The summary suggested that since science has not uncoded the mechanics of genetic mutation on the scale required for functional evolution, humans were created by God and are not descended from apes.

Seeing as the person who attended and summarised the talk for me had no desire to be descended from an ape, this was preaching to the converted. I hope it was not what Hasofer said, as I would think it clear to a statistician that the lack of clear scientific evidence to fill in all the holes in a theory is no real support to a counter-argument. I still fail to see the exclusive disjunction between creation and evolution.

But I was just as shocked by the idea that someone I know would have real aversion to the idea of being cousin to a gorilla or chimpanzee. Is this person equally shocked that our food is grown in something as disgusting as manure? Do they forget that they are cousin to genocidal serial killers, murderous tyrants, and fraudulent businessman? Do they find no compassion for animals, be they apes, or our more distant relatives the dogs and the snails that they are so upset to call them “cousin”, “friend”, “granddad”? Surely, we humans are at least as disgusting, even if we claim to be so with greater sophistication.

1. The one that does not challenge his beliefs
2. The one that challenges and finds proofs to support his beliefs
3. The one that challenges, fails to prove, and still believes

The tough question is: which is the biggest fool?

I failed to understand this assumption until I decided to spend a bit of time in a yeshiva. Although maybe the feeling has decreased a little since then, the atmosphere here is one of immersion and little distraction, and so the first time I tried to leave the yeshiva, I felt somewhat guilty for not studying for a few hours. Learning of course doesn’t preclude enjoying (through studying or apart from it), but you really begin to notice when you have left it for something else.

It is an idea far from the secular world. There time is money; here time is Torah. It is a very different heuristic by which to measure one’s life and the expense of a day’s hours.

The focus on the bookshelf and the study hall is certainly not a focus of other religions, while most people in this pragmatic world consider learning as something utilitarian. Judaism has an equivalent in the idea of learning in order to be able to properly observe religious duty, i.e. mitzvot. But while this is also talmud torah leshem shamayim (learning for the sake of Heaven) it is distinguished starkly from talmud torah lishmah—learning for its own sake.

The academic world’s study and research nearly comes close in its attitude. There learning ideally aims only for the embetterment of the world in some disciplines, and for the sake of the investigation itself in others. But there its lacks in motivation: it is not in the same way leshem shamayim. There is a significant philosophical distinction between talmud torah and simply investigating text, even Jewish religious text.

In talmud torah lishmah, people do not try to look for shortcuts. One struggles (and this can really mean fighting) to gain insight into texts that thousands of others before have already claimed to understand and have even summarised. There is a focus on ‘inyan, understanding evne small passages deeply, and exploring the ways they have been discussed and juggled by the sages of the ages. It is a fantastic pursuit and exercise for the mind, but also plays centrally in developing one’s relationship with God, tradition, and the physical world one lives in.

Having said all that, while I think there is merit to dedicating some time, whether it be hours, or years, to learning, recognising the need for both leisure and financial support is also important (neither to excess), an idea that some ultra-orthodox segments of the Jewish community relatively neglect. The Torah itself is certain in describing a lifestyle that involves financial and everyday interactions, and indeed one fails to fulfill much of the Torah law without practicing a lifestyle away from the beit midrash. While the bookworm is admired in Judaism, the active mensch, a person of good deeds, is often moreso.

Suddenly in these last few days, University administration has decided the chapel in the McGill “Birks” Religious Studies building no longer exists. Signs that once indicated its presence are now gone. The room that the rest of the building is centred around no longer has any official purpose or title.

(It seems Hillel Montreal has also removed its Chapel sign. A plaque proudly reading “CHAPEL” remains lying around the room, presumably from before the recent renovations here. But its removal “chapel” was probably a rejection of terminology and not an issue of secularisation. The one currently labelling the room says “Beit Midrash” instead, which possibly implies being more Orthodox, but maybe less religious, changing focus from worship to text.)

Québec is not known for being the most tolerant place for outsiders. Its language laws have threatened the removal of historical signage, and cause it to have PFK stores while France does not dispute the name “KFC”. In our case it seems that secularism, or at least some form of xenophobia is intended to keep the Québécois with what is familiar to them.

And yet Montréal is still built around its famous cathedrals, and most of its street names that don’t begin with “Saint” begin “Sainte”. As my professor B. Barry Levy argues, if we want to make the city secular, we not only have to rename all the streets, but we have to stop celebrating Christmas and Easter as public holidays… He would rather putting the Christ back into Christmas and allowing religious expression in a more pluralist society. Despite being Dean of the aforementioned Religious Faculty, he only found out about the changes in signage after returning from two days off for Pesach, and considers it akin to Egyptian pharaohs each removing the names of their predecessors, as if they had never ruled.

Sydney had its share of the religious accommodation issue in 2003 when it was suggested that the pedestrian traffic lights be automatic (and not button-triggered) on Sabbaths, in certain areas with religious Jewish populations (Bondi Rd). Despite the fact that a lot of the world’s urban areas run on automatic pedestrian lights, for some reason a lot of the local community were offended by the thought of accommodating to the Orthodox Jewish community’s (albeit strange-seeming) needs for safety. Yes, it would cost some Council money, but they make up a significant portion of the municipal population, and it detracts for nobody as far as I can tell. It seems that last December the Council acceded to the requests (although using some motion sensors) but according to the over-100 comments on that article, it was met with largely ignorant and intolerant obstinacy—at least by online Telegraph readers. (“Once again it shows that ordinary people are left to the pandering of a minority group.” says Fred Lavender; “If certain people consider pushing a button to be work then they don’t belong in our society and I don’t see why we need to accede to these so called religious laws. It seems to be an all male agenda. Why am I not surprised.” remarks Colleen Appleton; Leigh Roberts: “What an absolute joke. Australia used to be a place where people wanted to fit in, now its just about complaining about anything and everything that dosen’t suit.” They go on and on and on.) Even if I might agree that there are better places to spend the money, our society spends similar money on erecting Christmas decorations, and certainly more on NYE fireworks.

