Two weeks ago I posted a piece responding to some articles on patrilineality which provoked several excellent other blog posts and a lot of conversations. I deeply appreciate both the supportive and the critical responses, as a result of which I continue to examine and reexamine my approach to the matter.
Although after having done so, I remain convinced that the Conservative approach remains correct, halachicly speaking, I thought it might be interesting to present a sugiyah from the talmud in which the schools of Hillel and Shammai discuss a breach between them which could have led to their division from one another in a profound way, yet did not.
In the talmud Yevamot 14a (I’m using the Soncino translation) we read the response to a dispute involving who is permitted to marry whom. I’ve added comments in brackets to try to make it more understandable.
The talmud says,
Come and hear: THOUGH THESE FORBADE WHAT THE OTHERS PERMITTED … BEIT [The school of] SHAMMAI, NEVERTHELESS, DID NOT REFRAIN FROM MARRYING WOMEN FROM THE FAMILIES OF BEIT HILLEL, NOR DID BEIT HILLEL [REFRAIN FROM MARRYING WOMEN] FROM THE FAMILIES OF BEIT SHAMMAI. Now, if it be said that [Beit Hillel] did not act [in accordance with their own view] one can well understand why THEY DID NOT REFRAIN [from intermarrying with one another] [Because this would mean that they both acted according to the same principles, but one school did so while acting contrary to the principles that they held]. If, however, it be said that [Beit Shamai] did act [in accordance with their own view], why did they not refrain? That Beit Shammai did not refrain from marrying women from the families of Beth Hillel may well be justified because [the individuals in question] are the children of persons guilty only of the infringement of a [relatively minor prohibition, for which the punishment is also minor] but why did not Beit Hillel refrain from [marrying women from the families of] Beth Shammai [Because descendants from these marriages between rivals, which are permitted by Beit Shammai, are regarded by Beit Hillel as forbidden and involve a major penalty]? Such people, surely, being children of persons who are guilty of an offense involving karet, are illegitimate [this causes a major problem - how can one marry into the family of someone if their status might be someone you are prohibited to marry, and which carries a major penalty for doing so if it turns out to be the case]! And if it be suggested that Beit Hillel are of the opinion that the descendant of those who are guilty of an offence involving karet is not a [illegitimate], surely, [it may be retorted], Rabbi Eleazar said: Although Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel are in disagreement on the questions of rivals, they concede that an illegitimate is only he who is descended from a marriage which is forbidden as incest and punishable with karet! Does not this then conclusively prove that [Beit Shammai] did not act [in accordance with their own view]? — No; they acted, indeed, [in accordance with their own view], but they informed [Beit Hillel] [of the existence of any such cases] and [Beit Hillel] kept away.
So, we see that situations like these are not novel – we have always had a diversity of halachic opinions on matters that in their time were no doubt just as painful to those involved. Yet, in the end, the two schools continued to marry one another – their solution, according to the talmud, being that they made clear, out of respect for one another, who fell into or outside of their boundaries – but they remained one community, despite their differences.
On Yevamot 14b, the talmud concludes:
Come and hear: Although Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel are in disagreement on the
questions of rivals, sisters, an old bill of divorce, a doubtfully married woman, a woman whom her husband had divorced and who stayed with him over the night in an inn, money, valuables, a perutah and the value of a perutah, Beit Shammai did not, nevertheless, abstain from marrying women of the families of Beit Hillel, nor did Beit Hillel refrain from marrying those of Beit Shammai.
This is to teach you that they showed love and friendship towards one another, thus putting into practice the Scriptural text, “Love ye truth and peace.”
This soul work begins with the ancient Greek dictum, “know thyself”? Or, to put it more rabbinically, “know before whom you stand?” I ask myself: What am I afraid of? Deep down, what are my real hopes?
An investment of time and focus in anticipation of the holidays elevates the experience. Without the prep-work, is there any doubt that 5 hour services could be a drag? It’s like showing up to the Olympic marathon having not stretched, not worked out, and perhaps not having run in an entire year (or more). The results won’t be good.
