To be a Jew/Is to desperately desire/ That our descendants/ Desperately desire/To be a Jew.

That poem, written by my husband, Rabbi Howard Joseph, sums up two facets of being Jewish – it emphasizes the generational commitment and the personal or existential aspect.

For many Jews, religion is about finding personal meaning and fulfilment. They’re convinced that this is the best way to live life to the fullest. Religion is for now. For example, Shabbat transforms my universe each week, and I can’t imagine life without it, or without the spiritual cleansing of Yom Kippur, the renewal and enticing dialogue of prayer of Rosh Hashanah, and the family rituals on Passover.

Judaism fills my life with significance. Religious Jews declare that they act primarily because they feel commanded by God.

Nonetheless, their rituals are infused with personal meaning that they relate to individually. Both the subjective and divine combine to generate a desperate desire to be a Jew.

The clearer focus of the poem is on continuity, a totally different mode of being Jewish. It speaks of a desperation for the next generation, and it marks the reality for many Jews. We’re desperate that our descendants be Jewish, and we’re desperate that they should continue that desperation to be Jewish.

We crave continuity. Why?

I believe it’s more than a reaction to our peculiar national history of longevity despite anti-Semitism and genocide. I believe it’s part of our spiritual and biblical heritage.

Genesis begins with Creation, but death stalks the story. God tells Adam, “You must not eat of the fruit, for as soon as you eat of it, you will die.” Death is not a direct punishment, although it’s a consequence. The snake says, “You won’t die.”

How can we understand this tale?

I don’t propose to simplify this complex story or make light of it.

But in truth, it holds a key to our own desperation as Jews. For leaving the Garden of Eden, our species leaves paradise, and we come to know our full humanity as finite, imperfect and mortal beings. As individual humans, we die, but our species does not. In fact, reading Genesis 3 carefully, one can find a promise of immortality imbedded in the punishment.

Man is told, “By toil shall you eat,” but you will eat. And woman is told that “in pain shall you bear children,” but there will be children. So suffering is our personal lot. We are finite, but we shall eat and have children. We shall survive. So there is a promise and a hint of immortality in our finitude.

Is our desperation for descendants our response to the challenge of Genesis? Through our Jewish children, we, as Jews, survive death.