Rabbi Charles L. Arian
Beth Jacob Synagogue, Norwich, CT
"American Jews, too," he writes, "are products of their broader environment. Like their surrounding culture, they are radically individualistic, believing that the source of authentic identity, of religious authority and of life decisions, lies within the individual. Where Israelis are profoundly Eastern in the overarching structure of their Jewishness, Americans understand identity in radically individualistic and essentially American ways."
There is an old joke that
says there are two types of people in the world; those who say there are two
types of people in the world, and those who do not. But what Haviv is saying --
and I think he is right -- is that for Israelis as a rule there are indeed two
types of people in the world; "us" and "them". They tend to see identity mostly
as innate, given, fixed, and collective. This is because most Israelis have
roots tracing back to Muslim, Orthodox Christian, or Catholic countries which
see identity in this way. You are born into a tribe and you identify with that
tribe. To do anything else is an act of betrayal.
The American Jewish view of identity is radically different. Frankly, it has more to do with the fact that we are Americans than that we are Jews. In America, and in other countries shaped by the Protestant reformation, identity is not a given, it is chosen. According to the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, just over 40 percent of Americans currently belong to a different religious group than the one in which they were raised. Slightly under half -- 47% -- are members of the religion in which they were raised and never left it, while about 10% of Americans left their birth religion for another one but then came back to the group in which they are raised.
What I have said about religion-changing in America simply describes a situation, it takes no position for or against. But I think it is fair to say that most Americans believe that it is everyone's right to choose their own religion -- not just legally, but morally as well. So it is not just the questionable images in the commercial which are problematic. As Haviv writes in the Jerusalem Post: "For Americans, it is hard to hear the campaign (which the Masa ad was for) as anything more than a denial of individual autonomy and personal authenticity. The core assumptions behind the campaign seem, in an American cultural context, appalling."
It is this American
cultural context which makes us Protestant Jews while Israelis are Catholic
Jews. But it is not just for Jews that this dichotomy exists. American
Catholics, as strange as it may sound, are in this sense Protestant Catholics.
The Catholic hierarchy is in constant conflict with Catholic universities,
because the hierarchy wants to make sure that theology professors don't teach
heresy, while the universities believe in academic freedom. The hierarchy
doesn't want condoms available on campus, but the dormitory directors and
student health center do. Notre Dame University gave an honorary degree this
past spring to President Obama, despite his pro-choice beliefs. The majority of
American bishops signed a statement asking Notre Dame to rescind the invitation,
and the bishop of the diocese in which Notre Dame is located boycotted the
commencement ceremony, but the university went ahead with its plans. All
available data is that Catholics have abortions at the same rate or higher as
non-Catholics, and they use birth control at the same rate as non-Catholics.
Less than five percent of American Catholics under thirty agree with their
church's official teaching on birth control.
While this is often
referred to as a split between "liberal" and "conservative" Catholics, I don't
think this is really the case. I think rather that the Pope -- and most bishops
that he or his predecessor appointed -- believe it is enough to simply lay down
the law and the people should follow. But that is just not the American way. We
may, in the end, choose to do as our clergy would like us to -- but we insist
that is our choice whether to do so or not.
The roots of this "rugged
individualism" are Protestant. Before the Protestant Reformation, the authority
for religious practice was as much the tradition of the Church as it was the
Bible. For Catholic theologians, the Bible is "the Church's book" and is
understood in the context of its history of interpretation. Or to put it more
simply, the Bible means what the Church says the Bible means. Sound familiar? To
a knowledgeable Jew, it should. The interpretations differ, of course, but the
insistence that it is the community which determines the meaning of Scripture is
very similar in both Judaism and Catholicism.
But Luther and his
followers sought to strip away what they considered man-made accretions. They
wanted to get back to "sola Scriptura" -- the Bible alone. The meaning of
Scripture was no longer determined by the community but by the individual and
his or her personal, subjective religious experience. This is one of the reasons
why there are so many different Protestant denominations, because there are
endless disagreements over points of scriptural interpretation. And thus, for
example, in Reno Nevada, down the street from the Conservative synagogue, a
Missouri Synod Lutheran Church and a Wisconsin Synod Lutheran Church are right
across the street from each other.
Protestants in America
can afford this kind of fragmentation, perhaps, since there are over 150 million
of them. Nobody is worried that the American Protestant community will cease to
exist because of assimilation, and nobody is saying that it's no longer
economically viable to have several Protestant churches of different
denominations in the same town or county. The same is not true of the American
Jewish community.
