Is anti-Semitism like pornography? Do we know it when we see it? Absurd on the one hand, this analogy helps me make sense of my frustration with the recent quietude of some liberal Christians. Let me explain.
The idea that we know pornography when we see it is deceptive in simplicity. It suggests that there is one standard for pornography upon which we can agree. If this was the case there would have been no need for the Supreme Court of the United States to have heard Jacobellis v. Ohio to decide if the movie The Lovers was pornographic, which gave rise to the famous quote by Justice Potter Stewart. In reality, the line between art and exploitation is not fixed and does shift with the sensibilities of the viewer. And it is in this respect, that I see the similarity between anti-Semitism and pornography.
So I understand how liberal Christian groups like the United Church of Canada and the Presbyterian Church of the United States and I differed in our understanding of their denominational condemnations in recent years of the policies of the Israeli government. To be clear, I do not endorse the occupation; I favor a two state solution and disagree with many of the specific policies of the Israeli government. Nonetheless, I could not shake my sense the resolutions and public condemnations by liberal Christians of Israel but not of other oppressive governments such as that of China, Iran, or Russia was tinged with an element of anti-Semitism, the expectation that a Jewish State be held to a higher standard. Overlapping with liberal Christians on many political and theological fronts, I nonetheless feel that historic legacy of Christian anti-Semitism places upon them a special responsibility to consider how they approach modern Jews and Judaism. Calling out Israel as a unique oppressor of human rights cannot in my mind be separated from historic anti-Semitism. But my liberal Christian friends and colleagues were quick to defend their denominational policies and assure me that no anti-Semitic overtones tinged their these movement policies. Publically these denominations asserted that there was no condemnation of Judaism or special singling out of Jews. Where I saw anti-Semitism, they assuredly did not. They would know anti-Semitism if they saw it. Had they seen anti-Semitism, they would have certainly acted differently.
I wish I could be sure.
In recent weeks, since the fighting between Hamas and Israel has intensified, there has been a range of reactions to the conflict. But there have also been reactions, which while correlated with the conflict, seem to overstep its boundaries. Synagogues across Europe have been attacked. Flyers blaming all Jews for the war have been distributed in the United States. Calls for “death to the Jews” have been heard at rallies in Berlin, Amsterdam and Paris. Hashtags like “hitlerwasright” have been attached to support for the Palestinians. Writing recently for Reuters, John Lloyd, pointed out that Jews are unique in becoming targets for disapproval of the actions of a foreign governments. “We should mark how unique this is. There’s a very large, and often very rich, Russian community in London — and there are no attacks on Russians or their mansions, restaurants or churches because of the Russian seizure of Crimea and sponsorship of uprisings in eastern Ukraine.” Similarly, we have not stopped eating in Chinese restaurants because the Chinese government occupies Tibet. Jews, however, seem to be fair game. While we might disagree about how to understand the situation in the Middle East, surely liberal Christians would have no difficulty in seeing these attacks on Jews outside of Israel who are not Israeli as anti-Semitism.
And yet there has been no broad scale condemnation. There have been no circles of solidarity created around Jewish centers by Christians to stand physical guard against anti-Semitism. Liberal Christian groups have not flooded social media with calls for civility in interactions with Jews living outside of Israel. There have been no official letters of support or condemnation of firebombings and personal attacks.
This silence and lack of action undercuts Church claims to hate the occupation just as much as they hate anti-Semitism. I am left to wonder what kind of anti-Jewish action would have to take place before it might be viewed as anti-Semitism and worthy of response. Anti-Semitism is no small charge. It is one that I am loath to trot out. My own personal experience with anti-Semitism has been limited to a few uncomfortable playground incidents when I was a child and the odd off hand remark in my adult life. Working in the field of inclusion and diversity, I have long seen those kinds of incidents as part of the complex residue of unfamiliarity that often fosters distrust of the “other.” But there is a line between misunderstanding/misinformation and outright hatred/brutality. There is no question in my mind that the recent events in Europe and in France in particular are the latter. And the deafening silence from Christians in the face of overt anti-Semitism is in and of itself a form of action and complicit endorsement. It is time that Church groups, who have attempted to distinguish between condemnation of Israel and anti-Semitism, to show moral leadership and take a stand against this current wave of anti-Semitism.
“We are not a country that should turn children away and send them back to certain death,” -Maryland Governor, Martin O’Malley.