I base my approach on practices of the Penn Resiliency Project, of Positive Psychology – this soul’s accounting tackles our fears and hopes for the coming year head-on and in a practical way. Here are the steps:
For each of the categories of your life (friends, relationships with each family member, work, personal health, etc.) do the following:
1) List 3 things that you are most afraid will happen in the coming year. (I encourage you to be honest with your fears – just get the realistic and unfounded flow out of you).
2) List 3 things that you deeply hope will happen in the coming year.
3) List 3 things that are most likely to happen this year.
You’ve just put pen to paper about your worries and your hopes as well as what is most realistically going to happen – Reality is most often found in that middle ground between worst and best.
Now, list steps to take:
A) For each of your fears listed, give yourself 3 simple steps to take to prevent the worst from happening.
B) For each of the things you hope will happen this year, give yourself 3 simple steps that would help make that happen.
Having the opportunity to be honest about our hopes and fears, and creating realistic steps about how to prevent or coax them along, has a tremendous empowering effect on our spiritual preparation for the New Year. It leads to greater joy and to greater optimism.
This week America commemorates the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, the massive event in 1963 that we so often reference when we recite selections of the iconic speech of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King. “I Have a Dream” became a trope for Americans who wrapped themselves in the eloquent words of this American hero, touting support for freedom and equality.
Yes, much progress has been made in legal freedoms and cultural consciousness regarding overt prejudice. It is far less socially acceptable (and absolutely spurned in many circles) to speak in racial slurs, and far more expected that we share schools, workplaces, and politics with our fellow black Americans. Yet, white Americans and black Americans have vastly divergent views of the problems of equality that still plague our country. Writing in the opinion pages of the New York Times (“Fifty Years Later,” 8/24/13) Charles Blow cited a Pew Research poll conducted earlier this month documented shocking differences in perception between whites and blacks concerning the most significant issues that concern the African American community. Blacks widely reported perceptions that there are serious challenges of equality in dealing with police, courts, workplace, stores/restaurants, schools, healthcare and voting, while whites largely reported their view that blacks are treated fairly. The disconnect is telling – many whites like to think that we did it – we fulfilled “the dream.” But, despite the obvious advances, the dream is far from realized.
This Wednesday we not only commemorate the March on Washington, we, as Jews, enter the last week of the month of Elul, the final month of the Jewish year. Elul is designated as the month of reflection, introspection, and preparation for the repentance of the Days of Awe, at the Jewish New Year. Our sages taught that in order to make our repentance complete, we must first acknowledge our sins of commission and omission, and seek to make amends with all those whom we have offended or harmed. Only then can we ask God for forgiveness and expect to be written in Book of Life for good.
We have sinned and we ask forgiveness for complacency. The work is not done; equality has not been achieved.
We have sinned and we ask forgiveness for prejudice and hatefulness. Simply not uttering hateful words is not enough – acting out of prejudicial beliefs, with unholy motivations is even worse.
We have sinned and we ask forgiveness for selfishness. As the income gap between “haves” and “have-nots” grows exponentially, the descendants of American slavery continue to struggle to catch up.
We have sinned and we ask forgiveness for failing to live up to our values and ideals. Social justice and equality have been transmitted from our most ancient roots – the Torah commands “Justice, Justice shall you pursue”, and still we avoid the work it takes to make a just and equitable society.
We have sinned and we ask forgiveness for continuing segregation – in our neighborhoods, social circles, work places and schools. Desegregation laws were one thing – integration is another.
We have sinned and we ask forgiveness for believing that we have fulfilled our obligation to righteous action by helping the needy in developing nations. At the same time, our inner cities and poor communities languish in poverty.
This year, we pray not only for forgiveness from these sins, but even more, for the wisdom, courage and generosity to work to advance “the dream” of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. May this Elul and this 50th anniversary signal a new era for our nation and for us, each more complete in righteousness.
First thing in the morning, I like to take a 3-block walk to the Grind Café and Gallery on Main Street at King Edward Avenue. Once I’m there, I like to sit near the window and watch Main Street before it’s fully woken up. There’s a little patch of sky I can see, right over Locus restaurant, and its color forecasts the day: blue or grey.
