Rejewvenate!

As you know I’ve been studying at the Hartman Institute for the past week, and I want to thank them publicly for the opportunity to study and reflect with so many notable scholars, teachers and participants. This post is among the fruits of this wonderful retreat.

The greatest transformation of the Jewish religion is usually credited to Rabbi Yochanan Ben-Zakai, who together with his colleagues at Yavneh, reinterpreted and reestablished Judaism as a religion based around law, and the house of study and prayer. But his was not the first transformation of Judaism, nor is it destined to be the last.

In sweeping terms, the great reformulations of Judaism responded to the greatest moments of crisis and redemption in Jewish history. Let’s explore them briefly.

The Judaism of the period of the Judges is really the first historical Judaism - a Judaism not based on the ongoing revelation of God to Moses, or even to Joshua. Instead, it was the religion of a people living in history, day by day and generation by generation.

We need not detain ourselves with precisely which texts and practices these Jews had. It is sufficient to consider that this was a time when Jews did not celebrate Rosh Hashana as we do today - as a day of judgment - nor did they celebrate or commemorate many other moments, including Purim, Chanukah, Tisha B’Av, Simchat Torah, and so forth. They did not pray in a minyan, or celebrate a Bar Mitzvah. They did not gather together in shul on Shabbat, and they did not study the Talmud or draw inspiration from Isaiah. Nobody sat around a Shabbat table and explained what was bothering Rashi, or told over a vort from the Rebbe. Truly these were very different Jews!

Their religion was not centralized. A tabernacle existed, but Jews continued to worship, through sacrifice, in many places, including their own homes, as the Tanach attests. There were no kings, but there were many prophets, local potentates, and family worship rituals. Whatever texts were possessed were not studied by the general populace, and literacy was limited to a very few people. Religious worship was also closely tied to agrarian and pastoral cycles.

David, Solomon, and the First Temple changed all that. Central governance and worship created a state religion, and an attendant bureaucracy. Sacrificial worship was restricted to the Temple, even if unsuccessfully, and the king and High Priest joined the prophet as the means through which the nation and God advanced their relationship. The construction of the Temple encouraged pilgrimage as a more significant aspect of worship.

The destruction of the First Temple led to even more significant reforms. Ezra the Scribe redacted a Torah text that became standard, and other books, such as those recorded by the prophets, began to appeat. The institution of prayer began to emerge, even as prophecy declined. The notion of a Diaspora community took hold, as most of the exiled community in Babylon did not return with Ezra and Nehemia. In this Diaspora, Jews did not perform sacrificial worship, nor did they make pilgrimage. New modes of organization and communal life began to emerge.

The Second Temple period within the land of Israel was marked by even greater centralization of worship in Jerusalem, and during the Hasmonean dynasty, a merging of the offices of king and High Priest. Judaism had largely shifted from a rural religion to an urban one, complete with a central High Court - the Sanhedrin -  but around the edges, the seeds of a backlash began to sprout. Synagogues, houses of gathering, Batei Midrash (houses of study), sectarian communities, prophets in the hinterland and scholars in the villages all flourished outside of the sphere of influence of the Temple.

When the Great Rebellion led to the destruction of the Temple and the second great exile in 70 CE, there already existed the beginnings of institutions that would reshape Judaism for the next two thousand years. They turned Judaism into a religion of text study and interpretation, prayer and community. The primary institutions were the aforementioned synagogue and Beit Midrash, with their attendant practices of prayer and study. Without an investment in schools, this highly literate mode of religious life could not have emerged.

The Holocaust (and the destruction of many other Diaspora communities, especially in the Sephardi world), and the birth of the State of Israel, along with the rise of another great Diaspora community in the United States has reshaped our religion once again - and we’re just at the beginning. Judaism changes in response to challenges, not in some sort of vacuum. Reform Judaism and Zionism were only the first responses to a world changed by the social and political values of the French Revolution and the economic values of the Industrial Revolution. It is impossible to understate the impact of these twin forces, and nobody, including Jews and the entire world, is done responding and adjusting to these changes.

