The first time I heard the word “awesome” not as a throw-away positive descriptor, but rather a feeling of reverence, fear, or amazement, was in my 9th grade Judaic studies class. We were looking at the biblical story of Jacob, when the text describes a dream in which Jacob hears the protective and prophetic words of g-d. When Jacob awakes, the text writes,
“Shaken, he [Jacob] said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of g-d….” The description of Jacob being “shaken” upon waking denotes a sense of surprise or fear inherent to the feeling of awe, in addition to the amazement and joy.
I remember looking at my classmates, equally bewildered, and giggling at the earnest usage of the word “awesome” by both the text and my teacher. I got a real kick out of the image of this biblical patriarch using, what was in my mind, a 21st century word. This moment is etched into my memory as it helped me begin thinking about that which is truly awesome.
Awe, like other bewildering feelings, is hard to pin down, because it is spontaneous, uncontrollable, and not necessarily good or bad. I experienced sheer awe when I saw Ethel Cain in concert this past summer. I was in awe when my grandfather passed away four years ago. I felt awe when I was among the Atlas Mountains and realized their enormity and my comparative smallness. These moments share little in common except for the feeling of awe, of being dumbfounded, at a loss for words, reverent, shattered, in love.
My interest in awe grew from the high school I attended in New York, which is named for the great 20th century theologian and activist, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. Heschel, both the school and the individual’s ideas implored me to radically love my peers, wrestle with all aspects of the Jewish tradition, and engage in debate with humility and integrity. And to do all of this with a sense of radical amazement.
One of Rabbi Heschel’s most central philosophies, to live in radical amazement, has infused and beautified my life. It considers moments of seemingly little importance, like walking home from the library or eating a bowl of oatmeal as well as awesome moments like the birth of a child or moving to a new place. Radical amazement happens when you notice a noticing, whether profound or mundane. Your acknowledgement of the changing leaves, whether approached with amazement or passivity, becomes radical when you acknowledge your acknowledgement of them. I am radically amazed when I gather with the other Interfaith fellows on Tuesday evenings and consciously note the meeting’s significance. As I write this, I see that radical amazement is a more sustained version of awe.
Everyday, I experience holiness, or spirituality, or connectivity, or whatever other names there are for the inner stir and feelings of awe and radical amazement. If you ask me whether I believe in g-d, I’d probably respond with “sure”, “maybe”, “depends”, “nah”, or “I don’t know”. I am far from being a biblical literalist, and if anything, that transformative Judaics class revealed this fact to me. But I am interested in how the Torah and Jewish philosophy speak about g-d, as they offer frameworks, though not uncomplicated and challenging, for understanding the human condition. I ultimately care about knowing what moves and sustains us and how we articulate experiences of spirituality. I see “g-d” as a culturally resonant, and at times, playful way to articulate that which is radically amazing, mystifying, and awesome.