If I’m lucky, I get 15 quiet minutes to read and write and reflect and, sometimes, to cry. The Grind is a kind of chapel for me. It’s like a schule, a synagogue, because it’s a neighborhood, and it’s a microcosm, which means, literally, a little universe. And a lot of prayer happens there.
There’s the quiet man who comes every day with two parrots, one on each shoulder; the toddler who shrieks with delight at each passing truck; the Friday Or Shalom Men’s Torah study in the back; and the owners, Michelle and Jay, who make every customer feel welcomed and honored.
There is the older gentleman who used to sit outside with his very shy dog. When I didn’t see either of them for many months, I thought maybe the bad weather kept them home. Finally, one day the man came alone and I asked him, “How is your dog?” Tears exploded from his face, and all he could choke out was, “It was horrible.” And all I could say was, “You must really miss her.” Continue reading
Here is a radical proposal for the New Year, forget the guilt, instead, lean into what you love to become the best possible version of yourself.
The liturgy for the Jewish New Year has us taking a long hard look at all the mistakes we have made over the previous twelve months. Soul searching is good, but for the most part if we are honest we already know where our faults lie and if we were able to change them with ease, we would have already done so.
This is not to say that we should forgo striving to be our best selves. On the Jewish calendar, the month leading up to Rosh Hashana is called Elul in the Jewish calendar. One rabbinic interpretation of this name is that it is an acronym for the Hebrew Ani L’Dodi v’Dodi Li, I am for my beloved and my beloved is for me. A lovely romantic notion, the rabbis also take it to be a tribute to God’s love for us. It is not accidental that the month leading up to the New Year is one that takes love as a main theme. Love can be a powerful force for change, easier to embrace and more satisfying than guilt.
There are many ways to use love as a means of encouraging yourself to its best self. Love exists on many planes, elevating any one of them improves the world. Here are three concrete suggestions that focus on love of self, love in relationships, and love as an element of community.
Make a list of the things you love about yourself. The list should have no less than 5 significant things on it. Take time to think about each of these attributes, why do you love this about yourself? Generosity? Creativity? Silliness? Ambition? Consider how each of these qualities helps you be a positive presence in the world. Think back to a time in your life when those elements of your self were being fully expressed. Are you making the most of these gifts right now? Ask yourself what you might do expand the impact of that strength in the world. If you are struggling to make a list, then ask for help from those around you to do so.
Part of the process of preparing for the New Year is repairing relationships. While I believe that apologies are important, taking time to focus on what works in relationships is important as well. Set aside time with those with whom you are close. Tell them what you love and appreciate about them. Give them examples of how this strength inspires you, or affirms something about the world. The more concrete the better. Knowing they are appreciated and truly seen for who they are will help them start the year in a better place and will strengthen your relationship. If there is repairing to be done, spelling out the love first will set the stage for positive engagement.
What do you love to do? Lean into your talents to make a difference in the community around you. Volunteering can be about need but it can also be about sharing a passion and capacity. Play sports? Then offer to coach little league. Bake? Then bring cookies to firefighters, bread to shut ins. Sing? Take your talent to the local hospital. Sure any of this takes time, but if you volunteer to do what you love you will get a great bang for your buck. The parts of you that you love will have a chance to shine and your passion will inspire others. Studies show those who give feel great. The world will be a better place.
When love takes center stage, we poise ourselves for success. When we feel strong about ourselves we are more capable of hearing the criticism that will undoubtedly come. When we know we are loveable, loved and capable of sharing love then we can work toward making the New Year that Rosh Hashana ushers in, one of light, goodness and change.
The topic of patrilineal descent has been discussed recently by three fellow Rabbis Without Borders. I find myself agreeing with Rabbis Suskin, Greenberg and Gurevitz in part and disagreeing with each in part.
Rabbi Gurevitz is surely correct in that the Reform movement affirmed patrilineal descent “because it was the right thing to do” — for itself, in the context in which it operates and according to the principles that it holds dear. Yet Rabbis Greenberg and Suskin are also correct that this decision has at times caused difficulties for Orthodox and Conservative rabbis.
