Surprised by God: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Religion

252 Pages·2008·0.67 MB·English

by  Danya Ruttenberg

S U R P R I S E D BY G O D

S U R P R I S E D B Y G O D
How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Religion
danya ruttenberg
BEACON PRESS, BOSTON
Beacon Press
25 Beacon Street
Boston,Massachusetts 02108–2892
www.beacon.org
Beacon Press books
are published under the auspices of
the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations.
© 2008 by Danya Ruttenberg
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
11 10 09 08 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This book is printed on acid-free paper that meets the uncoated paper
ANSI/NISO specifications for permanence as revised in 1992.
Text design by Susan E.Kelly
of Wilsted & Taylor Publishing Services
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ruttenberg,Danya.
Surprised by God : how I learned to stop worrying and love religion /
Danya Ruttenberg.— 1st ed.
p.cm.
ISBN 978-0-8070-1068-6
1.Ruttenberg,Danya—Anecdotes. 2.Jewish women—United States—
Religious life—Anecdotes. 3.Jewish youth—United States—Religious
life—Anecdotes. I.Title.
BM729.W6R88 2008
296.7092—dc22 2007045469
F O R L AU R A
and
F O R N I R

A U T H O R ’ S N O T E
This is a memoir; this means that the stories are recorded as I re-
member them—often,but not always,with the help of old journals.
They’re all true,but certainly filtered through my own memory and
understanding of what happened.(If you figure out where they keep
objective reality,please be sure and let me know.)
The people in the stories are real,as are the things that they
said, but some names and identifying characteristics have been
changed, and some locations and specific events have been re-
named or ever so slightly altered as well.(Many have not.) In cases
where I couldn’t reasonably cover up a person’s true identity,and
in which the folks in question are public figures,I used their real
names.
vii

I N T R O D U C T I O N
It’s almost Shabbat.As usual,the last few hours of Friday afternoon
are a whirlwind: cooking,cleaning,straightening the mess in the
living room,and trying to move forbidden objects—pens,a laptop,
some loose change, and a couple of CDs—to less obtrusive loca-
tions.I throw myself into the shower with a calculated twenty min-
utes on the clock; I’ve got this routine down to a science by now.Up
until the very last second I’m in motion,putting on shoes and jew-
elry and trying remember where I left my keys.When I can’t put it
off for another moment, I finally dash over to the pair of white
tealights waiting for me on some tinfoil in the kitchen.I stop.I take
a deep breath.I take a second breath.Okay.
I ignite a match,and fill my lungs with oxygen,slowly,again.I
kindle the two wicks,drop the match on the tinfoil,and make three
circular,sweeping motions with my arms,drawing the light inward.
I then cover my eyes with my hands and feel the glow of the can-
dles begin to surround me,feel some clenched part of me start to
open like a flower to the sun.
Finally I whisper,“Blessed are You,God our Deity,Ruler of the
Universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and
commanded us to light the candles of Shabbat.”
The light is so big.My eyes are closed but I can feel it.I’m bathing
in it.I want to remain in this moment,in this monastery of light,
for as long as I can.But I have to get going.I take one more deep
ix