The Controversy, Community & Politics (Scrapbook)

a friendly response to the Kalms Report

The Assembly of Masorti Synagaogues held a symposium on January 21st 1993 entitles "The US and Us, a friendly response to the Kalms Report on the United Synagogue." The following is a digest of the views expressed by the three Rabbi particiapants.

WE ARE AS THEY WERE

Rabbi Jacobs, the first speaker, contrasted the attitude of the United Synagogue at the present day, with that of its past. "If you look into its history", he said, "the United Synagogue was once us." In days of yore when such giants of Jewish scholarship as Solomon Schechter had been associated with it, the United Synagogue's attitude was considerably at variance with the extremism characterising it today. In those days the United Synagogue held a philosophy of Judaism very close to that of Masorti. It exemplified the spirit of the Minhag Anglia, a Jewishly staunch yet tolerant religious outlook happily wedded to British custom and tradition. Schechter, who was born in Romania and studied in Vienna and Berlin, was appointed Reader in Rabbinics at Cambridge University and Professor of Hebrew at University College, London. In 1901 he was invited to America to become president of the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York and helped to found the United Synagogue of America, institutions which, under his direction, sired the concept of Conservative Judaism whence Masorti derives.

Dr Jacobs pointed out that one of the most celebrated rabbinical graduates of New York's Theological Seminary was none other than Rabbi Dr Joseph Herman Hertz, who in 1913 succeeded Rabbi Dr Hermann Adler as Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the British Empire. Although Dr Hertz was strongly opposed to Progressive Judaism in his writings and utterances, the religious stance he adopted, and which was wholeheartedly endorsed by the vast majority of Anglo Jewish congregations and those overseas under his direction, was greatly at variance with that of the present-day religious establishment. There were those in Hertz's day who advanced more extremist religious views, including the revered Dayan Yechezkel Abramsky, but Hertz, with due deference to the firm convictions of the learned dayan, refused to allow him to dictate the governance and direction of Anglo-Jewry. While there were those who considered Hertz's religious outlook to be too moderate, no one dared question his integrity.

The Kalms Report, an in-depth investigation on the running, administration and future development of the United Synagogue, included some complimentary comments on the Masorti Movement, to which, it was stated, many U. S. congregants were being attracted, not least through its broadminded tolerant attitude, as opposed to the narrow extremism with which the U. S. was tinged. This had offended what might be termed the right-wing section of the U. S. which had replied by, as on other occasions, misrepresenting the views and outlook of Masorti. The Masorti Movement and its leadership were accused of being opposed to the concept of "Torah min Hashamayim" but, in fact, the dispute was not about the concept itself but about the word "min" (from).

Dr Jacobs upbraided the United Synagogue establishment for questioning Masorti marriages and conversions, which, he pointed out, were perfectly kosher and could not be faulted even in the most stringent halachic interpretation. The U. S. attitude was totally unreasonable, caused sorrow and hardship and was an unwelcome and divisive aspect in communal life. The Masorti Movement, he said, should make every effort to counter United Synagogue propaganda in this field and demonstrate its determination to adhere to its principles. Masorti was winning an increasing appeal as a voice of reason, of moderation and of understanding in opposition to extremism and religious fundamentalism.

CHALLENGE AND RESPONSIBILITY

Rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg, the next speaker, expounded "the spiritual ethos of our communities." Rabbi Dr Jonathan Sacks, he said, had written in his response to the Kalms report: "It follows that a fundamental imperative of the community is to reach out to all, to be open to all, to care for all and to take responsibility for all. Indeed the very survival and continuity of the Jewish people depends on our capacity to create and sustain community"

In that paragraph Rabbi Sacks defines the ultimate goal in which all of us share. But we as rabbis have of course a special responsibility in trying to realise it. From our attendance at the bedside of the dying to our response to parents seeking to choose an appropriate Hebrew name for their newly born child, we are mediators of tradition. The crucial question for us concerns the spirit in which we strive to mediate it. It is that which will define the part we play in bringing about Rabbi Sacks' vision of community.

In that paragraph Rabbi Sacks defines the ultimate goal in which all of us share. But we as rabbis have of course a special responsibility in trying to realise it. From our attendance at the bedside of the dying to our response to parents seeking to choose an appropriate Hebrew name for their newly born child, we are mediators of tradition. The crucial question for us concerns the spirit in which we strive to mediate it. It is that which will define the part we play in bringing about Rabbi Sacks' vision of community.

In our sources we find a model for this rabbinic role in the figure of the meturgeman or interpreter. It would appear from the Talmud that the Sage would not himself directly address the students before him. Instead, he would briefly and quietly convey his teaching to the meturgeman who would then have the task of explaining it in detail to the crowd assembled before him. If, in place of the talmudic sage we put the sacred texts of our tradition, and, instead of the crowd of pupils, the Jewish communities around us, then our function as rabbis can be compared to that of the interpreter of old.