To be clear, no one in this discussion is challenging the right of a particular community to define its own practices and membership. Difficult conversations arise and difficult decisions have to be made because none of the movements in American Judaism exists in a vacuum. Rabbi Suskin and Rabbi Greenberg, Conservative and Orthodox rabbis, both note in their blog posts that they were raised in the Reform movement and are grateful for the experiences they had in that community when they were younger.
Rabbi Gurevitz is correct that the Reform movement’s acceptance of patrilineal descent was not the first and is not the only instance of complications and questions about Jewish status. Many Orthodox rabbis don’t accept conversions performed by more liberal Orthodox rabbis, let alone by non-Orthodox rabbis. And although we Conservative rabbis don’t go around advertising the fact, we don’t always or automatically accept every conversion done by colleagues to our left either. This in and of itself is not a problem. It becomes problematic only when “borders” are crossed — a Reform-raised patrilineal Jew seeks to have a Conservative rabbi officiate at her wedding, a young man whose mother had a Conservative conversation becomes involved in the Orthodox community at his college’s Hillel.
I started rabbinical school in 1982 so I still remember the hubbub in 1985 when Rabbi Irving Greenberg famously asked “Will There Be One Jewish People By The Year 2000”? The Year 2000 has come and gone, and the fact that we are even having this discussion proves in a way that we are still one people. Very few Jews are disturbed that they can’t take communion at a Catholic church. Precisely because the borders between Jewish communities are still porous, because Jews are raised in one community but wish to join another as adults, because neither Reform Jews nor Orthodox Jews consider a Reform/Orthodox wedding an “intermarriage,” we on occasion have unfortunate situations where problems or questions arise about Jewish identity. Whatever one may think about the original wisdom of the Reform movement’s decision to accept patrilinearity, that horse has long since left the barn and is not going back inside it. Any rabbi should be delighted when a young man or woman identifies as a Jew, seeks to participate in their community, wants to marry another Jew.
I would love to see all rabbis of whatever community make the following two commitments:
1.) We will explain, accurately and without contempt, the practices and standards of communities not our own. No one who is raised in any of our communities should be surprised to get to a college campus and find that there might be a question about their Jewish status in another community.
2.) When encountering a person who identifies as a Jew but doesn’t meet the standards for identity of our community, we will not tell them “you are not Jewish.” We will respect and acknowledge their self-identification as a Jew, embrace them as someone who shares our faith and fate, and seek to resolve these issues with compassion and empathy.
Wow. It has been quite a busy week here at the Rabbis Without Borders blog discussing patrilineal descent and its implications. Rabbi Alana Suskin got the conversation rolling with a personal reflection on some of the struggles she faces as a Conservative rabbi when addressing status issues (marriage, divorce, and especially conversion) because of Reform Judaism’s decision to accept as Jews those whose father is Jewish but mother is not.
Rabbi Ben Greenberg responded that the Reform Movement’s decision to adopt patrilineal descent as a legitimate means of establishing Jewish identity was a strategic mistake because Reform Judaism failed to take into account the toll this decision would take on relations with non-Reform Jewry since Reform Jews do not exist in a vacuum.
Most recently, Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz posted a response in which she affirmed patrilineal descent as the right thing to do based on an egalitarian ethos, as well as the practical argument that individuals who consider themselves to be Jews, regardless of their conversion status, generally don’t care what rabbis think about their status.
All 3 rabbis have written eloquently and passionately in defense of their positions. And all three have generated a plethora of strident responses, many of which were constructive, in the comments to their posts. It is precisely this passion that I wish to address here. While I am not normally a “meta” person, it does seem worth exploring why the question of who is a Jew generates such vociferous reactions? At a time when all Jewish denominations are striving to increase Jewish engagement and affiliation, why are we so fixated on, and argumentative about, whom we ought to exclude from Judaism?
This debate sometimes has reminded me of the nastiness of the Birther Movement. For those of you fortunate enough to have missed it, the “Movement” sought to disprove President Obama’s citizenship during the 2008 national election by spreading rumors and innuendo about whether he was actually born in Hawaii, and was later revived by Donald Trump during his fleeting candidacy in 2012. And I have a feeling that should Senator Ted Cruz, the Tea Party darling of the moment, decide to run for President in 2016, liberals might mount their own birther challenge to the Canadian-born Cruz. What’s the link? Both patrilineality and birther-ism implicate questions of eligibility of inclusion within what is deemed to be a privileged group identity. And both generate not just passionate but vitriolic responses by those who seek to defend their positions on either side of the inclusion divide. But why?