I believe that the most important changes for their impact on Jewish practice are gender and racial equality, the ease and speed of travel and communication, and the transformation of societies away from traditionally mandated groups and associations towards wholly voluntary participation.

We’ve already seen how some of these changes impacted Judaism, but we have not yet reformulated our institutions around them. On any given Shabbat, our synagogues are populated only by whomever is celebrating a lifecycle event. Our students fill prep schools and universities, not Batei Midrash. We deconstruct our texts and often eviscerate them, and our new texts go unread except by a cloistered few.

What we need to do is to reshape Judaism around these realities. The Orthodox will not lead this change, as they feel the need less sharply. Their isolationism buffers them to a greater extent from the new reality, but this too is a matter of time. For the non-Orthodox the time need is hard upon us.

The new Judaism will not be about sacrificial worship, or about the synagogue in its current form. It will be about travel, including pilgrimage to Israel and travel to communities in need. It will be about leadership in non-profit organizations and social change ventures. And it must be about education, including mandatory high-school-level Jewish education and high-level continuing adult education. Not service learning. Not one-off lectures. Not the rabbi’s speech. We need more intensive learning, perhaps structured around our holidays, to connect our ideologically rooted think-tanks and institutes to the laypeople. We must realign our laity and our clergy once again. The task is before us, let’s get to it!

I recently shared a shabbat lunch with a progressive family in a community not unlike my own. While in recent months I haven’t been going to shul on time myself, I was scouting this community, so I made it my business to show up on time. I was also staying over at the house of one of the gabbaim… In any case, at this shul, like at my own, the only people in shul on time were the old folks. I brought the point up with my lunch hosts, and a spirited conversation ensued.

The consensus was that this was a product of men being more involved in childcare, but I feel like that answer is incomplete and imprecise. After all, in progressive communities with egalitarian sensibilities, women have a greater role in the synagogue and their participation in communal prayer is more respected and encouraged. One would expect that shared childcare duties would lead to alternating synagogue attendance, with the husband attending on time one week and the wife the next.

The reality, at least at the shuls I’ve attended, is that young couples roll in during Torah reading, at the earliest - and many miss the davening entirely, showing up only in time for kiddush. It’s the old men who make it for the starting gun, not the young couples.

Truth be told, it’s not surprise. When you change the underlying assumptions and rules that have governed Orthodox society, say, by shifting gender roles, it is natural that there will be consequences to that shift. In order to remain vibrant and relevant, institutions must shift as well. Shul was an institution built by men who didn’t rear children for men who didn’t rear children. It is not suitable, as currently composed, for this new generation of Jews and their lifestyles. In my next post, I hope to make some pointed suggestions for how to adapt this institution to the current reality, and how to continue to affirm the centrality and importance of communal worship in the progessive, observant community.

You know what really grinds my gear? The term Conservadox. Is there anyone out there who uses this term to describe themselves? Or is it just a derogatory term pinned on the not-frum-enough by the frumer-than-thou club?

In a move that brings Orthodox Judaism hurtling forward through time to the 1960s, the Shalom Hartman institute will ordain women to be Orthodox rabbis.

More accurately, the institute has opened a 4-year program to prepare people of any Jewish denomination to receive rabbinical ordinate.

More on this later, but I think this marks a major turning point in Jewish history, not so much for the content of the decision, but because the decision emerged from an Israeli institute. Is progressive Orthodoxy now an Israeli phenomenon, surpassing Yeshivat Chovevei Torah?

Ultra-Orthodox missionaries from Bnai Brak have hit upon a very old scheme for gaining adherents - monetary incentive. As Ynet reports, Hareidi rabbis have been offering poor high school kids in Ramat Gan 18 shekel to attend a Torah study class.

I’m a little stunned. It is not acceptable behavior to bribe high school students in this manner. Talk about not passing the smell test! Would it be okay for secular Israelis to bribe Hareidi students to eat pig, or attend a lecture on evolution? If I found out that somebody was bribing my kid in order to indoctrinate him without my consent I would be driven to violence! Subverting parental choices about education and basic values goes beyond merely disrespectful. It is a violation of basic parental rights and a brazen act that will surely result in grief to all parties.

