torat emet. And I feel comfortable doing that. If Torah is not a product God, but really a product of human beings and a package of teachings/directives for Bnai Yisrael, then as a human being and a Jew, I am absolutely unapologetic about making Torah "in my own image" when necessary. I don't want to be one of those who disingenuously "fudge" and claim that "their" Torah is really the one given to Moses (or whoever) umpteen years ago. No, Moshe had his Torah. Chazal had their Torah. And we must have ours. Torah is "instruction", and that instruction must be relevant to us, or else it is simply an Ancient Near Eastern Text that we've held onto as a national "transitional object" for way too long.

How do I reconstruct the term "torat emet"? I say that Torah (again, my Torah) can only accord with truth. It cannot contravene fact or reality. Therefore Torah must make no claims on any of its own content as being "true" historically. It is likely some mixture of history with a generous helping of myth, and we will probably never know the exact proportions of this recipe. Torah must repudiate any of its own claims of blessing and curse connected to mitzvot observance which assume metaphysical realities. (There are some aspects of blessing/curse which can be understood as natural consequences, in terms of reaping what you sow - but that's within reason.) Torah must reject those laws and teachings which are immoral in our day (and thus untrue in the sense of being "unfaithful" to our needs and our conscience). And it goes without saying that it has to unequivocally deny the existence of gods or God as depicted in the Torah - speaking to people, performing miracles, smiting sinners and enemies, etc. To frame it in the positive, Torah would say that truth and faithfulness are key - and therefore you don't say something that's false (let alone tout it as "emet"), and you don't make promises you can't keep.

In short, torat emet means that Torah puts such a great value on truth, that it is ready and willing to reject anything which falls short of the truth - meaning it is ready to reject parts of itself.

Don't Break the Mitzvot - SHATTER them!

The Talmud (Niddah 61b) states that it's permissible to make burial shrouds out of a garment that contains shatnez, a forbidden mixture of wool and linen. The implied question here is: How could this be allowed, because in the future (at the time of the resurrection) the person will "wake up" wearing a forbidden garment and will be transgressing a Torah prohibition! To which Rav Yosef answers:

"This implies that the mitzvot will be abolished in the future to come." 

In other words, it won't be a problem for the person to wear shatnez, because there will no longer be any halachic prohibition against it - or against anything else for that matter.

There's a machloket (dispute) among subsequent halachic authorities over which commandments exactly will be abolished, and when exactly this will take place. The Gemara however simply says "mitzvot" (in general), so the straightforward understanding is that all the mitzvot will be null and void. As far as timing, it's implied from the Gemara that there will be no more mitzvot at the time of the resurrection. But the Gemara didn't use the words "techiyat hameitim" (resurrection of the dead) - it said "le'atid lavo" - "the future to come", referring to an unspecified future era, presumably connected with the redemption. All the Gemara is saying is that the mitzvot will be abolished by the time of the resurrection, meaning that the actual abolition may happen well before that.

Fast forward a few dozen centuries. Here we are today, arguably having met the basic halachic criteria for the "future to come" in redemptive terms. The land of Israel has become fruitful, a substantial wave of "ingathering of exiles" has already commenced, much of the famous Mishna in Sotah has come to pass. And of course, since 1948 and the establishment of the State of Israel, we've essentially thrown off the "subjugation of the nations", which other Gemaras explicitly equate with Messianic times. The noted halachic authority R. Chaim Zimmerman indeed ruled that the State of Israel ushered in a new halachic era - atchalta d'geulah, "the beginning of redemption".

So perhaps we can say, even halachically speaking:

It is now the "future to come" and the mitzvot are hereby abolished!

Now, any savvy reader will know that I did not simply "deduce" this conclusion in a purely objective manner. I want it to be the case. I want the mitzvot to be abolished. And since I want it, I've found a possible traditional entry to say what I want to say. (And I think I'm in good company, since this is what frum Jews do all the time - i.e., find sources to justify positions they already hold. Only rather than disingenuously claim that my position came as a result of the sources, as people often do, I fully admit that I already held this position from the outset, and I'm merely looking for textual/halachic support.)

The question is, "why" do I want to abolish the mitzvot? Am I a pleasure-seeking hedonist who can't take the thought of not eating a bacon cheeseburger? Mmm, does sound tasty, but that's not it. Am I a self-hating Jew who wants to destroy Judaism? God forbid! I'll tell you why I want the mitzvot abolished:

Because there's too much judgment going around - judgment of oneself relating to the performance of mitzvot, not living up to God's or familial/communal expectations, and judgement of others - people overly fixated, anxious, angry, even belligerent over how or whether other people are keeping mitzvot. That is what I want to change - to pull the rug out from under that judgment. But where does that leave Judaism then, if there are no more mitzvot?