My humble suggestion is that the reason for such sensitivity to the issue of patrilineality, as it was for the birthers, is that we see ourselves as gate-keepers to a tradition where, for the first time since Sinai, anyone can get a key. As Rabbi Gurevitz points out at the end of her piece, all rabbis who work at synagogues are gate-keepers. From Reform to Orthodox, we all have our particular limits for who is in and who is out. Indeed, no denomination is so egalitarian that a person without a Jewish mother or father, who has not converted, is welcomed as a Jew (though, God-willing, such individuals will be welcomed and treated with the dignity we should accord all people). But our role as gate-keepers has been eviscerated in an era where Judaism, along with the world, is now flat.
The floodgates have opened and we are adrift, searching for a lifeboat of control that just isn’t there. We are powerless to prevent non-Jews from adopting Jewish rituals, as the “bar mitzvah” of Madonna’s son recently proved. What’s more, Rabbis and learned laity no longer hold a monopoly on Torah (however we define Torah) because anyone with wifi and an electronic device can gain access to virtually the entire corpus of biblical and Rabbinic literature. Perhaps the scariest realization, for those of us who are rabbis, is that It is becoming less and less clear why the world needs rabbis for the propagation of Judaism.
I won’t presume to speak for my colleagues, but for me, this paradigm shift is dizzying and disorienting As someone who enjoys the idea of broadening my borders, I often feel as though each time I “boldly” confront (and maybe even transcend) an halakhic, theological, or other border, some of the borders that remain quickly feel ossified and obsolete. It is like buying a Smartphone–the newest model, within a few months, simply becomes outdated.
So how do we handle this shift? Is there a way to address the meta issues without becoming embroiled in the contentious legal debate over who is a Jew? I certainly don’t have the answers (and I welcome your thoughts). But before we respond viscerally in our comments to the next post on patrilineality, I suggest that we start pointing the finger at ourselves, asking why it is that our feelings are so intense when it comes to questions of Jewish status.
This past week, two of my Rabbis Without Borders colleagues have shared their perspectives and struggles with the religious identities of individuals who have a Jewish father and not a Jewish mother, and who have been recognized as fully Jewish by the Reform movement in the USA. Rabbi Alana Suskin focuses on her personal challenges in working compassionately and appropriately with congregants while respecting the strictures of halachah as it has evolved on conversion and questions of who is a Jew. Rabbi Ben Greenberg takes a step back from the pastoral questions and considers the complications caused in a larger network of Jewish interactions across multiple institutional and movement-based systems that do not all work with a shared understanding of who is considered a Jew. I’d like to bring another framework to the discussion.
We rabbis are very good at explaining “the rules” of Judaism. Rabbinic Judaism was a law-based system, created to provide governance to communities that were locally based, once we no longer had a monarchy-based nation and a sacrificial system in Jerusalem. But while we rabbis may be well versed in the rules, we live in a time where, across all faiths, large swaths of the population are not interested in the “rules” of faith. They are interested in the meaning of faith.
Reform Judaism has made a conscious decision not to be a halakhic movement, in the traditional sense of the word. However, there are still principles that govern how we interact with Rabbinic tradition that help us navigate the path between tradition and change. These principles include equality, human dignity, a re-examination of ethical foundations, and more. Sometimes, it is true, there is also a degree of pragmatism – the religious leadership of the movement may not have been looking to make a change based on principles, but the recognition that change has happened in our society requires of us a decision as to whether we will make certain changes so as to continue to travel with our people in their life journeys. My sense of freedom to change in these ways comes from my understanding that Torah and Rabbinic Judaism are human constructions that are responses to God’s Revelation, but not the specific content of the Revelation itself.