A few weeks ago, after a well-received sermon at a Westchester synagogue, I was approached by one Dr. Solomon Dinkevich, a professor of mechanics and applied mathematics who has also written on Jewish topics, including perhaps most famously, a calculation of how Noah could have possible fit all those animals in the Ark.

Dr. Dinkevich pressed into my hands a different article that Shabbat, about the demographic trends within Jewish denominations. By now we’ve all seen these articles, often accompanied by charts, that show that the more kugel you eat, the more Jewish grandkids you’ll have. Ok, not really. They show what the Orthodox keep saying: that Orthodoxy has the highest birth- and retention-rates of the Jewish denominations (and the more to the right you go the better), that the Conservatives are barely replacing their own, and that Reform Jews are a-dwindling away.

It feeds into that Orthodox fantasy that one day, many years from now, they will wake up and find that ‘heterodox’ Jews ahve simply disappeared, vanished into a puff of smoke in the shape of themselves.

It’s also horseshi- ehem. The only thing that this study shows is the the setbacks suffered by Jewish movements, not the Jewish community itself. In other words, it’s true that fewer and fewer Jews are identifying themselves as Reform, or Conservative. On the other hand, more are identifying as Reconstructionist or Renewal, denominations not presented in the study, or in many studies. Even more identify themselves as nondenominational. Some see this as a negative, a sign of lack of ‘affiliation’, lack of true membership in Jewish life. Surprising then that minyanim like Hadar and Kol Zimrah, rising stars in the Jewish institutional community, take these labels for themselves, as do many other innovative new Jewish organizations, from JDub to Reboot to the granddaddy of them all, Birthright Israel.

But beyond the fact that Jews today are less likely to identify with a denomination (unless they’re Orthodox, in which case they most certainly choose not only a denomination, but a prefix, like Modern, or Centrist, or Ultra, or Hassidic, etc.), even within the denominations there is a shift. The institutions that brought us to this dismal place are changing, and the leaders who shepherded the process are being replaced. Every day we hear about nwe Jewish leaders, bright ideas, innovative projects and a rebirth of zeal, energy and light in the Jewish world. Demographers love to use the caveat “assuming current trends hold” - which, of course, they never do (Falling Rock Zone? Shouldn’t that sign say “Road Closed”?) Demographic studies can offer a snapshot of what’s happening today, but they are notoriously poor at predicting the future. And really, aren’t such studies used more often not to deal with the problem they ostensibly point to, but to delegitimize  opposing groups?

Attributable to Rabbi Irving “Yitz” Greenberg

Questioner (at the RCA convention a few years back): “Rabbi Greenberg, after the Holocaust, is it better to be Orthodox, Reform, or Conservative?”

Rabbi Greenberg: “It doesn’t matter what you are, as long as you’re ashamed of it.”

Thanks to Mixed Multitudes for the quote, and for an interesting post.

I have come to believe that a new schism is coming to the Jewish world, a vast new reorganization that will supplant the current denominational divides. One of the new fault lines will split the Orthodox movement and pit Hareidim against Modern Orthodox Jews. Ahead is a guest post by my good friend and long-time reader MJFire surveying this split. The post comes in response to a post on Emes Ve-Emunah about R. Nachum Eisenstein’s pronouncement in R. Elyashiv’s name at the Eternal Jewish Family conference that it is heresy to believe that the world is older than 5768 years.

Without further ado, the guest post:

I think the MO have a dependency on the Charedim that is entirely one-sided, and this is at the root of the problem between the two camps. On the one hand, the MO are in awe of the emunah, lack of materialism, and rigorous observance of halakah of the Charedim.  Moreover — and more importantly – they depend on Charedi religious leaders ( e.g., R’ M. Feinstein, R’ A. Kaminetzky, and R’ S.Z. Auerbach, et al.) for piskei halakha on many practical issues, with the prominent exception of educational standards and tzniut/negiah.  This dependency puts them in the difficult position of kowtowing to the Charedi world’s norms and standards on a semi-regular basis.  On the other hand, I do think that the MO value their contact with the modern world, and recognize that for all the problems that such an interaction creates for a religious person, this contact is worthwhile.  In other words, they are unwilling to give up the “modern” aspect of their lives, and have therefore made the choice to accept, with some level of disappointment, the disdain in which they are held by the Charedi world, while at the same, secretly admiring many aspects of the Charedi world.

