We Aren’t Born Religious

Steve Sherr is a funny guy. Describing a 16-mile hike he and a college friend took into the Grand Canyon, he wrote, “Paul and I knew about as much about hiking and desert survival as a Navajo Indian might know about where to find a good corned beef sandwich in the West Bronx.” He described the trail as “red, dry, and dusty, with the constant aroma of evaporating mule urine.”

 

The humor in his new memoir No Stories to Tell: The Psychologist Meets Infinity often made me smile.

The book is about his spiritual journey, though you have to get almost halfway through before his spiritual itch becomes apparent. You have to read another chunk of chapters before a Jewish answer becomes relevant.  He doesn’t mention God until page 156. And when he does, it isn’t particularly reverential: “Never before had I even considered the possibility that anything to do with God could be credible.”

 

The first third of the book is a well-written remembrance of growing up in America in the 50s, 60s and 70s. It’s an enjoyable read, but it isn’t particularly Jewish.

 

It isn’t until the chapter called “Vanity” that Sherr has a dramatic moment of sudden God consciousness. For someone trained as a psychologist working on a college campus in the 1970s, Judaism wasn’t a logical address to explore his sudden spiritual awakening. Sherr details his search through energy workshops at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, CA, martial arts training in Aikido, the experience of a Sufi Cosmic Mass and other Eastern spiritual practices.

 

In this respect, his spiritual journey mirrors my own. Searching for transcendence in my early 20s, I also went through a number of phases, including Werner Erhard’s est and past-life regression, before I understood that only Judaism had a chance of quenching my spiritual thirst.

 

Although some of us are born into religious families, none of us are born religious. We each have to find meaning in Jewish practice for ourselves. Before I became interested in Judaism, my world was populated by people who spoke about Sunday football, what’s on sale at Macy’s and the new menu at Red Lobster. As a psychologist, Sherr shared his world with people who spoke about authenticity, personal integrity and developing meaningful relationships.

For both of us, talk about the metaphysical was in short supply, and was often denigrated as being anti-intellectual or utterly irrelevant. Sherr writes openly about the conflict between his newly emerging Jewish consciousness and the people in his life.

 

In my opinion, the best part of the book for the Jewish reader starts with the chapter “Herring and Dust”, when Sherr begins to explore the possibility that the ancient religious system into which he was born and spent decades ignoring might, in fact, hold some of the answers for which he had been searching.

In subsequent chapters, Sherr reveals his gift for explaining fundamental Jewish concepts in a relatable way, with ample humor. He remembers and recounts each struggle, his many doubts and every boulder in the road. This makes his journey feel real and not whitewashed.

A 70-page second section details the next stage of his journey, one that ends with a move to Israel’s Golan Heights. The last 100 pages or so he calls Stories Along the Way: A Collection of thoughts, reflections and lessons learned over the years.

In the end, the young father who panicked at the thought of having “no stories to tell” his children evolved into a master storyteller. Whether you enjoy following people’s spiritual journeys, appreciate the autobiography genre or just love well-written books, Steve Sherr has plenty of good stories to tell.