Now, let me be clear. Does this mean that anything goes? No, absolutely not. Having specific ways to observe a ritual, celebrate a holiday, eat food, pray as a community, to respond after a death, etc. provides structure to the cultural signs and expressions of our faith. There is no question that such structure is necessary and also evokes a connection to a sense of shared heritage. For some people, the lack of simple clarity of what the ‘rules’ are, and the ever-shifting ground that is a result of re-conceptualizing Revelation as something that is continuous, is destabilizing and discomforting. But for others, it is incredibly freeing. I see that in the audible sigh of relief that comes from someone who has struggled with believing the literal surface of Torah but has new vistas opened when they are shown how to read it as sacred myth that provides gateways into the inner spiritual life of the individual and the community. And I see it when someone who has lived a Jewish life and claims that identity as meaningful to how they navigate life, where they feel they belong, and the community of which they choose to be a part, has that identity affirmed by their rabbi.
Patrilineal descent was affirmed by the Central Conference of American Rabbis because it was the right thing to do. It conforms with our principles of egalitarianism, and it is an expression of our understanding of kiruv – embracing and encouraging the living of Jewish lives in the context of Jewish community. Furthermore, as Rabbi Phillip Hiat and Rabbi Bernard Zlotowitz demonstrated in their 1983 paper, “Biblical and Rabbinical Sources on Patrilineal Descent”, a close examination of the evolution of halakhah on the issue of who is a Jew reveals changing tides over time and very little meaningful basis for continuing to only recognize the matrilineal line other than ‘that’s what we’ve been doing for a long time.’
But what of Rabbi Greenberg’s concern that, by acting alone, new complications have arisen for klal yisrael with regard to whether someone’s Jewish status is accepted or not? I believe that this is a red herring. The truth is that such questioning exists along a continuum that exists even within movements. Within the Orthodox branches of Judaism, only certain rabbis are recognized by the Orthodox rabbinate in Israel as performing accepted conversions. So yes, I agree with my colleagues that we have a responsibility to make our converts and our patrilineal Jews aware of the larger context, although I admit to doing so apologetically because I don’t find these explanations to make Judaism very appealing.
I wish to end by returning to the individuals whose lives and identities we are talking about. Here’s the bottom line. The reality is that if someone is observing Jewish practice, celebrating in Jewish time, identifying with the Jewish people, or perhaps doing none of these things but, when asked, makes a claim to be Jewish or “part Jewish” because of their ancestry, it is largely irrelevant to them whether you or I agree or approve. When it does become relevant is when they seek access to our institutions, and especially our synagogues. At that point, we rabbis become the gatekeepers. And we are entitled to abide by whatever formulation of what makes a Jew that we, or our larger denominations, decide. We all have our requirements. And we all have good reasons for those requirements that we can articulate to those seeking entry. But let us recognize that what we are doing is gate-keeping, and let us be mindful of how and when we act as gatekeepers and what our purpose in those moments is. And let us celebrate and be proud of sustaining and sharing a religious heritage that others wish to claim as their own and live by.
This week there has been much conversation online and offline on the Jewish status of people of patrilineal Jewish descent. My fellow Rabbis Without Borders alumna, Rabbi Alana Suskin, brought up the issue in an honest and compassionate article Wednesday that has garnered quite a lot of attention. I, too, have found this issue of status to be a vexing and complicated one.
Jewish denominations do not live in a vacuum. The actions of one movement can have profound impact on the collective Jewish community. Actions must be carefully weighed and considered. This is something that the broader Orthodox community refused to acknowledge for much of the early 20th-century American Jewish experience and is a mistake that I pray all movements from now on would seek to not repeat. Rabbi Shmuel Goldin, the immediate past President of the Rabbinical Council of America, in an eloquent, impassioned and moving speech to his Conservative colleagues at The Jewish Theological Seminary, stated it succinctly:
“The question before us is not simply whether we can learn to talk to each other—There is much more at stake. The real question is. “What role will we play, or not play, in shaping the story of the Jewish people at this critical juncture?” If we can’t get along, then we cannot make the kind of difference that we should.