Ok, so now let me be clear what I mean here. When I say the mitzvot are abolished, I mean "mitzvot" davka - i.e., that it's specifically the aspect of Jewish practice being "commanded" which is abolished. But the practice itself remains, to the extent that we choose it. (Such an interpretation is in fact brought in the Sefer Ye'arot Devash - the mitzvot are abolished, but we keep them anyway.) What I'm advocating therefore is not the abolition of Judaism - it's the abolition of "compulsory" Judaism, i.e., as something commanded/obligated from On High.

Imagine practicing Judaism from a place of pure volition, as something that brings joy, meaning, and self-identity - without the guilt and neurosis, without it being a burden. Imagine being committed to Judaism out of the desire for national cohesion, positive, growth-oriented challenge, to infuse family life with a rich heritage of culture, ritual and thought - not because we're somehow ripping the spiritual fabric of the cosmos if we don't. Imagine engaging in Torah and mitzvot from a purely "lishma" place, with no motives other than wanting to learn and grow - not because we're being "watched over", not to obtain reward or avoid  punishment. (As the above Gemara also states, there will be "neither merit nor guilt" in the future.) Imagine having no theological/ideological basis to condemn others (or oneself) for not conforming to ritual practices. ("Do not steal, murder" etc. are another matter, obviously.) No, not "imagine no religion" - IMAGINE JUDAISM as a much better, higher, more mature, tolerant, peace-affirming, joy-affirming practice - without all the strings attached.

To tie this into the upcoming holiday of Shavuot, the abolition of the mitzvot is ironically all about "Kabbalat Hatorah" (receiving the Torah). Only instead of the heavy-handed, har kegigit ("keep the Torah or else") experience of Sinai that's come down to us throughout the generations, in the future era - i.e., NOW, we accept only what we want to accept, receive only what we want to receive. The first Kabbalat Hatorah ended with Moshe smashing the tablets of the law. It's high time for us to once again "shatter the tablets" - to abolish the mitzvot as a set of compulsory "commands", and simply embrace the best of our great Jewish heritage as a matter of personal and national choice.

Shelo Asani Isha / Shelo Asani Goy

Yes, it can be dicey when talking to your kids about Judaism as a non-believing frum Jew. But sometimes I'm able to impart things which I feel particularly good about. Over this past Shabbat I had a such a moment.

We were taking a walk, and my teenage son asked me to explain the idea of the mitzvat aseh shehazman grama - usually translated as "positive time-bound commandment". I explained what it is, a mitzvah which is supposed to be performed at a specific time, and that women by and large are exempted from these mitzvot. I told him that given the domestic role to which women were routinely assigned until very recently, and the tremendous load of responsibility that went into that - especially in former times when there were no laundry machines, and you had to grow/raise a lot of your own food, weave your own clothes, etc., to obligate women to do time-dependent mitzvot would make their lives even more difficult than it already was. So Chazal (the Talmudic Sages) gave them a break - if a woman wants to do the mitzvah - great, but she's technically exempt.

He asked why it is then that men say "shelo asani isha" (the blessing of not being made a woman) if men are in a certain sense weighed down by being obligated in more mitzvot. I explained that the commentators say it's precisely for that reason that we do say "shelo asani isha", as well as "shelo asani goy" (not having been made a non-Jew) and "shelo asani aved" (not having been made a slave). Non-Jews, slaves, and women are obligated in fewer mitzvot, and Chazal wanted men to embrace their additional obligation as an opportunity for growth, rather than see it as a burden.

All standard, classical answers thus far... But then I went on to speak more personally about it. I told him that I frankly felt a bit funny, not right, about saying these brachot - at least "shelo asani isha" and "shelo asani goy". (Now I'm talking about the "content" of the brachot, mind you - I didn't get into "baruch ata HaShem" which is another issue altogether.) I said that even though there are ways of understanding these brachot positively, to the listener they have the potential to be insulting. It's like if your name was Bob, and someone next to you said the blessing "shelo asani Bob" - thank goodness I'm not Bob! Or even saying "shelo asani goy" in front of a non-Jew... I said I thought it would be a bit insulting. My son laughed - "A bit? That would be really insulting!"

A nachas moment! He really got my point. And what was my point? Basic Sensitivity. On several levels:

1. To women and non-Jews (or anyone for that matter). Even if the intention is 100% positive, if we know what we say is going to be taken otherwise, or if we'd be embarrassed to say "thank God I'm not Ploni" in front of Ploni, then we really need to think twice about saying it. That's actually my one-off lashon hara rule: If you'd feel embarrassed saying something about a person in front of them, don't say it. That's why I'm uncomfortable with these brachot.

2. To Chazal/the Mesorah (tradition). But I didn't want my son to think I meant to scorn the tradition. As much as I feel it's important to be sensitive to people about whom the brachot are said, I also want to give due honor and benefit of the doubt to Chazal, who penned these brachot. So I offered a bit of context.

Regarding "shelo asani goy", we have to remember that it was a far more brutal world back then, and the Roman Empire - which ravaged the Jewish people, enslaved us, mercilessly tortured us, destroyed our homes and cities and sent us into exile - was certainly no exception. So at that point in time, to say "shelo asani goy" would have made a lot of sense. The non-Jewish world was seen as cold-blooded and cruel, and we didn't want to be associated with that.

