“The infinite exists. It is there. If the infinite had no me, the me would be its limit; it would not be the infinite; in other words, it would not be. But it is. Then it has a me. This me of the infinite is God.” – Victor Hugo
A compilation, of sorts, of thoughts on the nature of God that I have had over the past decade…
Somewhere around ten years ago, I found myself eavesdropping on a conversation between a young child and their mother. While I cannot remember the exact circumstances of the encounter – where we were, what time of day it was, whether the child was a boy or girl, or even why I was eavesdropping on a seemingly private conversation – I remember exactly what the child said, verbatim: “Mommy, is infinity bigger than God, or is God bigger than infinity?”
The quiet, inquisitive wisdom of this child – no older than four – blew me out of the water. As someone who grapples with questions about the nature of God, and also with my inability to comprehend the most basic elements of mathematics, I found the child’s question to be one that cut to the core of my own theological ponderings.
The question itself has long resonated within me in the context of a separate moment of learning I had, courtesy of Rabbi Elyse Goldstein. Vising my shul to lead a study session, she presented this idea: “Thinking about God is like thinking about infinity; you can do it, but it really hurts sometimes.”
I remember being younger and trying to think of infinity and actually getting cramps in my head. It still happens. The same happens when I think about the creation of the universe. Or the size of the universe. But especially when I think about God. I find it particularly comforting that even in Judaism where we have a plethora of ways to describe God, sometimes we need to stop and remember that God is bigger than us. Much bigger. So big, that at times, we can’t even think properly. It’s humbling.
Rabbi Avraham Infeld writes about this relationship in a way that captures and directs my own thought process:
Does an individual Jew have to believe in God to be a part of Judaism? I don’t think so. I believe that practicing Judaism demands recognition of the fact that you’re part of a culture with a narrative that has God as a central player, part of a people that have had a love affair with God for thousands of years. The narrative of this relationship is probably the central theme in the culture of this people.
Being a people means identifying with a shared memory and narrative and having responsibility for its future, its renaissance, its well being. That’s what Jews are. It’s like asking “Can a Frenchman be French without being Catholic?” Of course he can, but he has to understand that being French was built on the Catholic tradition.
We are taught that a Jew—never mind how he sins, even in the sin of apostasy—always remains a Jew. Jewish culture is not based on the individual Jew’s relationship to God, but rather on his relationship to his community and the community’s relationship to God: We pray in the plural. We need a minyan.
One of the most notable biblical converts to Judaism, Ruth, arranges four words to describe her conversion, roughly translated as: “Your people are my people, and your God is my God.” The order is not accidental. Membership in the people is the necessary condition for being a Jew (I don’t know if it’s sufficient), while saying, “your God is my God,” is not a requirement.
I grew up in a home that was very much a secular home, where I often heard statements such as “I’m not sure there is a God, I’m not sure we were even in Egypt, but I’m sure He took us out of there.” In one Midrash relating to a verse in Jeremiah, rabbis quote God as saying, “Wouldst that they left Me, but not my teachings.” God is an integral part of my life, but I understand that’s not the case for all Jews. Would I regard David Ben-Gurion as a good Jew? Most decidedly yes. Was God an integral part of his life? I don’t think so.
Is God an integral part of my life? Yes! Is God an integral part of the life of progressive Jews? I hope so! A friend once shared another mathematical assessment of God’s place in contemporary Jewish life: “Faith is not math… we’re not building what the early Reformers were. It’s not all about rationality. Everything doesn’t have to equal out.”
I find it oddly beautiful that the intangible and indescribable – irrationality and infinity – can be solid building blocks of faith. Just I may have a hard time conceiving of infinity, I understand it to nevertheless be one of the building blocks of math. Try telling a mathematician that at some point, the numbers have to end.
And just as I may have a hard time conceiving of God’s presence, I understand and acknowledge that God is an ever-present part of Judaism. Judaism isn’t mathematical. It’s not always about logic and equal sums. It’s not about proofs and equations. Belief in God isn’t about what’s on the other side of an equal sign.
In her teaching, Rabbi Goldstein went on: “It’s very hard for me to think of God and how God exists in this world, but it’s even harder for me to think of a world where God doesn’t exist.” Perhaps the mathematician would respond: “It’s very hard for me to think of infinity. But it’s even harder for me to think of a world where the numbers stop.”
I may have failed math, but I do understand this equation. For me, God is what is on the other side of infinity.