I’m proud of the stance taken by the governor of my state. The plight of young children coming into the US, fleeing persecution is one we can relate to. The Jewish tradition has reminded us for millennia, that the land is not ours free of charge, but rather that it is God’s, to distribute to whom God will, and that our souls are weighed by the way we remember our privilege, and to what extent we share it.
The Talmud teaches, “The men of Sodom waxed haughty only on account of the good which the Holy One, blessed be He, had lavished upon them. …. They said: Since there cometh forth bread out of [our] earth, and it hath the dust of gold, why should we suffer wayfarers, who come to us only to deplete our wealth. Come, let us abolish refuse to allow strangers to come to our land, as it is written, The flood breaketh out from the inhabitants, they are forgotten of the foot; they are dried up, they are gone away from men.(Job 28:4) (Sanhedrin 109a)”
But it seems that in every generation, we had need of a reminder: a story is told of the Gaon of Vilna, who sat with voice but no vote on the Council of the Jews of Vilna. His task was to comment from a Torah perspective on new legislation proposed before the Council. When there was no such new legislation, he did not take part in the meeting.
One day a member of the Council put forward a proposal for ending or greatly reducing the influx of Jews from poorer regions into Vilna, where they hoped for a better life. The Gaon rose to leave the meeting. “But Rabbi,” said a Council member, “we need your comment on this proposed new legislation!” “What new legislation?” said the Gaon. “This was already the law of Sodom, long ago!” And he left. The proposal was dropped.
As of yesterday, Monday July 28th, we Jews have begun “The Nine Days.”
You may not know what I’m talking about, and if you don’t, part of me is glad about that. Let me explain my hesitancy.
The secular date July 28th doesn’t mean anything specifically Jewish, unless of course you are talking about July 28th 1998, the day which the Cleveland Jewish News recalls as the day “Monica Lewinsky receives transactional immunity so that she can testify against President Clinton”—Jewish milestone indeed!!
“July 28th” is actually a Gregorian date. So really, how secular is it? But, that’s an issue for another time.
On the lunar-with-idiosyncratic-solar- modifications calendar, which is more often referred to as “The Jewish Calendar”, yesterday was not July 28th, but the first day of the month of Av. The ninth day of the month of Av, in Hebrew Tisha B’Av, is what my father calls “the day of destrrrrrrrruction.” After almost 50 years in America his English is impeccably clear, but you can tell when he is translating from Hebrew to English in his head when his R’s get elongated.
The Ninth of Av is indeed the day of destrrrrrruction. The day recalls the destruction of the First Temple, the Second Temple, the defeat by the Romans of our short lived Bar Kokhba rebellion, the 1290 Expulsion from England, as well as the end the expulsion from Spain in 1492. It’s a pretty crappy day (click here for observances for Tisha B’Av).
During the nine days, from the 1st of Av to the 9th, there is a sense of gloom and doom, which, during this time of war between Israel and Hamas is easy. Traditionally, during these nine days one does not see movies, go swimming, celebrate anything (except a Brit Milah, but even then the celebration is traditionally muted), eat meat, drink wine, or even launder cloths (9th of Av rituals).
My hesitancy in pointing out The Nine Days for those who don’t already know about them already is ultimately this: One sad day is enough. Our sages teach that all these terrible things happened on the same day so that our calendar would not be cluttered with sadness—so why extend centuries old grief? It is my contention that our troubles are numerous enough that we don’t need to extend ancient grief beyond the singular date of Tisha B’av.
But this year The Nine Days are different. Israel is at war. There are Israeli casualties to mourn and innocent, non-terrorist Palestinians to mourn as well. These are indeed “days of destrrrruction.” For Jews who, like me, do not usually observe The Nine Days, perhaps this year we should.
If you do not ordinarily observe The Nine Days, or, if the concept is entirely new to you, consider forgoing some everyday comfort you enjoy as an act of solidarity with those who are mourning personal loss because of war.
Give up one personal comfort every day, not including Shabbat, from today until the 9th of Av as an expression of your heart’s desire to reach out in consolation, comfort, and support (This year, the 9th of Av falls on Monday, August 4th at sundown).
A week after coming home from a month in Israel, my soul remains immersed there. The tension in Israel, charged with fear and worry, can become like a cloak around your shoulders, enveloping you.
