By Rabbi Adam Rubin, Congregation Beth Shalom
While most Americans are religious — the great majority of our fellow citizens continue to assert a belief in the Divine (though this has declined in recent years, according to most surveys) — it’s how we’re religious that I find interesting. In order to attract people to churches and synagogues, clergy offer upbeat services and an overwhelmingly joyful and loving vision of God.
Whether it’s megachurches that make use of rock bands or synagogues that experiment with alternative prayer services through dancing, yoga, or drum circles, contemporary religious life is relentlessly positive and affirming. There are good reasons for this positive approach, of course — in the Christian world, emphasizing the fear of God conjures up unpleasant images of the “old-time religion” of fire and brimstone, while for Jews, “God-fearing” sound gloomy, severe, and even downright un-Jewish. And, of course, it’s entirely in tune with the American emphasis on optimism and positivity.
Nevertheless, I’d like to suggest that in religious life, a little fear is a good thing. Put another way, we have nothing to fear from fear itself (to creatively misquote Franklin Delano Roosevelt).
Let’s begin with a pretty indisputable point: Approaching God with a sense of fear and trepidation, which our tradition describes as having a sense of yirat shamayim (“fear of Heaven”) stands at the center of traditional Jewish belief. The Torah itself could not be clearer: “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord our God demand of you? Only this: To fear (le-yirah) the Lord your God, to walk only in His paths, to love Him, and to serve the Lord your God.” (Deut. 10:12).
It is telling that while love of God is also required in this verse, it is mentioned only after fear. Moreover, in the beginning of the Exodus story, when the midwives refuse to heed Pharaoh’s order to kill the Israelite boys, they do so, the Torah tells us, because they feared God (Ex. 1:17). The Book of Proverbs informs us that “the beginning of wisdom is fear of the Lord” (9:10). This notion is repeated over and over by the rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud and elaborated upon by a number of important medieval and modern thinkers, from Maimonides to Rabbi Nachman of Breslov.
That said, a number of our most distinguished sages softened the concept by pointing to two levels of yirah, the lower level, meaning worship of God out of fear of punishment, and the higher level, relating to God not through fear but through awe and reverence. They probably made this interpretive move out of discomfort at the notion of responding to God purely out of fear, like children who heed their parents’ commands in order to avoid a spanking.
From my own experience in the liberal Jewish world, I think it’s fair to say that rabbis and teachers have “taken this ball and run with it,” never failing to translate yirah as awe rather than fear. Why? What are they afraid of? Or more to the point, what about fear are they afraid of?
The image of an authoritarian God who inspires fear is simply not attractive for most moderns who struggle with belief — it evokes a judgmental deity in the clouds who punishes us for our misdeeds, an uncompelling or unbelievable notion for many, even the genuine spiritual seekers among us.
And yet, I am convinced there is a place for at least a measure of fear in our religious lives to restore the notion that actions have religious consequences. Our sages, of blessed memory, expressed this idea beautifully in Avot d’Rabbi Natan 2:2, in which a verse from Song of Songs is interpreted to mean that observing Jewish laws that are done in secret, such as family purity, are the most sacred acts precisely because they are hidden from everyone but God.
Belief in a God who holds us accountable is not the same as belief in literal punishment, but an affirmation that our deeds count, that we are answerable in some way to our Creator, and that what we do matters to others and to God. The rabbis of the Talmud famously assert (Berachot 33b) that everything is in the hands of heaven except for fear of heaven. That is, even an omnipotent God cannot force us to be aware of our accountability before God, but is a choice that rests solely and exclusively with us. In commenting on this, Rashi elaborates: “Whether someone is tall or short, foolish or wise, light or dark [in complexion] — these are in God’s hands. But on matters of good and evil, we stand at a crossroads, and one must choose [whether he or she possesses] fear of God.”
Rashi emphasizes that fear of God is linked inextricably to our ability to choose the right path of behavior. Following Rashi, I am convinced that while fear may be lower on the spectrum of religious belief than awe, it is nonetheless essential for a balanced, ethical religious life. We have every reason to fear a world in which our actions have no consequences. But we have nothing to fear — and everything to gain — by fearing the Knower of all secrets.