Not Quite an Atheist After All
- Claire
- May 10
- 4 min read
So, it turns out I’m a liar.
To you, dear reader—but mostly to myself. Not an earth-shattering lie, nothing scandalous… just the realization that I’m not quite who I thought I was.
After a fascinating exchange with friends (and if you haven’t read it yet, see Zero Gods, Four Voices: Exploring Jewish Atheist and Secular Identity), I had a sudden "uh-oh" moment.
For years, whenever someone asked about my religion, I’d say I had none, sometimes adding that I was an atheist. It was a simple, truthful answer that required no further explanation. Being baptized as an infant did not make me Catholic, nor did completing a year of catechism simply to please my mother.
After joining the Jewish people through conversion—a step that did not change my non-religious worldview—I dropped the “no religion” part and simply described myself as a secular or atheist Jew.
But it turns out the atheist label no longer quite fits.
The "Extreme Relocation"
By-the-book atheists see death as the end of everything.
But to me, death has always felt more like an extreme relocation—a move rather than a full stop.
When I was 10, I asked my mother what happens after someone dies. She said:
“No one knows, but wherever they are, it must be a great place—no one ever comes back.”
Somehow, that answer satisfied me. I never asked again.
Stardust in the Atacama Desert
Now, let’s talk about God—specifically the "guy on a cloud who sees everything and everyone at once" image. Yeah... that never really worked for me. But to be fair, it doesn’t really work for most religious people either. No one serious is picturing a bearded man lounging on condensation.
Whatever they imagine, I am certain it’s deeper than that. For me, it was simple: the Universe—stars and planets suspended in infinite black space, beyond my understanding.
But when I visited the Atacama Desert—high above the world, with near-zero light pollution—the sky, seen through a giant telescope, didn’t just look “starry.” It looked alive.
The Milky Way wasn’t a faint band; it was a physical, moving presence right there. I was hypnotized, drawn in, not only imagining but feeling myself as part of that pulse—a speck of dust.
But not just any dust.
Stardust, of course.
Finding a Language for Gratitude: Modeh Ani
That sense of awe didn’t just make me feel small; it came with a rush of energy and gratitude. At that moment, the words of Modeh Ani (I give thanks)—the first prayer I learned during my conversion came up.
Standing under that infinite Chilean sky, “thanking the Universe” felt just right.
When I first learned those words, they didn’t click at all.
Modah ani l'fanecha melech chai v'kayam, shehechezarta bi nishmati b'chemla, rabah emunatecha.
(Thankful am I before You, living and eternal King, for restoring my soul within me; great is Your faithfulness.)
My inner skeptic had questions. Who exactly was I thanking? Who was this “Living and Eternal King”? And why did the men’s version of the blessings express gratitude for not being a woman?
That definitely raised an eyebrow.
My teacher—as kind as she was bright—explained the context: it was originally intended as a way for men to acknowledge that women are the ones getting the “real work” done. I can’t say I was entirely convinced, but I loved how diplomatically she rephrased it for my benefit.
Today, there are modern versions of the prayer that use wording that feels more current and less dogmatic. But my personal version of Modeh Ani isn’t directed at a deity. For me, it’s a daily moment of gratitude for simply waking up—a quiet acknowledgment that I am part of something vast, complex, and beyond my grasp.
Rebrand Pending: What Comes Next?
So, where does that leave me?
Not a strict atheist, yet not quite religious, either. Technically, I might be a pantheist—a word I only recently discovered. It’s less of a religion and more a way of seeing the world: the Universe and the divine as one. That sounds about right, even if I’ve never heard anyone use the label in conversation.
Am I a secular Jew—the kind who relates to Judaism as culture, identity, and peoplehood? That could work. A cultural convert? Definitely. Jewish by choice? Of course.
But honestly, I think Prince William gave me the best clue. He recently described his personal faith as simply "quiet" in the Church Times. I like that. No shouting from the rooftops, no public display—just a low-volume connection to something bigger. That’s enough, at least for me. ^_^
One thing is clear though: the blog title, An Atheist’s Journey to Judaism in Israel, needs a correction.
So I’m picking up the red marker and crossing out “Atheist.”
If you have suggestions for a title that better reflects my Universe-as-God perspective, I’d love to hear them in the comments. Until then, I’m leaning toward:
My Unexpected Journey to Judaism in Israel
If this post resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts—where do you find yourself on the spectrum?
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Great reading! Very insightful! I can’t say the logic applies to me, but it certainly raises questions!