After arranging to come home a day earlier than planned, I was lucky to catch one of the last flights out before the temporary shut-down. Some colleagues were significantly delayed—one more stress added to the anxious experience of living in the midst rocket fire. But still, it was nothing compared with the suffering of Israelis living under constant fire in the South, or those whose loved ones were sent to fight in and near Gaza.
When I called the airline to change my ticket, I had a passing and ridiculous superstitious thought—what if I made a decision that put me in harm’s way? In a crisis, especially in the psychological warfare of rocket fire, irrational thoughts happen. I got a grip, emerging with still more sympathy for all the folks living under fire.
But something else remained with me. The airline agent, hearing that I was in Israel, said, “I’d high-tail it out of there right away.” After thanking her for her sympathy, I became protectively defensive of Israel, insisting it was no problem to stay there. My changed plans shouldn’t reflect on Israel, Israelis, or on my personal commitment to being there in support.
With kindness, she replied, “OK, well, keep the faith. No charge for the changed itinerary—after all, you’re in a war zone.” My reaction caught in my throat while I pondered “keeping the faith.” What does that mean in this situation?
We all know the aphorism “there are no atheists in foxholes,” but it’s not so simple. In Israel I heard that an ultra-Orthodox rabbi had told his followers that the IDF didn’t need to defend Israel—if everyone prayed, God would do the work. I was sickened. Didn’t he read the many rabbinic statements about human responsibility in partnership with God in completing the work of creation? Or the ethics taught by our Biblical prophets, often recited in synagogue as haftarah? Our tradition teaches us to repair the world on God’s behalf; empowering us to fight hatred, evil, cruelty, injustice and violence. We have all the tools we need to bring caring, compassion and healing to our world.
I was glad to have been blessed by that airline agent, even though I am guessing my approach to “keeping the faith” isn’t what she meant. It doesn’t matter. When the world feels out of control, there is a very real way to regain agency. Coping with crisis by “keeping the faith” isn’t irrational, superstitious or magical thinking. It’s a way of being, rooted in meaning, transformative and completely empowering.
My husband does not do birthdays. When I first met him over 20 years ago, this truly puzzled me. Birthdays were simply not a big deal and when I pressed for a reason he fell back on tradition, reminding me that Jews don’t believe in birthdays. Personally, I think his lack of birthday enthusiasm is related to his late August birthday falling on the seam between the school year blowout and the camp hoopla, and being resigned to it never being that huge celebration. But he is not so wrong. Birthdays are not a big deal in Jewish tradition.
Think about it. Given the Jewish propensity for celebration and ritual there is a notable lack of birthday celebration. Judaism pays particularly close attention to the anniversary of the day someone dies, the Yahrzeit by saying prayer, lighting candles and remembering the good done during a life. The quiet around birthdays, derives in part from the association of celebration of births as a non-Jewish practice. The only birthday mentioned in the Bible is that of Pharaoh. In the Mishnah the only celebration of birthdays comes in connection to that of pagan rulers. Rabbi Louis Jacobs explains “…in ancient times, Jews saw a birthday as a gloomy reminder that life is drawing closer to its end; a day for solemn reflection and repentance rather than festivity.” But by the time of the Talmud, there was a budding appreciation for the birthday, owing to the idea that famous rabbis birthdays overlapped with the day when another rabbi passed away so that the aggregate Torah knowledge was maintained.
Birthdays may be a less emphasized in Judaism but I’m not buying my husband’s approach. Like most Jews, I love a good birthday celebration and in fact the lack of religious ritual allows for creativity without obligation when it comes to the day!
But with the state of affairs in the Middle East, with so many lives cut short and no clear end to the violence in view, joyful abandon just does not feel like the right approach as we near his birthday.
Instead we have decided to focus on one of his passions, one that puts the power of saving lives in the hands of ordinary people, donating blood. Since he was 17, he has donated over 90 times. He is hoping that in his lifetime he will reach 180 donations. And I hope to honor David Abusch-Magder (also known as Dr. D) by encouraging others to make a donation. Wherever you live, whether you know him or not, we want to encourage you to donate. He won’t derive any direct benefit from what we are calling “a virtual blood drive,” but many others will. Can’t donate? Then encourage others to do so. The summer months are slow giving times. Those of us who are able should take an hour out of our busy lives or vacation time and take this important step.
