Thursday, July 20, 2017

Responsum on Jewish Denominations - July 20, 2017

Q: What are the major denominations in Judaism--and how can I keep them straight?


A: I can think of many ways to respond to this question, but I think it would be most helpful to offer two answers, one pertaining to the world as a whole; the other pertaining to North America and, to a lesser extent, Israel, where what Jews tend to call movements or streams have proliferated. (“Denominations” tends to sound rather Christian to many Jewish ears.)


Regarding world Jewry, it’s important to recognize that before the 18th century in Europe--and until today in many places--there was really no denominationalism in Judaism, at least as we understand it today. There were certainly sects and schisms and arguments, but there was no Orthodox or Reform, and certainly no Conservative, Reconstructionist, or Renewal Jews. Rather, there was a wide variety of Jewish practice based on geography, broadly divided into Ashkenazic (European) and Sephardic (literally Spanish, but spread across North Africa and Arab lands, including the Land of Israel). It’s important to note that these two broad regions experienced modernity very differently, which is why Reform Judaism, and after it Orthodox Judaism, are primarily European phenomena. It was there, in Central Europe, in the 18th century that a smallish group of Central European Jews decided that Jewish practice required reformation.


The European reformers modeled themselves after the Protestant Reformation, and emphasized decorum in religious services, prayers and sermons in the vernacular language, a streamlined liturgy that emphasized the ethical and rational aspects of the tradition, all with the idea that Judaism should take its place alongside the church as a dignified and respectable religion.


Like the reaction against the Reformation in a Christian context, traditionalists within Judaism pushed back hard against the reformers, even to the point of outlawing practices, like the use of organs in synagogues, that had begun to spread slowly across Europe. The founders of this anti-reform movement called themselves, somewhat misleadingly, Orthodox (correct belief), perhaps in conscious or unconscious imitation of Orthodox Christians who objected to the theological innovations of the Reformation. In a Jewish context, however, theology is much less determinative than practice and communal belonging in a person’s choice of congregation. Orthodoxy, as many scholars have pointed out, might be better called Orthoprax (correct practice).


Today, this basic division between Reform (or Progressive, as it is known outside North America) and Orthodoxy persists, although Progressive Judaism, alongside other liberal movements, is much smaller in Israel and the rest of the world than Orthodoxy, which in many countries is simply the default.


When Jews came to this country, they imbibed the particular religious spirit of the United States, which I would describe as congregational. In this country, without an established religion, everyone who didn’t like the church they grew up in could join another one or, as happened with remarkable frequency, simply start a new one. In this way, local custom, which had always been important in Judaism, became paramount, and so although there are certainly points of contact among synagogues that belong to a particular movement (prayer books, for instance, or a general attitude towards Jewish law), each synagogue developed its own culture and style of worship.


It’s also important to know that for the great waves of Jewish migration to this country came first from Central and then from Eastern Europe, thus bringing the general European division between Reform and Orthodox to these shores. This is not to say that Sephardic Jews did not arrive in America--indeed the first synagogues in this country were founded by Spanish and Portuguese Jews--but the vast majority of American Jews descended from European ancestors. 


Many of those Jews found that they felt at home neither in the traditionalist Orthodox synagogues that tried to recreate the religious life of the old country nor in the Reform synagogues that felt too alien. Thus arose what became known as Conservative Judaism, an attempt to adapt traditional practice to modern realities. During the second third of the twentieth century, Conservative Judaism was the dominant address for American Jews, but affiliation has dropped off precipitously as the movement responded slowly to the challenges of postmodernity: intermarriage,, feminism, gay rights, etc. Now many Jews, even observant Jews, do not affiliate with any movement, which has created many challenges for movement institutions.


So here is a short review of some of the major streams of American Judaism:


Reform Jews trace their roots back to the European reformers of the 18th Century. So-called “Classical Reform” emphasized prayer in the vernacular, decorum at services (rabbis would wear academic gowns at services), and engagement with social justice. More contemporary Reform maintains the emphasis on social justice, but has engaged with a more Hebrew-oriented liturgy and less formal worship. It also has spearheaded outreach to intermarried couples and encourages conversion. The Reform movement was the first North American movement to ordain female clergy.


Orthodox Judaism developed in response to European Reform, and neither was a major component of Judaism in the rest of the world until both arrived in North America in the 19th century. Although there are many branches of Orthodoxy, with degrees of observance and levels of engagement with non-Jews (and non-Orthodox Jews), all affirm the primacy of Torah and Jewish law and many reject any innovations in practice. Recently, feminism has made inroads in modern Orthodoxy, and we are beginning to see the ordination of female clergy, even if most do not go by the title of rabbi.


