CHAPTER XIX
THE
VOCATION OF JUDAISM IN A CONFLICTUAL WORLD
RABBI JACK MOLINE
Agudas Achim Congregation, Alexandria, VA
Both
the delight and the disadvantage of presenting (one-third of) the last words on
this broad topic is the opportunity to redefine the entire discussion. The
temptation is great to briefly summarize the five preceding topics and then
offer the definitive pronouncement on their synthesis. Most of that urge I will
be able to resist. However, I am forced to challenge one basic presumption to
give my paper internal consistency and coherence.
I
am not convinced that the monotheistic faiths can play a role in resolving
ethnic conflict. The reasons are two-fold: the distinct theological differences
among Judaism, Christianity and Islam will, of necessity, allow only the
broadest areas of agreement among their most passionate partisans, and the
related distinctions between faith values and ethnic values require that one
group or the other relinquish the very autonomy which likely provoked con-flict.
Moreover, power generally resides in the most conservative elements of any
religion. This seems to be true even of the "reform" streams of
traditions, which develop institutions and hierarchies which are guarded
zealously by the conservative factions within.
Add
to the dilemma another frustration: the premise of a "uni-versal
declaration of human rights." Dr. Little has suggested that human rights
flow from "natural law," and offers the opportunity for religion(s) to
make a case for enfranchisement or emendation of the declaration. This
declaration is unashamedly devoid of any claim to God-centeredness, yet its
proponents presume to judge whether a God-centered approach to human dignity
meets their test of correctness. The attempt to relativize or marginalize re-ligious
input will only put self-described humanists at odds with the religious
traditions they hope to co-opt in pursuit of the admirable goal of ensuring
human dignity.1
It
may therefore seem hopeless that our traditions can find enough commonality to
promote any kind of consensus. I pray otherwise; I fear my prayers are in vain.
Perhaps by examining a Jew’s perspective my position will become clearer.
Central
to the nature of Judaism is a continuing tension between both parties to
paradox. Jews are a people of a very par-ticular set of practices and
obligations which reflect an unending covenant with God, yet we are mandated to
seek universal ful-fillment of humanity in all its expressions. We affirm the
inherence of common bonds among all humans, yet we celebrate regularly the
distinctions between Jews and non-Jews. We seek "one manner of law for the
stranger and the home-born alike,"2 yet we are ad-monished not to adopt the practices of the
other nations.3
At
no time in history has this tension been more apparent to Jews than in the
shadow of the Holocaust. And no issue brings the tension more to bear than the
increasing numbers of Jews who intermarry. Professor Leonard Fein articulates
the contemporary frustration.
A
Jewish youngster announces his or her intentions of marrying "out of the
faith." The parents are distraught, but cannot explain, beyond their own
hurt, what is at stake in the matter, why they take it so very seriously. And
the children are confused; all their lives, they’ve heard their parents roar
universalism, and now, suddenly, they whimper particularism. . . . Living
simultaneously as particularists and universalists, as we try to, means that we
are in search of a way to make one world out of two, two that are usually
perceived as ir-reconcilable. But that does not mean we know how to explain
ourselves. We are not social theorists; we are a people, trying to make it
through unsettled times.4
In
unsettled times, be they personal or national, individuals tend to cling to the
familiar and dependable. Ironically, unsettled times are precisely those which
call for an openness to innovation and risk-taking. What is true of Jews in
specific seems to be true of ethnic communities in general: as opportunities for
creating more pluralistic societies present themselves, group identity emerges
in greater strength. And in the attempt to make "one world out of
two," the internal conflict between those two worlds is at the root of the
external conflicts we seek to ameliorate.
Throughout
history, powerful majority cultures have beck-oned to Jews, urging us to
surrender our particularism and be accepted as part of the greater cultural
ethos. The conflict between those who would embrace such an invitation and those
who viewed it as a threat to Jewish survival forms the core of the real story of
Chanukkah. With the conquest of the Hellenistic world by Rome, the
invitation grew more urgent. We have the record of many dis-cussions on the
subject in midrash. Obviously, the records of the Jews will be skewed to the
preferred outcome, but their sheer numbers represent how pressing an issue this
was up to and beyond the exile of the Jews in 70 CE.
Caesar
once said to Rabbi Tanchuma: Come, let us all become one people. [R. Tanchuma]
replied: I agree; however, since we are circumcised, we cannot become like you.