Let us know if you donate any time in the next six weeks. We have put together a simple form to fill out. We will collect all the names and are taking suggestions on how to celebrate those who are able to give.
Jews may differ on celebrating birthdays but we can all agree on saving lives.
Jon Stewart, in his July 21 episode of The Daily Show, viscerally demonstrated what many of us, I am sure, are experiencing on our Facebook feeds and our email inbox when it comes to postings on Israel and Gaza. Take a look at his attempt to talk about Israel.
At the same time as I support Israel’s right to defend itself in a war with Hamas 100%, I do believe there is room for respectful and thoughtful analysis of the broader context as we try to understand why we have arrived at this moment, and what might lie ahead. There are those who are uncomfortable with that conversation, because they don’t think it’s the right time to raise anything that might be critical of Israel’s choices and policies, but it’s not really possible to have the conversation if we’re not willing to look at those choices. I don’t think that’s helpful. I don’t think we need to silence opinion and conversation, but I also don’t believe that this broader conversation about the peace process can be applied to the specific battle at hand today. Whatever both sides may have done or failed to do in the past, today’s battle, if you identify with the fate of the Jewish people and the Jewish State of Israel, is about Israel defending its citizens from indiscriminate attack, and nothing about the larger context of the peace process will shake my certainty that they must do what must be done to achieve that goal.
Among Jews, there are a wide spectrum of opinions and feelings about what is happening in Israel and Gaza right now. But on certain issues I would hope we would substantially find agreement:
1) Hamas is a terrorist organization. It has stated publicly that it seeks to cause harm to its own people as a way of furthering international condemnation of Israel. To that end, it operates from mosques, schools, and in the midst of heavily populated areas. What it is doing from these locations is firing rockets indiscriminately on the civilian population of Israel.
2) No nation state in the world would tolerate for one moment this kind of bombardment. Israel is completely within its rights to do whatever it takes to protect its citizens. When the safety of your citizens and the stability of your country is at stake, you do whatever it takes. Those who speak of a larger context or the suffering of the Gazan people are conflating issues that should not be conflated. We can still talk about the larger question of what is or is not happening with the peace process, and where Israel bears responsibility for poor judgment along the way along with poor choices on the part of the Palestinians. But none of that mitigates Israel’s right to do whatever it takes to protect its citizens when they are being indiscriminately fired upon. That is an act of war, and Hamas has chosen to declare war on Israel. And if you were living in Israel right now, you would not expect anything less of your government.
3) Even while defending Israel’s right and need to take the actions it is taking, as human beings we can still have compassion for all who are suffering through this war. When Gazan civilians die in the midst of the battle, we should cry for the loss of lives. When children in southern Israel have PTSD because they have now lived through years of having seconds to run for cover when the sirens sound, we should have compassion. When Israeli extremists murder a Palestinian teenager we should be disgusted and bring them to justice (as Israel is). And when young Israeli adults are serving their country in the IDF and will be called upon to do difficult things that will lead to the loss of lives, we should think about the impact that war has on all who have to fight it. There are no easy choices.
When it comes to thinking about and talking about Israel, I’m sure that many of you, like me, have been listening to the news and reading many online articles about the situation. Some information is helpful, some inaccurate. Some are naïve, some are antagonistic. Some draw lines of connection that are helpful and some are profoundly misleading.
We all have a tendency to read more from those who already think like us. So how do we navigate our way through the quagmire of information? One might try to distinguish between what is descriptive and what is opinion. But this isn’t always useful. We might hear a news report that begins by telling us how many Gazans died today and how many times Israel fired on Gaza. That is descriptive. But if only as an afterthought is it mentioned, in passing, that Israel did so in response to the several hundred rockets fired by Hamas at their civilian populations, then the information is not being communicated accurately. When Israel is criticized because more Gazans were killed or injured today than Israelis, that is simply a preposterous way to judge and evaluate what is happening and what Israel needs to do to protect its citizens in this war. Approximately 7 million Germans died in WWII and 420,000 Americans died. Was America guilty of a disproportionate response to Hitler? Where opinions clash, it is often not about the facts on the ground per se, but about the framing of these facts, where there are enormous differences in perspective.