I suppose that we could all react to this challenge in usual fashion, by blaming each other and saying, “Well, it’s really the fault of the Orthodox or the Conservative or the Reform.” After all, it’s always the ‘other’s’ fault. But the Torah teaches us otherwise, that, like the brothers, we are all at fault. If we allow this to go on, if we continue to move apart and do not find ways to act together, we will all be held culpable for the unfolding, potentially tragic fate of the American Jewish community.”
Rabbi Goldin urges us to see each other within the framework of brothers, as part of a global Jewish family that needs to work together. We can either all rise to the heights of incompetence together and bring severe havoc to our broad Jewish family or we can rise to the greatest of our potential, together, and usher in a new renaissance and flowering of Jewish life and vitality. That is our charge and our responsibility. The folks in the pews, and even more potently the folks who have long ago left the pews, are waiting for us to act maturely and cooperatively. If not now, when? If we wait too long, it may be very well too late.
It is within that backdrop that I approach the question of patrilineal descent. There are two strata of response to the question: 1. The responsibility of leadership and 2. The pastoral dimension. Both are important but it is important not to conflate them in a discussion of the issue.
Let me preface by saying that I have the utmost respect for my Reform colleagues. I grew up in the Reform movement and it is because of those formative years and the rabbis and educators that so profoundly impacted me that I became traditionally observant in my early teenage years and eventually an Orthodox rabbi. This is less to do with the individuals in the movement than the decisions movements as a whole make, in this case Reform, but in other cases other denominations.
The decision by the American Reform movement to adopt patrilineal status some thirty years ago was, in my opinion, a mistake. It was not primarily a mistake because of the outcome, that is actually the secondary issue, it was a mistake in process. Organizational experts and the best thinkers in community development have long taught that making decisions from a silo is not how to act strategically, it is how one acts tactically. It is a refusal to acknowledge the interconnectedness of movements, peoples and families; the weaving together that is the American Jewish story, and to act alone and unilaterally. It is to declare an austritt when the time has come for collaboration.
Marty Linsky, professor at the Kennedy School of Government and author of Leadership on the Line argues that leaders need to possess a “balcony perspective.” What is the big picture? Where do we want to head? How do we get there most successfully?
A balcony perspective would have shown that Reform Judaism does not exist on its own island and indeed no denomination is its own island. Reform Jews are married to Conservative Jews who are siblings with Orthodox Jews who are cousins with unaffiliated Jews. Reform Jews do not only mingle, socialize, date or marry other Reform Jews. The decision some thirty years ago was either predicated on the idea that all other movements will be coerced into going along or on the notion that Reform congregants will never need to run up against differing standards practiced by almost every other Jewish denomination and by Reform equivalent types of Judaism throughout the world. Both ideas were misguided and represented a failure of strategy.
In regards to the pastoral dimension, the situation must be handled with the greatest sensitivity and compassion. The standards of halakha as outlined by the Gemara, Rambam and the Shulchan Aruch must not be compromised in the pursuit of an expeditious conversion. Yet, nonetheless, a child of Jewish patrilineal lineage, must be respected greatly for their identification with the Jewish people, their love of Judaism and of Israel. I was inspired by a lecture by Rabbi Aryeh Klapper of the Center for Modern Torah Leadership several years ago where he insisted that people of patrilineal descent be referred to as Jews who need to rectify their status vies-a-vie Jewish law. In other words, to understand the modern dichotomy between Jewish affiliation and halakhic Jewish status, while upholding with full integrity the halakha and the legal process.
It is my hope that Jewish professional and lay leaders learn from the experience of patrilineal descent and come to do things better: to be more cooperative, more collaborative, to work strategically, to think from a balcony perspective. Unfortunately, examples like this exist in every movement and represent moments to grow from not just for the movement highlighted but for all of us. The time has come to envision ourselves, in the words of Rabbi Goldin, as brothers and to act as a family that seeks to live together in harmony and co-existence. Rabbis Without Borders represents a powerful model in that direction and, G-d willing, we will soon see it become the dominant paradigm of doing business in the Jewish community. We will all be better for it.
This morning my wife and I drove our youngest daughter to the airport as she left for a year of study in Israel to be followed by university study in New York. I think we are now official empty-nesters as our older daughters have established residences of their own. While you never cease being a parent (or a child for that matter), this does usher in a new time in our lives with the usual challenges, but we are both looking forward to this next period.