You, therefore, should become circumcised and be like us.5
The
breaking-down of barriers between peoples is con-sidered by R. Tanchuma only if
the Romans are willing to submit to circumcision, the sign of accepting God’s
covenant. R. Tanchuma was most certainly aware of the Biblical story of Dina, in
which a similar invitation was made by Hamor. Hamor’s nefarious plans were to
undergo circumcision and then absorb the Israelites and their wealth through
acculturation and intermarriage. The plan is foiled when Simeon and Levi
slaughter the suffering "converts."6
In
the Biblical narrative, Jacob is outraged by the violence of his sons. However,
he is unaware of Hamor’s plans. The narrator is aware, and therefore so is R.
Tanchuma and the reader as well. The Roman goal of political and cultural unity
is acceptable to the Jews only if the rubric is Judaism; any offer to unify with
outsiders is seen by Jews as an attempt to eliminate Jewish distinctiveness.
A
similar sentiment appears in the midrash of Rabbi Akiva and Pappus ben
Yehuda. R. Akiva was devoted to the teaching of Torah in spite of the Roman ban
on its study in public. Pappus was a scholar who believed that it was better to
accommodate the Romans and live than to stand on principle and die. R. Akiva
de-fended his actions:
This
situation is like a fox walking by a river. He saw fish swimming around, looking
for a place to hide. The fox said to them: Come with me and I will hide you
among the rocks, and then you will not be afraid. The fish replied: You are the
one of whom they say "he is the smartest of animals?" Rather, you are
stupid. Our whole lives are in the water, and you tell us to come up on dry
land? Indeed, if we are afraid in a place where we can live, how much the more
so in a place where we will certainly die! So, too, with us. Our whole lives are
lived in Torah. . . .
The midrash concludes
with the arrest by the Roman authorities of R. Akiva and Pappus, causing Pappus
to exclaim, "Happy are you who was arrested because of Torah! Woe to Pappus,
who was arrested for naught!"7 To be sure, there are midrashim which are more
appreciative of the Romans, but in general, the attitude remains, to borrow a
phrase out of context, to "render unto Caesar that which is
Caesar’s."
The
fear of assimilation and its necessary breach of the covenant with God has not
stopped Jews and the Jewish tradition from envisioning a better world for all
peoples. Rabbi Robert Gordis translates and interprets a mishnah which is
contemporaneous with the above-mentioned midrash to emphasize the universal
truths of the book of Genesis. R. Gordis’s "truths" are derived from
the text of Genesis, before the covenant with Abraham, and therefore ap-plicable
to the entire human family. They include:
1.
The world has a plan and purpose known only to God.
2.
All life is holy and integral to the Divine order of creation.
3.
Men and women are equal in God’s plans.
4.
Every human being is fashioned "in the Divine image."
5.
Man is the responsible ruler of the created world.
6.
The world is good.8
The
truths seem palatable enough for each of the Abrahamic faiths (especially since
Rabbi Gordis documents each with Scrip-tural texts), and general enough to allow
for the "spin" each would place upon them. But once the principles are
articulated, the mishnah which elaborates on Jewish thought makes clear
his particular approach as an heir to Rabbinic Judaism:
A
single individual was first created to teach you that one who destroys a single
life (of a Jew)9
is regarded as if s/he had destroyed an entire world, while one who saves a
single life (of a Jew) is regarded as if s/he had saved an entire world. And for
the sake of peace among the creatures, that a person not say to another,
"My ancestor was greater than yours;" and that the sectarians10
not say, "There are multiple powers in heaven;" and to recount the
greatness of the Holy One, for a person may stamp many coins from a single mould
and each is like the others, but the Sovereign of Sover-eigns, the Holy One,
stamped each person with the mould of the first person, and no one is like any
other. Therefore, every person must say, "for my sake was the world
created."11
To
drive the point home, R. Gordis further quotes a supple-mental work to the Mishnah
known as the Tosefta:
Mankind
has a single ancestor, so no sinner may say, "I am a sinner by inheritance,
being a des-cendant of sinners," and no saint may say "I am a saint by
virtue of my descent from saints."12
No
contemporary rabbi was more devoted to the pursuit of social justice than Robert
Gordis, and no one more actively sought interfaith partnerships to pursue those
goals. Yet his motivation remained particularistically Jewish and actively not
non-Jewish. The social theorist Professor Fein suggests that the rest of us are
not so, yet he too is frustrated by his attempt to make one world out of two.
The desirability of peaceful co-existence in this world could be derived
exclusively from Torah and Talmud, independent of any later teachings by
daughter religions and, perhaps, contrary to them.