Conservative Judaism arose in the late 19th century as an attempt to find a traditional form of practice that would be open to historical change. Conservative synagogues offered traditional worship services with limited changes, including nods to feminism and the reality of suburban life: in a major break with tradition, Conservative Jews were permitted to drive to synagogue (but only to synagogue!) on Shabbat. In recent decades, many Conservative congregations have declined as their more traditional members migrate out to independent congregations and Orthodoxy, while their more liberal members join Reform synagogues (especially if they or their children marry non-Jews) or opt out of religious Jewish life entirely.


Reconstructionist Judaism is a truly American movement, founded in the forties and based on the ideas of Mordechai Kaplan, who emphasized Jewish civilization and a rationalist belief system. A product of an Orthodox upbringing and a professor at the Conservative Jewish Theological Seminary, his ideas have had an outsized influence on American Judaism, even if only a small percentage of Jews identify as Reconstructionist. Today, Reconstructionism is the most liberal of the movements, and is particularly welcoming to gays, lesbians, and trans people.


Independent minyanim (congregations) are now a fixture in most Jewish population centers and consist of traditional Jews, many brought up in Conservative and Orthodox households. Many are egalitarian, but others retain the Orthodox practice of separating men and women during prayer. The worship experience tends to be very traditional, and most such congregations do not have a rabbi (although many rabbis may be members) and do not offer a school, life-cycle events, or other services of a synagogue.


Finally, Jewish Renewal (or Neo-Hasidic Judaism) is an attempt to merge the revivalist, mystical, and pietistic aspects of Hasidism with modern sensibilities, especially feminism and environmental activism. Neo-Hasidic Jews identify Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi as their founder. A former Lubavitch Hasid, Reb Zalman (as he was popularly known), moved away from traditionalist circles and engaged with the wider world of spirituality (especially Buddhism). In this way, he was able to “renew” many Jewish practices, making them palatable and meaningful to contemporary Jews while unapologetically borrowing practices from other traditions (especially meditation and mindfulness). Like Kaplan, Reb Zalman had an influence that goes far beyond Jewish Renewal congregations.


I should also mention that there is a proud traditional a Jewish secularism (an outgrowth, by and large, of European secularism) that split into two main streams: Zionists, with an emphasis on the Hebrew language; and Bundists, who focused on Yiddish language and culture (a good example is the Workmen’s Circle, of which there is a branch in Brookline). Both streams were highly attuned to progressive politics, a rationalist worldview, and a serious mistrust of rabbis and religion. To this day, a majority of Israelis dentify as secular, even though Orthodox religious parties control a growing percentage of seats in the Knesset.


So where do we at Danesh-100 Centre St. fit into this picture? I should say that I myself do not fit comfortably into any of these categories, but I’m closest--by both temperament and education--to Neo-Hasidism. As the rabbi and chaplain of a pluralistic community, I do my very best to meet the needs of the broadest range of residents, so our services contain elements from all of these traditions. Furthermore, I am open to all feedback, so if there is something you would like to see me add or subtract from our services, please come by and have a conversation with me!


Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Wonder Woman and Zealotry: The Persistent Appeal of Zealotry

Parashat Pinchas (Numbers 25:10 - 30:1)

This post was published on the Hebrew College Blog "70 Faces of Torah" on July 12, 2017


In the film Wonder Woman (2017), the heroine, played by Israeli actress Gal Gadot, intervenes in World War I on the side of the Allies. She zealously seeks the destruction of Ares, the god of war (the gods are almost Greek, but seem not to be immortal). Along with her multicultural group of allies, she determines that Ares has incarnated himself as the supreme German commander, General Erich Ludendorff. She expects that once she has killed him--he is, after all, the source of conflict in the world--the war will end and peace will break out. Pursuing Ludendorff relentlessly, she finally defeats him by stabbing him through the heart with her sword. Sadly, the war continues apace: the general is not Ares after all. However, when Ares himself conveniently appears for a final showdown, there is another violent battle. Again, Wonder Woman prevails and the closing scenes show German and British soldiers hugging like the brothers they had forgotten they were.


This comic book fantasy of horrific violence to purge the world of horrific violence is reasonably standard issue, even if real life (as well as the need for sequels) reminds us that evil is never completely vanquished. It is also nothing new. Indeed we see something similar in the run up Parashat Pinchas, where the title character, the son of Elazar and grandson of Aaron the priest,  stabs an Israelite chieftain and a Midianite princess in flagrante delicto, thus halting the plague of God’s wrath that had already killed 24,000 Israelites in the wake of their apostasy with the Moabite god Baal-Peor. In case you’re counting, that is eight times more dead than in the wake of the incident of the Golden Calf.