Birthright Israel and its
siblings like Project Masa are one response to the fears that the American
Jewish community is crumbling before our eyes. The thought is that by offering a
free trip to Israel for any Jewish young person under 25 who hasn't already been
to Israel on a peer educational program -- the tide of assimilation can be
reversed.
These programs are relatively new, and it is not yet possible to measure their long term effects. Anecdotally, it does seem that birthright participants come back from Israel more connected to their Jewishness. Haviv writes in the Post: "What is it about Israel that makes young Americans, who are utterly and proudly American and sometimes only conditionally Jewish, react so positively? Americans, too, are befuddled by this gap. Americans fund and encourage their children to go to Israel by the hundreds of thousands, but rarely consider clearly and rationally why a mere ten days in a foreign country can so affect the identity and lifelong affiliation of an ordinary 19-year-old.
Here's a theory: Israeli society has a profoundly different and deeply moving way of defining the very notion of Jewishness. . . It is that organic, rooted nationhood, a radically different notion of what it means to be a Jew from anything Americans have ever experienced, that so impresses young American Jews, and makes programs such as Masa and birthright Israel transformative experiences for Americans. The vast majority do not become Israeli or adopt Israeli identity structures, but do seem to come away with a more complex Jewishness; an understanding that there are aspects and layers to Jewish affiliation which they had not experienced before."
The question is how we translate this "more complex Jewishness" to the American scene. It's not an easy task, and if it is to be accomplished at all, it won't be through attempts to define who is "lost" and who is "found", who is "in" and who is "out." And it won't be accomplished by Israelis mobilizing to "save" their "lost" American brethren as they did for the Ethiopian and years before the Yemenite and Iraqi Jewish communities.
The solution to the "crisis of Jewish continuity" won't come only from Israel, and it surely won't come from defining the majority of American Jews as "lost" to their people. As Haviv writes: "Speak to the Americans, whose existential crisis is indeed assimilation, but who understand this as a call to fashion new worlds of personal meaning and individualistic affiliation, and you'll find real anger at the callous Israeli attempt to define who is "lost" and who is "found."
The real solution to the
crisis of continuity, I believe, will be achieved in a synthesis of the
"American" and "Israeli", or, if you will, Protestant and Catholic notions of
identity. In today's world, Jewishness is not something that is taken for
granted just because you were born into a Jewish family. Yes, Judaism may be our
"birthright" but we stubbornly insist it is our choice whether or not to claim
it. But ultimately, while we insist on our right to fashion our own identity,
what we most lack in American society is a sense of community. This Israel
provides in abundance, but very few American Jews will choose to live in Israel,
even as we care deeply about her.
The source of Jewish connection in the fragmented society in which we live is the community. I go to shul because someone else is saying kaddish, and they can't do so without a minyan. I go to shul because my friends expect to see me. I have a kosher home so that other people will be comfortable eating there or attending my simcha. I come to synagogue programs that don’t necessarily interest me so much, so that they will be successful. Our challenge is not to convince more Jews that God wants them to live a certain way. Our challenge is not to denigrate those Jews who make different choices than we do about how they are "assimilated" and "lost." Our challenge is to show more Jews the joy of our tradition and the meaning they can find by participating in our community.
In an address to Rabbinical Assembly Convention in 2000, Chancellor Eisen – at the time a professor at Stanford and a lay leader of his Conservative synagogue – said: “Our shared life together -- the meaning we hold and are held by inside a framework of palpable community -- is all we need in order to face the future with confidence. And this we have. All of us encounter people fairly often who sap our energies by painting incredibly bleak pictures of what awaits us in that future. We resist their gloomy forecasts, in large part, thanks to the counterexperiences of encounters with Jews of all ages newly excited by their Judaism and alert to its transformative possibilities. Such people, young or not so young, constitute a human spiritual resource of immense importance and potential. We best draw forth that potential, I think, if we approach them with transcendent meaning unavailable elsewhere, translated without loss of authenticity into the language in which they speak and work and dream -- and offer them this meaning inside a community which need not be preached or exhorted because it is palpably experienced.
If we do so, we have nothing to fear from the unpredictable challenges that undoubtedly will beset us in coming decades, and we will have the added comfort of doing what Jews in any generation are meant to be doing. The work and the reward will be more than sufficient.”
What will enable us, then, to build a stronger and more vibrant community? The idea that Judaism represents an opportunity to bring us closer to each other – and through being closer to each other, we become closer to God as well. Our obligations to each other are no less sacred than our obligations to God; and in discovering our connection to each other, we discover our connection to God and to our people.
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