But what does it mean the nest is empty? We are in constant communication with our children through cell phones and other electronic means. The nest may be physically empty but access to it exists in the digital world. Is there a Jewish lens I can use at this moment to make sense of this experience?
I am going to quote 2 verses and the somewhat long (at least for a blog post) commentary of Rashi. It is worthwhile to study the texts first and only then read my thoughts on them.
1. Genesis 1:2
Now the earth was astonishingly empty, and darkness was on the face of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the face of the water.
and the spirit of God was hovering: The Throne of Glory was suspended in the air and hovered over the face of the water with the breath of the mouth of the Holy One, blessed be He and with His word, like a dove, which hovers over the nest.
2. Deuteronomy 32:11
As an eagle awakens its nest, hovering over its fledglings, it spreads its wings, taking them and carrying them on its pinions.
As an eagle awakens its nest: He guided them [Israel] with mercy and compassion like an eagle, which is merciful towards its own fledglings and does not enter its nest suddenly. [Rather,] it beats and flaps its wings above its young between one tree and another, between one branch and another, in order that its young should awaken and have the strength to receive it.
hovering over its fledglings: [The eagle] does not impose its [whole] body upon them. Rather, it hovers above them, touching them and yet not quite touching them. So too, is the Holy One, Blessed is He. [As in the verse:] “We did not find the Almighty great in power” (Job 37:23). When He came to give the Torah to Israel, He did not reveal Himself to them from one direction [thus concentrating His power at one point, as it were], but rather, from four directions, as Scripture states, “The Lord came from Sinai, and shone forth from Seir to them, and appeared from Mount Paran” (Deut. 33:2). [This accounts for three directions.] The fourth direction is referred to in [the verse], “God comes from Teman” (Hab. 3:3). – [Sifrei 32:11]
spreading its wings, taking them: When it [the eagle] comes to move [its fledglings] from place to place, it does not pick them up with its feet, as do other birds. Other birds are afraid of the eagle, which soars very high and flies above them. For this reason, it [the other bird] carries them with its feet because of the eagle [above them]. The eagle, however, is afraid only of an arrow. Therefore, it carries its young on its wings, saying, “It is better that an arrow pierce me, rather than pierce my young.” So too, the Holy One, Blessed is He, [says]: “I carried you on eagles’ wings” (Exod. 19:4). [I.e.,] when the Egyptians pursued [the children of Israel] and overtook them at the [Red] Sea, they cast arrows and catapulted rocks [at Israel]. Immediately, “The angel of God moved… [behind them… and the pillar of cloud] came between the camp of Egypt [and the camp of Israel]” (Exod. 14:19-20) [for Israel’s protection]. — [Mechilta 19:4]
The Hebrew word for hovering, which Rashi sees as associated with the image of a mother bird hovering over her nest, is used twice in the Torah. Rashi appears to have taken the nest image from Deuteronomy and used it in Genesis, although the bird shifts from an eagle in Deuteronomy to a dove in Genesis. God hovers over the world just before creation and God hovers over the Jewish people. Rashi’s image in Deuteronomy of the eagle hovering: “touching them yet not quite touching them”, is a striking description of God’s paradoxical relationship and presence with Israel and the world.
But in the context of Deuteronomy 32, this description only applies in the desert wanderings of the people before they cross over into Israel. Once Israel leaves the nest of the desert, the pillar of cloud will cease and Israel will have to make choices without the guarantee of God’s protection. For the rest of Deuteronomy 32, these will be most unfortunate choices.
The image of the empty nest is then this capacity to choose. We hope and want our children to make the right choices. Yet, I would suggest that according to Rashi we do not have to lose the experience of the nest entirely. It is always recoverable, even if the protective, almost miraculous elements of it are no longer accessible.
The image of the eagle hovering over its young is the image of Sinai. God’s presence in Torah is the moment of “touching them yet not quite touching them”. We can always return to Sinai textually. The miracles of the desert may no longer happen, but the call of Sinai remains. The nest beckons both parents and children to pursue this relationship of “touching them yet not quite touching them” to God and each other.