And then, when we try to expand the conversation to understand this recent flare up in war with Hamas in the larger context of the long-term lack of a peaceful two-state solution, what we have are many pieces of a puzzle, and they don’t all fit neatly together. So we can talk about the need for a settlement freeze and other choices that Israel could make to better lay the groundwork for a different kind of way of thinking about the Palestinian question. And we can talk about it, as many Israelis already do, independent of an all-inclusive final peace settlement. But if we’re going to talk about those things, we also have to talk about the choices that Hamas has made to take 10 years of potential economic development in Gaza and pour those resources into weapons and tunnels designed to kill Israelis. When we talk about Israel’s policies and choices, we cannot do so in a vacuum that excludes the context of Palestinian policies and choices.
Part of what makes this so complex are the narratives that each side tell about the other; narratives that are often deeply flawed. I’ve often argued for the need to listen carefully to the Palestinian narrative; not because we are required to agree with their framing of their plight, but because we cannot understand what they are doing or why when Israel seems to make a step in the right direction (like withdrawing from Gaza) they are rewarded with terror attacks. It’s not so easy to change someone else’s narrative. So, for example, Hamas will often make reference to the success that the Algerians had in making the French leave. They hold that story up as a model for themselves; make life so intolerable for an invading colonial power that eventually they will leave. But the problem is that, as much as Palestinians define Israel as a Western colonial insertion in their land, that is not what Israel is, and is most certainly not how Israel understands itself. The people of Israel don’t have a “France” to go back to.
And so, when Hamas ramps up the terrorism, Israelis who will not be terrorized out of their homes will fight back with all they’ve got. On the other hand, if we listen to Bibi Netanyahu and observe his policy of continually increasing the breadth of settlement activity, it would appear that he and many others operate with a narrative that thinks that if Israel just continues to establish itself and build itself up, the Palestinians will eventually just give up and move to one of the surrounding Arab countries, or accept a minority status in a Jewish state. Given the Palestinian narrative in which they see the creation of the State of Israel as having denied them their sovereign rights in their own homes and villages, that is a naïve and foolish policy to pursue.
But it gets more complicated. As Jews, we often focus on Israel’s choices and policies. Those on the right support the Netanyahu narrative. Those on the left want to change the narrative to one that could open the pathway to peace. But… that pathway doesn’t exist if only one side changes their narrative. While Hamas continues to operate out of its narrative, then peace simply cannot be—they will not let it be. I’m not sure, but I think Mahmoud Abbas might wish to change the Palestinian narrative, but it is challenging for him to do so without great danger from fundamentalists on his right. Perhaps that is why he is being quiet during this Gaza war. Perhaps he understands that nothing will ultimately change until Hamas is taken out of the equation. Israel understands this too.
In the meantime, let us pray that this war can come to an end soon. Let us pray for the safety of civilians everywhere. Let us pray for Israel’s soldiers, and let us pray for safety of Jews around the world—Jews in Turkey, Jews in France, and elsewhere where anti-Semitic and anti-Israel attacks have already taken place. And let’s talk with one another; reach out to those with family in Israel, respectfully share thoughts and opinions about the larger issues, stand up for human rights when they are violated, and stand up for Israel when she acts to defend herself.
The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.
A version of this article was delivered as my Shabbat sermon on Friday, July 18th. The original sermon can be viewed on the archive of our livestream (sermon begins at approx. the 40 min mark).
I used to think that there were two different mindsets when it came to living Jewishly: the experience of those living in Israel and the experience of those, like myself, living in the Diaspora. But the virulence of anti-Semitism that has erupted over the past few few weeks in response to the Israel-Gaza conflict, as I will describe below, has shaken this paradigm in my mind. And it has caused me to think about a brand new question: What does it mean to be a Jewish-American at a time when Israel is strong and secure but when fellow Jews in other parts of the world are being persecuted for being Jewish?
The response in many parts of the world to the latest outbreak of Israel-Gaza violence has been nothing short of stunning. In Turkey, a columnist from a leading pro-government paper wrote a letter to the Chief Rabbi of Turkey in which he said it was not a bad thing for Jews to be killed just for being Jews and that those who “come out with your Jewish identity” and support Israel deserve “an eye for an eye approach.” Paris has broken out in spates of anti-Jewish violence that are eerily reminiscent of Kristallnacht, with pro-Palestinian mobs targeting Jewish shops, lighting smoke bombs, and throwing stones and bottles at riot police. Nine synagogues have been attacked in France since Israel launched Operation Protective Edge, prompting a resurgence in the vigilance of Jewish Defense Leagues there. A leader of Germany’s Jewish community said some of the German demonstrators have shown an “explosion of evil and violence-prone hatred of Jews.”