But the attitidue of the Charedim (which has never returned the MO’s secret admiration) has moved from disdain to condemnation — and as the Charedim grow more powerful in Israel and take better advantage of emerging tecnologies to broadcast this message, this attitude starts to define the relationship.  At core, the MO need to realize something that they have been loathe to recognize in the past: the Charedim just don’t need and don’t care about the MO.  The Charedi world views itself as Shevet Levi at the moment Moshe comes down from Sinai after having shattered the luchot.  They are perfectly willing to execute the family members who have strayed from the path, and they will burn down the village to save it. This attitude is anathema to the MO world, even in its interactions with the Conservative and Reform movements.

The response of the MO should not only be in denominational reorganization (which I think has as much if not more to do with the drift of the Conservative movement), but to break with the Charedim by actively cultivating poskim from within the MO community who are willing to publish an MO Mishna Berurah and an MO Igrot Moshe that is not only modern in a “scientific” outlook (there is really no great controversy over evolution among the MO), but that takes a modern approach to issues on which the MO world has been totally beholden to the Charedi community for halakhic guidance in the past, but where there is now a sense growing alienation from the Charedi camp, ( e.g., womens’ issues such agunah, kol isha, and kavod hatzibur, and even chumras related to shmirat shabbat and kashrut). Only then can they say to the Charedim — we don’t need you anymore.

I had the opportunity to pass through both Yeshiva University and the Jewish Theological seminary as the two institutions completed their respective Sukkahs.

At YU, the Sukkah is relatively small (though, to be fair, students are off for Sukkot) and awkward. Built on a wide portion of sidewalk outside of the Beit Midrash on Amsterdam Ave. and 186th street, it looks more like the plywood enclosures built around construction sites than a space for celebrating a holiday. And of course, since it’s built on the sidewalk, it interferes with regular pedestrian traffic. Basically, the Sukkah looks and feels like an afterthought.

JTS has a much nice physical plant than YU to begin with, so perhaps this comparison is doomed from the start, but it was not just the aesthetic appeal of the JTS Sukkah that was so impressive. For starters, JTS built two large Sukkot (no, not one for men and one for women!) in its central courtyard. Each of these is easily larger than the single YU Sukkah. Moreover, the Sukkahs were well-planned and executed. Each Sukkah was built on a large wooden platform, sure to provide a solid, level floor, as well as excellent drainage in case of rain.

Speaking of rain, these Sukkahs are well-prepared. Rising above the schach of each Sukkah is a series of triangular wooden frames, forming the skeleton of a roof. Perched at the peak of this roof, and bound up in rope, is a large, rolled tarp. It appeared that with a yank on the right cord, the trap would unroll down both sides of the frame-roof, quickly covering the Sukkah and protecting it from the rain. Ingenious!

Yet even this was not the most impressive thing about the Sukkahs. What struck me most was that at JTS, outside of each Sukkah was an industrial-size fire extinguisher. That touch spoke of foresight, planning, and concern for health, safety, and municipal codes. It spoke to me of what it means to be a a good host, and a mensch. For all the Orthodox tzaddikim who will spend hundreds on their etrogim, and will build Sukkot with windows, space-heaters, and plumbing, it’s worth remembering that a fire extinguisher is no less a religious duty, and no less a fulfillment of our responsibilities towards God and towards one another than arba minim or eating in the Sukkah.

Are fire extinguishers incompatible with Orthodoxy? Of course not. But when your focus on improving your service to God is expressed through the halachic lens of hiddur, beautification, it is easy to lose sight of concerns that are far more basic, and which go neglected far too often.

Daniel Septimus comments:

We are all aware that when we turn to Jewish tradition for teachings that inspire us to work for social justice, we often turn a blind eye to texts that can inspire the opposite: religious paternalism, inequality, brutal forms of capital punishment, and yes, even race-based genocide.