The
conflict of the "two worlds" is evident from R. Gordis’s de-cision
to choose the less-preferred version of the mishnah re-garding destroying
or saving a single life. The implied limitation on human consideration of the
more particular version is not in keeping with the hopes and aspirations of
compassionate and well-intentioned Jews. As such, reading the mishnah in
its broader sense allows room in the Jewish covenant for people of all faiths as
part of the greater family of humanity.
Most
Jews are not as well-educated in Biblical and Talmudic texts as Rabbi Gordis or
his colleagues. How, then, are these values represented in more familiar
circumstances? If the study of classic texts does not find its way into most
Jewish lives, at least the prayer book does. Even the most infrequent of those
who attend a synagogue is familiar with the prayer which concludes every worship
service, three times a day, for Jews. It is called aleinu after its first
Hebrew word which means either "we rise" or "it is our
duty." (The Conservative Jewish prayer book, Siddur Sim Shalom,
pre-serves both meanings in the translation included in this pre-sentation.)
Aleinu
consists of two paragraphs, the first taken from the liturgy of the High Holy
Days and the second appended later. Its rhetoric is stirring, even if its format
is unusual in that it contains no formulaic blessings which are typical of
Jewish liturgy.13
At
first blush, it seems to meld the "two worlds" of par-ticularism and
universalism into one tidy package. The first para-graph (the original)
articulates a fidelity to the God of Creation, much as R. Gordis depicts. It
adds, however, the dimension of Jewish uniqueness. The verse surrounded by
parentheses in the body of the prayer below was removed in the Middle Ages by
Christian censors because its Hebrew conclusion (l’eil lo yoshia) can
easily be understood as a denial of the divinity of Jesus, even though the
prayer predates Christianity by as much as 250 years.
We
rise to our duty to praise the Lord of all, to acclaim the Creator. He made our
lot unlike that of other people, assigning to us a unique destiny. (For they bow
to vanity and emptiness and to a god who cannot redeem. But) we bend the knee
and bow, acknowledging the King of kings, the Holy One praised be He, who spread
out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, whose glorious abode is
in heaven, whose mighty dominion is in the loftiest heights. He is our God,
there is no other. In truth, He alone is our King, as it is written in His
Torah: "Know this day and take it to heart that the Lord is God in heaven
above and on earth below (Deut.4:39)."14
This gentle translation
omits the power of a literal understanding which emphasizes over and over again
the distinction between the Jews and the other nations (shelo sam chelkeinu
kahem v’gora-leinu k’khol hamonam; "[God] has not made our portion
like theirs, nor our lot like the masses"). While acknowledging a common
mode of worship, the object of our devotion sets us apart from the con-temporaneous
pagans.
Of
course, the peoples with whom Jews have the most inter-action in contemporary
society are not pagans -- they are primarily Christian adherents and Muslims,
heirs to the same Abrahamic legacy and worshippers of the same God. Nonetheless,
the words echo with both historic memory and modern relevance and serve to
create a conscious schism between Jews and non-Jews.
(The
emphasis on such differences is most often purposeful in Jewish tradition.
Indeed, one reason advanced for the obser-vance of the dietary laws, kashrut,
is "to set us apart from non-Jews by providing us with a Jewish cuisine, a
Jewish kitchen and a Jewish table.")15
As
if to balance the religio-centrism of the first paragraph, a gentler and more
universal vision is expressed in the second. In-stead of the assertive and
descriptive tone of the first paragraph, God is addressed directly in the
second.
And
so we hope in you, Lord our God, soon to see Your splendor, sweeping idolatry
away so that false gods will be utterly destroyed, perfecting the earth by Your
kingship, so that all mankind will invoke Your name, bringing all the earth’s
wicked back to you, repentant. Then all who live will know that to You every
knee must bend, every tongue pledge loyalty. To You, Lord, may all bow in
worship, may they give honor to Your glory, now and forever. Thus is it written
in Your Torah: The Lord reigns for ever and ever. Such is the assurance of your
prophet Zechariah [14:9]: The Lord shall be ack-nowledged King of all the earth.
On that day, the Lord shall be One and His name One.
The
last verse, a vision of the world brought under God’s sovereignty, is sung
with gusto and amateur harmonies in most congregations. Rabbis often go to great
lengths to emphasize that Zechariah’s vision has never been construed to
assume mass conversion to Judaism; rather, each nation in its own way will
acknowledge the one true God. It, too, resounds in the Jewish imagination and is
often the last liturgical impression with which a Jew leaves worship.
