These are exciting times for Jewish social justice. This past week, an interfaith group of ministers, led in part by the Jewish group Bend The Arc, staged a dramatic die-in at a Capitol Hill cafeteria as part of the #BlackLivesMatter effort. American Jewish World Service has become a leading global advocate for combating gender-based violence, promoting LGBT rights, and empowering girls to end child marriage. Tru’ah coordinated an active rabbinic presence in Ferguson and is a leader in combating modern slavery and human trafficking. Hazon has galvanized the Jewish community around issues of local farming, health, and environmental sustainability. Uri L’Tzedek, has brought social justice education and advocacy to the Orthodox community. I could go on and on.
But beneath this profligacy of Jewish social justice activism lies what is, to me, an unsettling reality: “tikkun olam,” literally “repair of the world” or, more contextually, “social justice,” is losing resonance at the congregational level. Fewer and fewer synagogues are willing to embrace advocacy as part of their spiritual mission. To put it more dramatically, if the 1963 March On Washington was held today, how many synagogues would participate? Would yours?
This notion of waning congregational interest in tikkun olam work might seem shocking to some. After all, “tikkun olam” has become such a ubiquitous phrase that even President Obama has used it in outreach to the Jewish community; most shuls have social justice or tikkun olam committees; and we continue to teach students in our religious schools about pursuing justice.
But in my efforts first as rabbi of a synagogue and, later, facilitating the outreach efforts of numerous synagogues across a suburban Federation region, I have witnessed an alarming decline in synagogue tikkun olam participation. There is a growing chasm between what I will term “social action” and “social justice.” By social action I mean direct service such as canned food drives, clothing drives, or volunteering at elderly homes or homeless shelters. Social justice, in contrast, refers to advocacy directed towards changing systemic injustices in our society, whether legally or culturally. The Civil Rights movement, and more recently the effort to sanction same-sex marriage, are examples of social justice.
Our synagogues, often through tikkun olam committees, do a tremendous job providing donations and services and should be applauded for doing so. The amount of goods contributed from community gardens, or the number of collective hours spent tutoring disadvantaged inner city school children, represent shining examples of the altruism and beneficence of our shuls. But these same synagogues, especially in suburban or exurban areas of the country, are becoming increasingly skittish about getting involved in social justice advocacy.
A case in point: I recently received a phone call from the leader of a social justice committee at a nearby shul. She wanted her synagogue to support a campaign calling for municipalities to use their collective purchasing power to get gun manufacturers to start producing safer, smarter guns. She (and I) thought this would be a no-brainer. After all, saving a life (pikuah nefesh) is one of the highest values in Jewish law, trumping even Shabbat. Conversely, in the Talmud, the rabbis reject the use of weaponry on Shabbat, even for mere ornamentation (BT Shabbat 63). Her committee’s response?No way—this was far too political an issue for them.
So why are shuls largely pulling back from social justice advocacy? After all, the Civil Rights movement, and more recently the Save Darfur campaign, show that synagogues and their rabbis have been active in social justice efforts in the recent past, taking prominent, visible roles. So why not now?
I think there are at least three reasons for the decline. First, the emergence of effective and specific Jewish social justice organizations, such as those discussed above, has enabled the Jewish community to outsource our concern for the welfare of those beyond our neighborhoods. Worried about women in Africa? Send an online donation to AJWS. Want to take a stand against human trafficking? Click on a Tru’ah online petition. We don’t need our synagogues to get involved in these efforts because we now have alternate points of engagement.
Second, we should acknowledge that Jews in many places have grown wealthier in recent generations. This means that membership–and especially boards–of synagogues have grown slightly more conservative. For example, I had a congregant complain that I sermon I wrote was too liberal when I was merely addressing the mitzvah of pe’ah! How much latitude can a rabbi have to engage her community in social justice if major donors are opposed to doing so?
Third, in this hyper-politicized culture in which we live, some rabbis avoid addressing social justice topics from the pulpit because their congregants want a sanctuary—quite literally—from politics. Shul-goers want a respite from the cacophony of cable news and talk radio. So rabbis steer clear of political issues and instead focus on more spiritual messages.
I firmly believe, however, that more synagogues should adopt a commitment to addressing social justice as a complement to their social action work. From a practical standpoint, many synagogues are hemorrhaging membership, especially disaffected teenagers and young adults. Yet the millennial generation highly values social justice commitment. Looking at an innovative synagogue like IKAR, which has integrated social justice into its mission, shows how effective tikkun olam advocacy can be for stimulating new membership in our houses of worship.
Additionally, to be intellectually honest, those who care about social action should also care about social justice. If we care about gathering food for food pantries, shouldn’t we likewise advocate to adopt policies expanding access to food stamps and other forms of food aid? If we gather clothes or volunteer at homeless shelters, shouldn’t we also seek to address systemic causes of poverty, such as by raising the minimum wage so that those who work full time don’t live below the poverty line, as they currently do? Social action is wonderful and I applaud all those who give of their time and resources to help others. But drawing an arbitrary line between direct service and policy is simply minimizing our impact on issues that clearly matter to us.