But is this okay? Can we credibly cite Jewish teachings that encourage a better world when there exist parallel teachings that could lead to a worse one?

The comments were made in the context of writing for the America Jewish World Service Dvar Tzedek program, which publishes an ethics-based commentary on the parsha each week. He goes on to point out that although it is very easy to cherry-pick, especially in Sefer Devarim, those ideas that ore most consonant with our own ethics, those other ideas must be addressed.

Whether we condemn these texts or merely note their difficulty, they are our responsibility. If we ignore them and fail to forge communal opinions about them, we risk the possibility of them being resurrected and reclaimed.

Of course, it goes well beyond possibility. I have personally heard members of the settler movement claim that Palestinians are the modern-day Amalek, or more moderately, among the seven nations of Canaan who must similarly be exterminated. The ongoing issue of Agunot is another living example of this problem.

What is to be done? Rabbinic Judaism had a pretty good answer in the systematic evolution of halacha. The elimination of capital punishment, polygamy, and corporeal punishment, and the institutions of ketubah, heter iska, and prozbol addressed many problems in ethics and social justice. Unfortunately, our denominations today can’t seem to find that path. Orthodoxy has abandoned the notion of evolution of halacha in favor of a plainly falsifiable belief in static halacha; Reform have abandoned halacha altogether. In the words of Rabbi Eric Yoffie, president of the Union for Reform Judaism, “If you take it all upon yourself as an obligation rather than as a choice, you’ve reached the point at which you’re no longer a Reform Jew.” Taking it one step further, Reconstructionist Judasim simply denies God’s existence (let din v’leit dayan). As for the Conservatives, they are riven in at least twain (though in truth, the complexities of their divisions may indeed be a strength, as their new generation seeks to marry the most progressive ethical notions with the most traditional and restrictive Halachic norms). Right now, the movement could be fairly described as ish hayashar b’eynav ya’aseh - each person does as he sees fit.

What’s needed is a revival. Not a revival of Jewish culture or reconfiguration of Jewish conecpts a la the FrankenJews at Jewcy. Not a new commitment to Jewish texts and text study, which so often is agenda-driven. What’s needed is a revival of Yirat Shamayim - fear of God. Acceptance of the idea of Mitzvah-as-commandment, not as good deed, or even favor-to-the-Jewish-People, or even as a nourishing aspect of self-identification.

Today is the second day of Elul, a time for introspection, evaluation, repentance, and renewed commitment.  It is marked by shofar-blasts at shacharit, the morning prayers recited by probably no more than one-tenth of the Jewish population in the US. Hayitaka Shofar ba-ir V’ha’am lo yecherad (can a shofar be blown in a city, and it’s inhabitants not tremble?) (Amos 3:6). The question is asked rhetorically, but today, the shofar’s call is barely heard, much less heeded. I want to end today with the words of the captain of the ship that Jonah sailed upon to avoid his stern, commanding God’s decree :

ו  וַיִּקְרַב אֵלָיו רַב הַחֹבֵל, וַיֹּאמֶר לוֹ מַה-לְּךָ נִרְדָּם; קוּם, קְרָא אֶל-אֱלֹהֶיךָ–אוּלַי יִתְעַשֵּׁת הָאֱלֹהִים לָנוּ, וְלֹא נֹאבֵד.	6 So the shipmaster came to him, and said unto him: ‘What meanest thou that thou sleepest? arise, call upon thy God, if so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not.’

(Jonah 1:6) The Rambam tells us that the shofar calls to us to awaken from our slumber, and to return to God. Sometimes, as in Jonah’s case, that return is painful, and the task before us is unpleasant. It requires personal abnegation, not affirmation. We may be called upon to do that which we find distasteful, or even that which we are diametrically opposed to. But we cannot, and we should not flee it. Even in the depths of the sea Jonah did not find comfort, only a temporary escape. It’s time for us to make our accounting before God, to face the music, and acknowledge that there is a Law, and Judge who holds us to it.