The
universalism has its obvious limitations. Though we petition God to create a
pure and righteous world, our desire is for a perfection of the world under the
kingship of God as we know God. If there is a substantive difference
between a world governed by Jewish principles and a world in which all people
accept the sovereignty of the Jews’ God, I would be hard-pressed to identify
it.
Certainly,
this presumption of "rightness" is not unique to the Jews. My
colleagues could make an equally persuasive argument regarding those who adhere
to the tenets of Islam and those who take to heart the Christian vision of
salvation and redemption. In various forms and permutations, the ethnic groups
involved in the conflicts over which we agonize themselves feel completely
justi-fied in their actions, fueled by a conviction of the justice of their
cause and, erroneously, a Divine mandate to conquer by coercion or force. And is
if adding to the frustration of these conflicts are the competing and
conflicting world views of the three traditions re-presented in this symposium.
A concerted and unified effort to articulate an overarching vision of peace
would meet with failure by any standard, for we cannot even agree on a
definition of terms for discussion. As if to add insult to injury, even if a
coalition of religious representatives could capture this cloud in a paper bag,
the ears of those we seek to address have been deafened by gunfire and their
eyes have been blinded by hatred.
I
suggest the most effective approach is to seek not to intervene in the affairs
of others, nor even to seek an unsatisfying compromise among the many faith
communities of Abraham. Rather, the work must be internal for each of our
communities.
It
is important to take note of the nature of the character of Abraham as described
in Torah. Though he is the pioneer of mono-theism, nowhere in the Biblical text
is there an intimation that he seeks to impose his faith on others, nor does he
ever volunteer to witness his "discovery" of God. To the outside
world, he is an accommodationist, assisting those in distress,16 advocating
justice for strangers,17
acknowledging the peculiar customs of the com-munities in which he sojourns.18
Within his own family, he is un-compromising in faithfulness to the covenants
into which he enters. If in Avraham, Abraham, Ibrahim, alav hashalom (peace
be upon him), we find a common denominator, then the model of his life should be
the model for our common cause.
First
and foremost must be a reclaiming and reemphasis from within each tradition of
respect for those who reach for God in their distinct ways. Even within Torah,
which stands firmly against paganism, comes a clear acknowledgment of the ways
of others: and when you look up to the sky and behold the sun and the moon and
the stars, the whole heavenly host, you must not be lured into bowing down to
them or serving them. "These the Lord your God allotted to the other
peoples" everywhere under heaven (Deut 4:19) (emphasis mine). From the
Sages of the Talmud, through Mai-monides and to the present day, chasidei
umot ha’olam, "the righteous of all nations," have been heralded
as partners in the redemption of the world. Among the few blessings to be
plucked from the ashes of Auschwitz is the renewed appreciation Jews have for
non-Jews who rescued, sheltered or protected the persecuted among our people.
Second
must come an encouragement of those willing to take risks in unsettled times in
order to move us all forward to new opportunities. Particularly, I think of
Israeli Jews who are willing to reach out to their Palestinian Arab neighbors at
the risk of ostracism or injury from without and within Jewish community. (I am
proud to number some of my rabbinic colleagues among them.) Nor should we
overlook that which is sometimes discounted for its pragmatism; the grudging
handshake between Yitzchak Rabin and Yassir Arafat diminished neither man’s
commitments to his people. The applause of local Muslims or distant Christians
is important, but it is meaningless without the enthusiasm of family. The tragic
assassination of Prime Minister Rabin serves to further emphasize the internal
conflicts which must be addressed before a dependable peace can be attained
among external combatants.
Fortunately
for the Jews, the theology of Christians and Mus-lims regarding Jews is
inconsequential as long as Christians and Muslims behave as if the
theological differences are equally incon-sequential to them. (With no
disrespect intended, the beliefs of others in the disposition of the soul or the
sacredness of text have no external authenticity for non-adherents.) The more
difficult task for Jews is overcoming resentment and prejudice against
Christ-ians and Muslims for historical and theological conflict, real or
per-ceived. The development of such trust is the deepest challenge for Jews in
contemporary times.