Finally, our prophetic heritage should compel us to pursue social justice from our congregational platforms. There is a reason we read the Haftarah in addition to the Torah every Shabbat. Judaism mandates conscientiousness both about our internal ritual lives and the values we express publicly. This spirit of societal rebuke and a refusal to accept the status quo is inherent to our tradition. It began with Abraham standing up to God; continued with Moses standing up to Pharaoh, and later extended to a host of prophets standing up to wayward Israelite kings. This spirit became enshrined in Jewish law, such as the following passage from the Talmud: “We sustain the non-Jewish poor with the Jewish poor, visit the non-Jewish sick with the Jewish sick, and bury the non-Jewish dead with the Jewish dead, for the sake of peace.” (BT Gittin 61a) In short, if we want to be a light unto nations, let’s start acting like it!
Our synagogues, and especially the rabbis who lead them, continue to do tremendous work striving to enrich the spiritual lives of those in our communities. They also do a fantastic job sharing their communal resources through social action efforts. But I yearn for the day that our synagogues will see themselves, too, as vehicles for societal transformation. Perhaps then we will truly make inroads in the arduous, daunting, yet inescapable task of repairing our broken world.
As Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz says, statistics in the Pew Research Center’s survey of American Jewish attitudes and beliefs are wide open to interpretation. And different interpretations will lead to different responses.
94% of U.S. Jews say they are proud to be Jewish. Some interpreters will say that programs building Jewish identity have been successful; it is time to improve other facets of Jewish life. Others will insist we keep doing what works.
44% of married U.S. Jews have non-Jewish spouses. Some interpreters will suggest we try to reverse the trend, and focus on teaching a more exclusive sense of Jewish identity. Others will celebrate America’s multiculturalism and urge us to work in creative ways with diverse and unique families.
Really, the statistics are a kind of Rorshach test. Our responses to the statistics may tell us as much as the statistics themselves do.
Personally, I am fascinated by statistics about theism and religion. I came to these numbers with the belief that Jewish leaders need to develop more sophisticated approaches to spirituality. And I come away from them thinking that now is the time to act.
According to the Pew study, 72% of Jews say they believe in God.
What do the remaining 28% not believe in?
In a thoughtful, upbeat reflection on the study, Rabbi Joshua Hammerman writes:
Countless people tell me that they are “spiritual, but not religious.” Does that mean that they can’t relate to the old-man-in-the-sky image of God, especially after the Holocaust? No big surprise there. Most Jews can’t, myself included.
People tell me this, too; so many times it has become a platitude. Is this image really a deal-breaker in Jewish theism? I don’t think so. I do think that the phrase “I don’t believe in an old man in the sky” is a short, ready-to-hand, socially appropriate way to skirt a conversation about God, spirituality, or faith.
Unfortunately, we rabbis and teachers often accept these words at face value. We easily assume that many adult Jews have not moved beyond the first adolescent questions they asked about religion. So we tell them that mature Jews don’t believe in the “old man.” With kindness and warmth, we invite them to try adult Judaism as we know it.
Sometimes I think this is a self-protective move, because we are unprepared or afraid to step outside the Jewish discourse we know. Sometimes I think it is a patronizing approach, as well. Surely the life experience of these thoughtful adults has pushed them to existential reflection. Surely their challenges and yearnings have pointed them in many directions, not just towards questions about Divine authority.
Perhaps they do not feel held by a great heart of compassion, as Catholics might say.
Perhaps they do not believe that synchronicities in their life are glimpses into a prepared destiny, as depth psychologists might say.
Perhaps they have lost hope that humanity may be evolving towards greater justice and peace, as Quakers might say.
These are all components of faith, all aspects of what people imagine an effective God might provide, and all ideas that have (and have had) a place in Jewish discourse. If we see ourselves as spiritual teachers, it is our job to meet seekers where they are, not just to invite them to join us where we are. But to do so, we need a broader understanding of what faith means, and a web of threads connecting kinds of spirituality with concepts of God.
To gain this understanding, we may have to step temporarily out of our own comfort zone in Jewish religious vocabulary. Different religious and philosophical traditions emphasize different aspects of a soul’s life journey. Exploring those aspects may help us understand the hearts of the seekers who turn to us. Learning new concepts may broaden our ability to welcome diverse Jews into spiritual life.
We may find, in fact, that the question “Do you believe in God or not?” is an inadequate tool to gauge spirituality or even religious belief. Perhaps a broad spectrum of existential reaching, questioning and growing connects all 100% of Jews. And we, the so-called spiritual teachers, need to catch up with this reality.
We should not be afraid that this exploration will lead us –- or those we teach and counsel — away from Judaism. In fact, the Pew study suggests, now is a perfect moment to risk learning something new. For Jewish Americans, both multicultural comfort and Jewish pride are at an all-time high. Flexible spiritual guidance from open-minded, broadly-educated rabbis can only increase that pride.
Image: www.reflectingrunes.com. Cross-posted at www.OnSophiaStreet.com