First Day, Rosh Hashanah 5765
September 16, 2004

THE PARADOX – AND POWER – OF CHOICE

From our childhood games that start “eeney-meeny-miney- mo” to the image of a child picking off the petals of a daisy in a controversial campaign commercial, choice – yes, no, this one, that one – provides a steady behavioral undercurrent to our culture.

Choice also provides the keystone to contrasting philosophies and views of human nature, such as: free will vs. determinism, nature vs. nurture.

Choice is a fundamental concept of the Yamim Nora’im, the

Days of Awe. Specifically, the classic notion of repentance, or teshuvah, sets up a powerful religious, spiritual and psychological vortex through which our liturgy and rituals are aligned.

Mordecai M. Kaplan, the 20th century Rabbi who conceived Reconstructionism describes teshuvah as “turning in the direction of the will ...” Adin Steinsalz, the greatest living translator of Talmud, says it “comprises the notion that we have a measure of control over our existence in all dimensions …” And the great medieval Jewish commentator Maimonides, in his major work Hilhot Teshuvah, declares: “… free will is given to every human being. If we wish to incline ourselves towards goodness and righteousness, we are free to do so, and if we wish to incline ourselves towards evil, we are also free to do that.”

(Kol Haneshamah: Mahzor Leyamim Nora’im, pp. 8-12)

Once we leave the realm of core Jewish values, the whole notion of choice of Judaism, or choice in Judaism, becomes much more fraught. Like partisan politics, choosing what kind of Judaism to practice, or whether to engage in any practices at all, divides families and communities along seemingly unbridgeable divides. For choosing one form over another might mean the inability to eat, pray or celebrate together.

Choice, then, we are certain, is a religious and spiritual issue. Yet, while there seems to be unanimity across the centuries and the denominational spectrum about the centrality of choice as an element of teshuvah, choice itself is not neutral. Choice embodies both Power and Paradox.

The Paradox of Choice is, in fact, the title of a provocative yet clearly written book by Barry Schwartz, a professor at Swarthmore College, and a member of a Philadelphia-area affiliate of the Jewish Reconstructionist Federation, Mishkan Shalom.

Schwartz’s core thesis is that the proliferation of choice in our lives generates an inordinate amount of stress, and in fact creates more unhappiness. The book is subtitled Why More is Less; less choice, he contends, leads to greater well-being.

In counterpoint to choice as the quintessential American ideal, Schwartz suggests that “not all choice enhances freedom. In particular, increased choice among goods and services may contribute little or nothing to the kind of freedom that counts.”

Before focusing back on teshuvah, and how choice is a factor in this particular time of our year cycle, I want to zoom out and examine our civic context for a moment. Polls and articles repeatedly assert that ours is the most “religious” country on the planet, or at least the most polled country on the planet with regard to religious preferences!

“In a nation where 19 in 20 people say they believe in God and nearly two-thirds call religion very important in their lives, there arises a sprawling market of creeds and cults and congregations in which people like to shop. The Dalai Lama’s books are best sellers; there are Metaphysical Episcopalians and Unitarian Universalist Pagans and, a bit further down the road, the Nudist Church of the Blessed Virgin Jesus.”

(Time Magazine, June 21, 2004, p. 29)

And yet, as Schwartz and others have discovered, only a small fraction of those who profess “belief” in America participates regularly in the activities of a faith community. So, in what do we “believe”? What is the nature of choosing religious affiliation in America, particularly for us?

In the book’s second chapter, Schwartz discusses “Choosing How to Pray”:

“Whereas most of us inherit the religious affiliation of our parents, we are remarkably free to choose exactly the “flavor” of that affiliation that suits us. We are unwilling to regard religious teachings as commandments, about which we have no choice, rather than suggestions, about which we are the ultimate arbiters. We look upon participation in a religious community as an opportunity to choose just the form of community that gives us what we want out of religion. Some of us may be seeking emotional fulfillment. Some may be seeking social connection. Some may be seeking ethical guidance and assistance with specific problems in our lives. Religious institutions then become a kind of market for comfort, tranquility, spirituality and ethnic reflection, and we “religion consumers” shop in that market until we find what we like.” (p. 39)

While he immediately follows with a self-critique for speaking of religion as if it were a shopping-mall item, just as the Time magazine article does that I quoted above, he soundly contends that our culture, dominated by the power of the market place and its celebration of choice and personal satisfaction, sustains and even celebrates this phenomenon.