In fact, things have gotten so bad in Europe that the foreign ministers of Germany, France and Italy on Tuesday condemned the rise in anti-Semitic protests and violence in their countries over the conflict in Gaza, saying they will do everything possible to combat it. By castigating native Jewish populations in the press merely for being Jewish; by rioting, pillaging synagogues, and shouting anti-Semitic screeds, those who, before, claimed that being anti-Israel was distinguishable from being anti-Semitic now have removed their facades. The degree of anti-Semitic hate in the world recently reported by the Anti Defamation League (they found that more than 25% of those surveyed harbor deeply anti-Semitic attitudes) is, tragically, being confirmed in real time through actual—not to mention social—media.
Yet here I sit, in the U.S., and I don’t feel any of this animus. To be sure, there are episodic bouts of anti-Semitism here, such as the tragic shooting at the Kansas City JCC a few months ago, but I never have felt an existential threat to myself, my family, or my community merely for being Jewish. To the contrary, as has been assessed ad naseum, 94% of U.S. Jews feel proud to be Jewish. And, a more recent Pew study found that Judaism is more accepted than Catholicism, Evangelical Protestantism, or any other faith in America. Not only are Jews thriving in America, but we also live in a country whose political elite strongly endorse Israel. Unlike the criticism and acrimony in Europe and the Middle East, the House and the Senate both passed unanimous resolutions supporting Israel in its response to Operation Protective Edge.
How, then, should I reconcile the psychological dissonance of my own security in my Jewish identity at a time when fellow Jews are being threatened for holding to that same identity? Obviously, empathy and support for our beleaguered brothers and sisters, through the Joint Distribution Committee, the Jewish Federations of North America, and other major organizations, are important. So, too, is vigilance in showing the world when anti-Israel attitudes really are anti-Semitic. But there is more soul-searching I feel I need to do, more theological and philosophical struggle to try to come to grips with what it actually means to be a Jew today in light of this reality. I encourage you to send me your thoughts on how you have dealt with this struggle, and I pray that peace will soon return to our Holy Land.
The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.
Our 21 year old daughter has invited her parents to The Intention Gathering, a “self-sustaining, all-ages, ethnically diverse superfragilistic-art-dance-creative community.”
We have absolutely no idea what that means.
But we are delighted to spend three days away from leadership in our Jewish community, three days of play without work, three days of anonymity. We pack camping gear appropriate to three days of summer rainforest weather. Without any clear mental image of our destination, we ride the ferry to British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast.
A short drive in our battered van brings us to a makeshift registration tent in a meadow at the foot of a wooded hill. Volunteers welcome us warmly, but no one seems to know exactly where we can park or pitch our tent. Still, we manage to unload. We set up our tent in a gorgeous wooded spot between a waterfall and a line of fellow campers. Then we join 150 friendly strangers, age 2-70, in the meadow for a communal dinner cooked by volunteers.
At opening circle, volunteers welcome us, waving smoke from aromatic sage smoldering in oyster shells. The circle’s leader invokes qualities of the four directions. Accompanied by drummers, we walk two by two to the main activity area, pausing at four lovingly hand-decorated outdoor altars, evoking earth, air, fire, and water. Everyone holds hands as announcements are made about respectful behavior, responsibility towards children, sharing of water resources, and jobs that still need volunteers.
Then the electronic dance music, broadcast from a covered DJ stage, begins: techno, trance, dub step, and more. We—two middle-aged parents—dance a while on the grassy outdoor dance floor, then go to bed. Zipped into our tent, we listen to the sounds. Here we are, camping in a magnificent forest, but instead of water and nocturnal insects, we hear far-off psychedelic music. We laugh ourselves to sleep.
Morning gives us a clearer sense of the gathering. We realize that we are witnessing, firsthand, a gathering of people unaffiliated with religious organizations who actively seek transcendence, spiritual growth, and community. So I start interviewing people about why they participate in this gathering. A handful of answers comes up over and over again.
“Community.” “Co-creating something from scratch.” “I got tired of raves and wanted a place where I could dance all night drug-free.” “You can just be yourself here.”