The seventh definition of “of” given by Merriam-Webster is:

used as a function word to indicate something from which a person or thing is delivered eased of her pain or with respect to which someone or something is made destitute robbed of all their belongings“

This may help understand the outlook for “freedom of religion” in an increasingly secular world…

So I got to McGill and looked up the SSMU (student union) web site to find out what was on (because they don’t have an O-Week quite like back home). I discovered that apart from the small a capella groups that I’d heard of, there was a McGill Choral Society. It seemed to me as if the a capella groups were too competitive, and I just wanted to sing for a little fun and practice.

So I went along to the first meeting of the Choral Society. But I didn’t particularly like the attitude in the rehearsal room. It’s hard to describe. While the choristers were quite good, I felt that it was very rough in its manner and not such a pleasant place to be. They would be performing selections from Handel’s Messiah at the end of the semester in a large cathedral. I also felt a bit uncomfortable about that. (In the meantime I’d need to get a wad of musical scores and a CD for $25 membership, and I wasn’t ready to commit, given my other misgivings.)

So when there was “activities night” a couple of weeks into semester, I signed up to New Earth Voices. It appealed to me because it was advertised by sociable, excitable characters, and because I felt it might be a little more like the Madrigals. They claimed to sing a capella inter-cultural “spirituals”. Okay, so it would be a little different from the Madrigals where the weight was to secular tunes, with a couple of religious ones in strange languages thrown in: here we would be singing mostly religious music, but from a variety of places. Still, I decided to stop going to the Choral Society rehearsals and set aside my Tuesday afternoons for NEV.

When I found the Diocesan Hall we would be practising in, I found a choir in desperate need of more men. The first song we sang was a Hebrew tune, “Uri Tsafon”. Like a number of tunes from early Israel, its lyrics were taken from Song of Songs (many modern tunes still do). While it could be taken as so, I wasn’t sure it should be called a “spiritual”. It’s not the sort of thing sung in a Jewish religious context at all, and was taken in the 1940-50s to be about imagery of nature, or as a love song with biblical roots. It is spiritual in the sense of Zionists used the bible to worship the earth.

Since then, though, the vast majority of pieces we’ve been doing have been Christian tunes: a handful in English, and others in French, Spanish, Polish, German and Ewe. We’re also doing one in Tamil whose words reflect Eastern spirituality: “Untold millions of people run and run, constantly seeking, grow desperate and die looking for the light that is in them”. Also one other mostly-Hebrew tune called “Hebrew Rounds for Peace” which is a very corny piece, seemingly American, made up of a couple of classic tunes to typical biblical verses on peace, along with the words “shalom chaverim, shalom chaverim” and instructions to shake the audience’s hands during the closing part of the song. Ugh. A little too corny for me. And not spiritual at all, IMO.

But as the distinctly Christian pieces kept arriving, I felt less and less comfortable. Some are general liturgical or gospel tunes, others are Christmas carols. The first carols I’ve ever sung. While some of the tunes are great fun (still not as fun as many of our Madrigals last semester), I don’t see how singing about a festival, its practices and myths is spiritual.

They also handed out “Sevivon sov sov sov”, but we’ve never sung it: a song about Channukah’s practice of gambling! Firstly this equates Channukah to Christmas, which is a funny American falsehood, secondly it has nothing to do with religion or spirit, but is merely about an unusual cultural practice. After all, the song’s major statement on the times is “Spinning top, spin spin spin! Channukah is a good festival!”

So on one hand I would like to heavily question the definition of spirituals. On the other hand, my issue is whether I should be singing songs that are strongly associated with Christian faith, like Silent Night, or songs that preach about Jesus. Should I stop at the point that the song professes him divine? We do that too (“Il est né, le divin Enfant”; IMO “Il n’était pas divin Enfant”). And if I had a problem with Handel’s mass, which is at least a monumental work musically, surely these tunes would be more problematic. Or was the major problem that I was going to sing it in a church? (Although a capella does mean “like in the chapel”.)

There are about 5 Jewish members of the not-large choir (which will be performing on December 2 after shabbat 3 in the afternoon). At least one other has expressed strange feelings about singing some of these songs. She last year made a distinction where she would stop singing if the song made problematic theological statements.

In the Madrigal Society—where the majority of our songs were about lovers made or lost, or set for coronations and featuring nymphs and shepherds dancing—there was never any need to feel a sense of conviction towards the words I was saying. Secular music can be sung without any faith or attachment, but still empathising with the feelings of the author.

Religious music is designed to be sung with spirit and belief. That’s what it was designed to do. And singing it in public is usually a declaration of faith. Maybe this could be excused for a few songs amid many more secular and detached, or maybe it could also be excused when not sung in a religious circumstance or place.

In the Sydney Jewish Choral Society earlier this year, a piece called “Hasidic Medley” had a style guideline hand-written at the top of the score: mit dveikus. Literally, “with attachment”, this Yiddish term refers to a Hasidic notion of reaching for and clinging to the Divine.

Mit dveikus is how religious music is meant to be sung. It is difficult to do, sometimes, but deveikus is something that can be seen and heard and felt if it really is there in the hearts and minds of the singers.

If I can’t and don’t want to sing Christian “spiritual” works with conviction, let alone dveikus, should I be singing them at all?