Certainly, for people who have been oppressed or damaged by the limiting aspects of their inherited religious tradition, choice is a life-affirming boon. For any one of us may have faced a distressing situation where the tenets of one’s given religious tradition did nothing to provide succor, the religion marketplace is a phenomenon to celebrate.

Schwartz’s analysis of choice in the consumption of religion is just a small example of his overall thesis, and, while it merits a closer reading in and of itself, his dwells at more length on the tools we employ to make our decisions, and how we approach our decision-making moments. Making choices can be difficult, or can call up moral dilemmas, and certainly involves a complex of factors.

Schwartz acknowledges that the range of possible “frames” or “accounting devices” we might use in our decision-making is enormous. What we believe dictates whether or not we make life-affirming or spiritually-deadening choices. Simply put, each of us derives a range of meaning from looking at each situation with something like the glass-half-full/half-empty lens. “… we are all creative accountants when it comes to keeping our own psychological [and, I would add, spiritual] balance sheet.” (p. 67)

“Framing” involves affirming if and when we have a choice available to us or not, and then subsequently accepting the consequences. Reinhold Niebuhr, the 20th century Christian theologian, distilled this eloquently in the text known as the Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Understanding this aspect of choice, and the entire exercise of confronting the choices in our lives, is a profound channel for making Torah come alive. The teachings of our sacred texts, and how they are transformed and transmitted through prayer and ritual, become tools for enhancing the quality of our lives, as we confront our choices, bemoan their impact, and struggle to ascribe meaning to them.

The intersection of choices that we can make with the ones we cannot becomes a fertile, chaotic place. It is where we are called to live, and therein lies the paradox and the power. It is rich in potential, and it is in this garden that that we sow the seeds of our lives, both the annuals, and the perennials.

This metaphor can be read into a section of Parshat Netzavim, offered in our mahzor as an alternate reading for Yom Kippur morning:

Both life and death I set before you, Both blessing and curse;Therefore, choose life, that you may live, You and your seed. (Deuteronomy 30:19 )

This passage is particularly challenging when held up in light of the liturgy we just chanted, and will repeat several more times during these days of awe. In the Unetaneh Tokef prayer, which was recited just prior to the Kedushah in this morning’s service, we ask the most chilling questions about who shall live and who shall die, and by what means.

While our alternative English readings incline towards softening, or expanding, the text’s impact, its existential core cannot be glossed over: we are beseeching a positive choice of some force beyond that of our own will, when, ultimately, this choice is truly not ours to make.

How shall we respond to this paradox? When faced with a “crunch” moment, any moment of terror and challenge, that is, when we are called to confront either our own mortality, or that of a loved one or other person in the world, we tend to respond in two broad directions: X circumstance is God’s will, or the will of forces beyond my control, or Why has X happened to me?

To be fair, both responses may arise in the same person, at difference junctures of a crisis. Yet it is definitively how one frames one’s experience that is the determining factor in the CHOOSE LIFE paradox. And, if we extend Schwartz’s thesis, it may well be the determining factor in ones quality of life overall.

It comes down to this: while we don’t have the power to set the quantity of life, the quality of life is profoundly altered by taking the path of CHOOSE LIFE. It is something much more critical than which ritual approach we select from the religion marketplace; it is at the heart of our human-ness, and cuts to the core of all spiritual questing.

Schwartz’s “framing” is the equivalent of uvehartem behayim/ CHOOSE LIFE. Note well that the injunction is preceded by this bald statement of fact: “Both life and Death I set before you – both blessing and curse.”

Life and death are both set before us, but I frame it with this basic value concept, as if it were inserted into the verse: Blessing, or curse. It is ours to choose.

The closing phrase of the verse offers its own redemptive power. Lema’an tihhiyeh ata vezar’akha is usually understood, and translated, “that you and your seed [meaning: offspring] may live.” Our mahzor’s exquisite translation offers this insightful rendering: “that you may live, you and the seed of life within you.” (Kol Haneshamah: Mahzor Leyamim Nora’im, p. 541)

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