And, in a way, you can just be yourself. Dress is funky: bright colors, ruffled skirts and leggings on men and women alike, animal hats, all-day-pajamas, costumes. Conversation is easy: people talk freely about where they live, how they work, why they came. The atmosphere is fluid: nothing is quite on schedule, hula hoops and giant bubbles are always available, everyone plays with the children, and anyone might start dancing at any moment to the music that blares most of the day.
Workshops, however, are serious explorations of community, creativity and self. The “Rainforest Walk” workshop is an education in ethno-botany and habitat preservation, led by two scientists. “Breathwork” is an opportunity for release of tension, led by two experienced bodyworkers with a strong psychological grounding. “Empathy and Vulnerability” is an invitation to public speaking and performance, co-led by an acting coach and an executive coach.
Nighttime is less structured. We work a shift at the peer support tent. We sit at a shadowy picnic table discussing Plato’s Republic with a new young friend. Around the firepit, we discuss gender, sexuality and neurobiology with other new friends. We move to the dance floor, laughing and playing with other dancers.
By the third day, we—my spouse and I—really are ready to be our whole selves. We talk freely about our professional work in religion and psychology, about the Jewish , about our social and political ideals.
One woman hears us singing Hebrew songs in the forest. She approaches us, explaining that she has drifted away from her Jewish upbringing. She is surprised and delighted to learn that our synagogue, Or Shalom, is both liberal and spiritual.
Another woman, missing 3G access to the news, tells us that she worries every day about Israel and Palestine. Relieved to learn that we do too, she cries.
One man, a labor union activist, says he heard vaguely about a radical socialist Jewish movement whose young adults work in both Israel and Canada; do we know how he can connect? We refer him to our daughter, a former Habonim-Dror camp counselor.
A woman speaks about Shabbat with great joy, but tells me that she left her synagogue a decade ago over its marginalization of gay and lesbian participants. I tell her about the many Jewish groups that do active LGBTQ outreach and she is encouraged.
So much for our three days away from Jewish leadership, work and our everyday identities. Our mental image of the trip, unclear as it was, did not include Jewish outreach work. Yet we met several Jews yearning for transcendence, spiritual growth, and Jewish community. All were surprised to learn that Jewish community might welcome them, as it has us, even if we love camping, dancing, playing, forests, indigenous traditions, socialism and queer perspectives.
At this gathering, I learned some things about Jewish outreach without really trying. We met people who avoid Jewish organizations; no program at a synagogue, no matter how creative, would have attracted them. Instead, we met them in their own space. We came to the gathering out of genuine interest, not as teachers or leaders. We came as ourselves. We connected through friendliness, playfulness and shared interests. These simple qualities began to create Jewish community.
Sometimes outreach just happens. And sometimes random chance teaches more than any controlled experiment.
Image: Photo of Hillary Kaplan at Intention 15.5, courtesy of Charles Kaplan
The context was a class on the gun violence epidemic in Chicago. I had finished the presentation by mentioning some of the grim statistics of people injured and killed by gun violence throughout the city. After the class an individual approached me and said, “Rabbi, why should I care if people who aren’t Jewish are dying because other non-Jews are shooting them?” I was, of course, flabbergasted by his question. It occurred to me though that while this person had the audacity to ask the question, many more people probably quietly think along similar lines, even if not exactly in the same formulation. The question remains for many: Why should I care about people who are not part of my community? Is there a Jewish mandate to care about others?
This is an important question primarily because those of us who do believe there is a value to caring for people who are not like us need to spend time unpacking that priority. It is always worthwhile to explore our own value systems and be able to more clearly and cogently articulate why they are so. People can turn to many different sources for inspiration and guidance, as a rabbi I turn to Jewish texts and to Jewish tradition.
Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, the first Chief Rabbi of the British Mandate over the Land of Israel and the great 20th century Jewish philosopher and mystic, in his work Orot HaKodesh links the commandment to “love God” with love of the world. A person who truly loves God cannot help but love the world and God’s creations. God as Creator saw fit to create each and every human being and was therefore deserving of His love, thus how could we not love all humanity?
Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, the eminent leader of Modern Orthodoxy, articulated a philosophy in his essay, Confrontation, of existing in two “confrontations:” the universal human struggle to overcome wickedness and the things that bring humanity down and an equally powerful connection to our own unique covenantal relationship with the Divine. Neither confrontation is abrogated by the other. Both are vital.