For this horrific killing, Pinchas receives God’s covenant of peace and eternal priesthood. Because Pinchas is a biblical figure and not a superhero, this reward has bothered readers throughout history.  Concerned that we understand both that his act was legitimate and that it is nothing that we should try ourselves, the rabbis insisted that God performed several miracles in its wake (six or twelve, depending on the tradition), including that Pinchas’s spear pierced the genitals of both partners, skewering them together and thus providing proof that they were engaged in an idolatrous act of ritual intercourse. Had he killed them separately, says the Talmud, he would have been guilty of murder.


Like the rabbis, I don’t want to pretend that Pinchas is someone we should emulate, but I also don’t want to dismiss him as a progenitor of comic book heroes, whether in their current cinematic form or in earlier incarnations as, in many cases at least, mid-twentieth-century Golems of masculine Jewish wish fulfillment. What can we take from Pinchas, preferably without the violence and mass slaughter?


The first lines of Parashat Pinchas offer us a clue in the four repetitions of the Hebrew root kuf-nun-aleph: kina, translated variously as passion, jealousy, vengeance, or zeal:


And the Eternal spake unto Moses saying, Phinehas the son of Elazar, the son of Aaron the priest, hath turned my wrath away from the children of Israel, while he was zealous with my jealousy in the midst of them, that I consumed not the children of Israel in my jealousy. Wherefore, say, Behold, I give unto him my covenant of peace: And he shall have it, and his seed after him, the covenant of a priesthood for ever: because he was zealous for his God and made an expiation for the children of Israel. (Numbers 25: 10-13)


Pinchas deserves God’s covenant of peace not for the killing of Zimri and Cozbi (the names of his two victims), but for the result of his zealotry: the reversal of God’s indiscriminate violence against the Israelites. 


Rashi’s comment on verse 11 tries to make sense of the odd construction “he was zealous with my jealousy”:


 בקנאו את קנאתי - “He was zealous with my jealousy” means “when he executed my vengeance” (more lit., when he avenged my avenging) — when he displayed the anger that I should have displayed. The expression קנאה (zeal) always denotes glowing with anger to execute vengeance for a thing; in Old French emportment.


Rashi suggests that Pinchas somehow took the place of God in executing judgement, that God “should have displayed” a deadly anger against the couple, but instead lashed out at the Israelites in general who, God implies, would have not survived had Pinchas not intervened with a kina that somehow overcame God’s own kina.


The emphasis on the Old French word emportment comes up again in Rashi’s discussion of Numbers 11, where Joshua, Moses’s attendant and successor, learns that two Israelite leaders, Eldad and Medad, were speaking prophetically in the camp:


And Joshua the son of Nun, the attendant of Moses from his youth, answered and said: My lord Moses, forbid them! And Moses said unto him, Enviest thou for my sake? Would God that all the people of the Eternal were prophets and that the Eternal would give spirit unto them! (Numbers 11:28-29)


In this obviously lighter context, where Moses seems to disavow Joshua’s zeal, Rashi treats kina slightly differently:


המקנא אתה לי - “Enviest thou for my sake?” means, “art thou envying where I should envy”

לי - “For my sake”: the word לי, “for me,” meaning the same as בשבילי, “for my sake”. Wherever an expression of the root קנא (kina) is used it implies that a person sets his heart on the matter, whether it be to take vengeance or to help; — emportement in O. F. (English = zeal) — he holds the thickest (heaviest) part of the load (i.e. he takes the responsibility for carrying out a matter).


Again, we find the notion that an attendant, an agent, an ally, has taken on the task of envy or zealotry or passion in place of the being who should by rights feel it. Yet here, Rashi widens his understanding of kina to include not only envy or vengeance but also help, a concept that doesn’t necessarily involve violence. He also defines emportment as, to adopt a current idiom, doing the heaving lifting. It is almost as though Joshua, by acting indignant on Moses’s behalf, allows Moses to have a more indulgent response to the two men who might be accused of trying to usurp Moses’s status as prophet: Joshua has taken on the jealousy, thereby bringing peace to Moses.


We can apply a similar reading to Pinchas’s zealotry: by fully inhabiting the outrage and passion that God should have (and might have) felt towards Zimri and Cozbi, he relieves God of the need for continuing God’s indiscriminately violent response, thereby bringing about the end of the plague. 


Joshua’s example, however, suggests that violence is not a necessary component of kina--indeed the core of it is the lifting of a burden off the person or people to whom you are allied. Such non-violent emportment may or may not avert God’s wrath or bring an end to war (as it does in Parashat Pinchas and in Wonder Woman), but it certainly will increase peace.