As far as "shelo asani isha", it's more in the sense of not being made a slave. Women at that time in history (and until very recently) were universally treated as second-class citizens. Even in the most advanced societies, women were not given anything close to what we'd call "equal rights". Some commentators on these brachot in fact point out that just as a slave has a "baal" (master), so is woman's husband called a "baal", a master. A woman used to be considered her husband's "property". So again, in this context, it would have made much more sense at that time to say "shelo asani isha" - because indeed being a woman was a very difficult lot in life, something like being born into slavery.

But there's another way to honor Chazal - to make changes where appropriate. I believe it gives no honor to Chazal to simply copy exactly what they did without question, acting essentially as robots and parrots, and effectively "freezing" Judaism like a museum piece according to the way life was 2000 years ago (or even 200 years ago). What would give Chazal honor is to think, reason, and behave according to where we are and what's appropriate today. Nowadays, when our experience with non-Jews is very often positive, and when women in free societies are treated equally before the law, these brachot come off as inappropriate and derogatory. I told my son that as sure as I am that the sun is in the sky, if Chazal were here today, there is no way they would have us say these brachot.

(Of course they arguably wouldn't have us say any brachot - because addressing and giving praise to a deity is well beneath our dignity as a reasoned people in the 21st Century. But that's another story.)

3. To the Kehilla (congregation). I also explained to my son that at the same time, I wouldn't hesitate to say these brachot when davening from the amud (leading the service). Sometimes it's important to be sensitive to where people are at, even if you don't agree with them. There's a place to disagree as a yachid (individual) and agree as a tzibur (community) for the sake of shalom. That said, there's also a place to respectfully disagree in the community context as well, so if I were davening I might have someone else say these brachot. No judgment against people, no making a fuss about it - just to gently and respectfully stand on principle if I feel it's truly important.

That's basically what I gave over. We had a good walk together, and it served as a chizuk (reinforcement) to me that if we try to be sensitive and reasonable, what appears to be a "paradox" of being a practicing non-believer is not only doable, but in fact also has the capacity to do a lot of good. True, I didn't "lay it all out there" from an atheistic point of view, but again it's about sensitivity - wanting to be sensitive to my son, to impart to him some of my thinking bit by bit, over time, and let him reach his own conclusions.

Throwing off the imaginary shackles

There's no actual evidence for a Creator of the Universe. But it's not totally "unreasonable" per se to speculate that some sort of mega-intelligence is behind it all. However, where it comes to believing in the God of the Torah, claiming that the Torah is literally and/or historically true, that God came down in fire on a mountaintop and dictated the Torah word for word to Moshe Rabbeinu... This not only lacks evidence - it's completely unreasonable. A person who does a bit of research into the ancient world, and thinks openly and reasonably about the Torah in its historical context, will come to the inevitable conclusion that it's a myth. Not a myth in the sense of being completely non-historical, but that things that sound like a myth (e.g., splitting the sea) are indeed myths. I speak a bit about this in my book-blog, but the point of this post (really, this blog) isn't to make that case - it's to take as the starting point the fact that there's no demanding, overseeing deity whatsoever, and to see where we go from here.

The first conclusion we come to of course, is that there's no "contract with God" that we're beholden to. The yoke around our neck, the shackles which bind us to Torah and Halacha - they're all of our own making. We're the only ones who care whether or not we put on Tefillin or Tzitzit, how much of our hair or knees are showing. We're the only ones who care how thoroughly we clean for Pesach, how close to specification our Sukkah is built, or when exactly we light the Chanukiah. We're the only ones who care about how many hours it's been between meat and milk, how well the lettuce was checked for bugs, or what hechsher is on the packaging. We're the only ones who care how much of the davening we say, if we even daven at all, or how much Torah we're learning. It's just us. We're the only ones who care one single iota about it. 

I realize that I'm stating the obvious, but I bring this up because personally, even though I've known for many years that the mitzvot have no "Commander", I still find myself occasionally obsessing about this or that point of Halacha, getting upset or anxious at "mishaps". For instance, if someone throws a hot dairy spoon into the meat sink - yikes! If it's getting close to shkiya on Friday night and I still haven't gotten into the shower - yikes! If my beautiful etrog rolls off the table onto the tile floor - yikes! If it's Pesach and the backpack I'm putting our food into turns out to have pockets full of chametz - yikes!

What I'm saying is that despite my non-theistic frame of mind, despite my wariness of superstitious beliefs and associated neurotic behavior, I still have to keep reminding myself of the mantra: It's only us who cares about any of this. Calm down, it's okay... Point being, it's one thing to know that the shackles you're wearing are imaginary. It's another to actually throw them off.

The good thing about this struggle though, is that each time I come to my senses and stop obsessing - it turns into a fantastic moment of freedom!