The early rabbinic text, the Tosefta, states that “we [Jews] eulogize and bury the dead of non-Jews because of the ways of peace, and we console the mourners of non-Jews because of the ways of peace. (Gittin 3:14)” Maimonides in his legal code, the Mishneh Torah, extended it further and stated it was a commandment to visit non-Jewish sick and feed the non-Jewish poor because “God is good to all and His compassion is on all His creatures” and “The Torah’s ways are ways of pleasantness and all its paths are peace. (Laws of Kings 10:12)”
This is by far not an exhaustive examination of the subject. It also does not represent the entire spectrum of Jewish thought. There is a strand of thought that does diminish our obligation to care about those not like us. However, the objective here is not to present a complete exercise in the study of the subject from all angles but rather to make the case that believing there is an inherent value to caring about people who are not Jewish and devoting oneself to the betterment of all people is an integral part of Jewish tradition.
As our urban centers are plagued with gun violence (particularly in Chicago) and as people face numerous challenges related to poverty, access to quality education and discrimination we ought to be a part of the work towards a solution. We must be involved not just because it is the good thing to do but because it is very much the Jewish thing to do.
The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.
Not long ago, a friend of mine posted an excellently snarky commentary about a new television show called, Married at First Sight. On this show, potential—I don’t know what you call them…”contestants,” perhaps?—fill out personality assessments and undergo “spiritual counseling,” and then four experts narrow down several hundred people to three couples. Then they get married. Without meeting one another first.
My friend was gleeful: what a train wreck! But after an initial shiver of dismay at yet another reality show, I thought to myself—y’know, is it really? It’s just bringing back the idea of matchmakers—what’s so shocking about that?
In earlier times, marriage wasn’t expected to be the way that individuals fulfilled themselves. We think of marriage this way now, but the truth is that we think of nearly everything this way—it’s one of the less admirable side-effects of a rights-oriented society (there are good things of course, too, but stay with me here, we’re not talking about those right now). Older societies viewed marriage in different ways, but the pattern tended towards viewing them as a way to join families (not individuals), a child-rearing project, sometimes a way to maximize economic resources (or if you were very wealthy, to concentrate them). When done well, compatibility of background and interest are taken into account, too.
In theory, this leads to much less of the “oh, my infatuation period is over, lets move on to the next high-excitement partner” problem. In a good marriage, where the daughters’ needs were taken into account by her parents (i.e. no child marriage, no large age difference between the future spouses, etc.—a lot of which is actually mentioned in traditional Jewish sources in those eras when marriages were, of course, arranged) that can mean that a lot of the silliness involved in modern courtship arrangements doesn’t happen. There is no problem with people worrying about the passion not being exactly as it once was, because love comes later, and passion is a bonus, if it happens.
And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There are so many people out there—I see it at least twice a week in my Facebook feed—advocating that if you don’t “feel the passion” at every blessed moment, there’s something wrong and you should leave, whether it’s your job, or your spouse. But if we think about it, that’s kind of crazy: imagine deciding that when your child was old enough that you were no longer in the stage where you daftly stare into the baby’s face all the time and can’t get enough of smelling its adorable baby smell—imagine if people advised you to give away the baby at that point, because you didn’t feel the passion.
It’s the same for marriage (or your job, for that matter) the beginnings, where you gaze moonily at each other all the time, and can’t really think of anything else—that shouldn’t be the end point of the relationship, where you want to stay for years and years. Like the child, there need to be changes as your relationship matures -that’s not a failure of love any more than sending your child off to preschool—or college—is.
I’m not really advocating for parents to once again arrange matches between families—heaven knows I would likely have been appalled at anyone my parents were likely to pick for me. But there may well be something to be said for having someone who is not directly involved in the emotions of the process being the one (or more) who matches couples up—maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible thing for there someone looking out for long-term goals other than simply the excitement of anxiety and physical attraction in the early days of infatuation. Maybe it would be good for us to return—at least a little bit—to couples thinking of their partnering as something more than just the two of them—or, at least for the person matching them up to think of those things. And while I don’t foresee a wholesale return to shadchans (matchmakers), the fact that there is a show in which people who want to meet someone else, and are willing to hand over their choice to people who might do a better job than they do—that’s something to think about.
The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.