Last,
and perhaps most important, is the vision of mission from within which
emphasizes a Jew’s responsibility to justice in the wider world. The voices of
the Biblical prophets called not for an abandonment of the ritual
particularities or distinctive practices of their fellow Jews, but for a greater
attention to the human needs confronting them. In contemporary times, no voice
captures that call more than Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. The example of his
presence next to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in Selma, Alabama, was the closest
we have come to "one world out of two." Rabbi Heschel’s presence at
Dr. King’s side was prompted by his belief not in some ethic of human dignity
which transcended Jewish tra-dition, but because of his belief in an ethic of
human dignity organic to Judaism. Moreover, he was willing to support the
struggles of African Americans on their terms in the name of a common
hu-manity. It has been said that coincidence is God’s way of remaining
anonymous. It should not escape notice that R. Heschel’s name was Abraham.
It
is noteworthy that Rabbi Heschel’s words on the subject of religious pluralism
appear in the Conservative siddur (prayer book) under the title "No
Religion is an Island." His writings have been adapted to liturgical form,
and congregants are asked to read "there is no monopoly on holiness. We are
companions of all who revere him. We rejoice when His name is praised. . . . Let
us help one another overcome hardness of heart, opening minds to the challenges
of faith. Should we hope for each other’s failure? Or should we pray for each
other’s welfare? Let mutual concern replace remnants of mutual contempt, as we
share the precarious position of being human. . . ."19
These
sentiments emerge from the religious impulse, not in spite of it,
as humanist dogma might suggest. To the mind of the religiously sensitive Jew,
it is unfathomable that such appreciation of common humanity and divinity, such
transcendent truth, could find its foundation outside of God. The debt of
gratitude Judaism owes to those who have struggled outside the bounds of
religious conviction to arrive at those truths is the challenge to rediscover
what has been too long neglected. However, a society which seeks to elevate that
struggle above God ultimately constructs a tower of Babel/babble.
Heschel’s
words, though appreciated by a wide readership, were aimed at the heart of the
Jew. The resolution of ethnic and religious conflict will not be imposed from
without, but from within. By nurturing both strong identification with Jewish
particularism and the practice of delight in the religious striving of others,
Judaism can model from within the realization of Professor Fein’s challenge.
In doing so, Jews can make their contribution to the goals of ethnic peace.
An
extraordinary midrash claims that "were it not for Abra-ham, it
would have been (as if it were possible!) as if there were no God in the
world."20
The claim to the legacy of Abraham is to witness by personal and communal
example the presence of God in the world, even if, as our tradition claims,
every generation’s manner of expressing that presence is unique.21
The Jews’ contribution to a global community can be to find, in this
generation, a witness which preserves our own unique mission to preserve the
covenant and improve the world while affirming and celebrating the efforts of
others to do the same in the context of their own relationship with God.
I
have every faith that the same can be accomplished by my Muslim and Christian
cousins.
NOTES
1.
From the Jewish perspective, the endeavor lacks organic justification. Rabbinic
Judaism, the basis of most contemporary expressions of Jewish religion, knows no
concept of "rights" per se. The tradition does not address itself to
rights (i.e., entitlements of the individual from society), but exclusively to
responsibilities (i.e., the obligations of the individual to society). The
result may be the ensuring of what we call "human rights," but by our
reading of so-called "natural law," those rights are the by-product of
a just society, not its raison d’etre.
2.
Leviticus 24:22
3.
Leviticus 23:23
4.
Leonard Fein, Where Are We? The Inner Life of America’s Jews (New York:
Harper and Row, 1988), pp. 190-191.
5. Sanhedrin
39a.
6.
Genesis 34.
7. Tanchuma,
Ki Tavo 2.
8.
Robert Gordis, "The Truths of Genesis." Midstream Magazine
30(6) (June/July 1984).
9.
R. Gordis omits the phrases in parentheses, preferring a variant reading which
is generally not accepted as the original, but is more in keeping with the
context of the Biblical reference.
10.
Generally understood to be early Christians.
11.
Sanhedrin 4:5.
12.
Tosefta Sanhedrin 8:3.
13.
Reuven Hammer, Entering Jewish Prayer (New York, Schocken, 1994), pp.
206-209.
14.
Translation of traditional prayer from Siddur Sim Shalom, Rabbi Jules
Harlow, ed. p. 599.
15.
Samuel H. Dresner, The Jewish Dietary Laws, Their Meaning for our Time
(New York: The Burning Bush Press, 1966), p.44.
16.
Genesis 14.
17.
Genesis 18:17-33.
18.
Genesis 12:10-13, 23:2-16.
19.
Siddur Sim Shalom op.cit., p. 807.
20.
Sifrei Devarim 313.