This task can only be carried out with success if a language can be found which faces both ways. On the one hand we must be faithful to our tradition; on the other we need to speak in a way that the community can understand and to which it can respond. The challenge, then, is to find, and where necessary to create, an appropriate language. That language will reflect, as it will determine, the spiritual nature of our communities. What then are the qualities that must define it?

I believe that its main characteristics should be four: humility towards the past, integrity, conscience and empathy. I shall discuss each of these features briefly before turning in conclusion to the question of authenticity.

Humility

The story is told of two students of Torah who met at the crossroads between Vilna and Mezeritch some time in the 1760s. "Where are you going?" says the one to the other. "I'm going to Vilna to sit at the feet of the Vilna Gaon to learn to master the Torah", comes the reply. "Ah!" says the other, "and I'm going to Mezeritch to the Chasidic master Dov Baer to learn how to let the Torah master me." That is what I mean by humility.

We have to allow the Torah to master us. It is not just an intellectual thing for us to examine and then either accept or reject as the mood takes us. We have to be critical of that modernist aloofness which holds that because we know what they didn't we don't have to do what our ancestors did. The Torah, as has always been maintained, is a way of life. It has to be acted on and experienced. It is not sufficient simply to make it the object of our thought. There are times when we have to let go and allow ourselves to be led by our Judaism whatever our path within it maybe. As A. J. Heschel said: The mitzvot constitute a route that leads us to the threshold of meaning; if we are to discover that meaning we must be directed along that path.

In this area it seems to me that our concerns are similar to those of the United Synagogue,-more similar, perhaps, than either of us would care to admit. We all seek to develop beyond a kind of "shadow Judaism", beyond an affiliation without real substance. Each of us will follow the path in his or her own way, but we cannot develop spiritually without the willingness to discover and the readiness to be led.

Integrity

The second quality is that of integrity. We cannot with any honesty teach Torah in a way in which we don't believe. Neither can we ignore truth, whatever the form in which it may be found, and expect to preserve our integrity intact. A critique of traditionalism is therefore inevitable.

We believe it to be true that Judaism from Torah Shebichtav, the written Torah, to Torah She'be'al Peh, the oral Torah, has developed in an historical context and with human mediation. It is the divine will as manifest through human comprehension, a comprehension pushed to, but nevertheless within, its own ultimate limitations and those of its time.

It has been said that we live today in a "post-critical age". Who cares any more about passe evidence that the Torah may have been written in different parts and in different styles and at different times or by different groups? Surely we can safely return to the position that God literally dictated it all to Moses on Mount Sinai!

But "post-critical" means only that the current concerns in the field of Torah and Bible study have changed, not that the results of previous critical investigation are all necessarily untrue.

It is said that by denying that every word of the Torah is literally the word of God we remove absolute authority from Torah: without that authority what will become of it? Who will keep it any more? However disturbing that claim maybe, it must nevertheless be noted that it constitutes an argument about power and effectiveness, not one about truth, and that the integrity of one who argues on the grounds of power and effectiveness must always be questionable in the end.

The fact is that the very real authority of Torah over our lives must be discovered by each one of us if it is to be of genuine significance to each one of us. Where this is not the case we risk being in the position of doing as a community what the prophet called mitzvat anashim melumadah-commandments done by rote, and, one might add, perhaps out of imitation piety and fear of one's neighbour rather than from genuine awe of God.

Imposed in the form of absolute dogmas which may not be challenged, religious authority carries the same distasteful implications as any other form of absolute power. A world full of religions, each claiming total and unquestionable knowledge of the truth, would be little different from a playground full of children all crying "me, me, me".

All this should certainly not be taken to mean that the traditional appellations Torah Mi Sinai, (Torah from Sinai), and Torah Min Hashamayim, Torah from Heaven, are either meaningless to us or mere metaphors at best. As Rabbi Dr Louis Jacobs has often said: It all depends on what one means by "from". We would say that Torah Min Hashamayim, as a belief in the uninterrupted chain of inspiration whose ultimate source is the revelation of the divine will, and which has been mediated by many tens of generations of interpretation by the most sensitized spirits and the most refined minds, is a sine qua non of Judaism. The great texts of our tradition simply cannot be understood other than in the light of this belief, which has made of every letter of the Torah a significant vehicle for the revelation of God's will. We might also say that the person who invariably puts on critical spectacles before examining every text will very likely remain ignorant of the deeper spirit of our traditions. But this is vastly different from insisting, in the face of the evidence of both history and the text, that the Torah dropped, as it were, from heaven, and that each word has behind it the literal and absolute authority of God.

Torah is best served by integrity and truth. It would be unworthy of it if we were to approach it in any other manner.

Conscience

The third characteristic is that of conscience and concern. Here a critique of isolationism is inevitable. In so many places the Jewish world is turning ever more in on itself. In "Dilemmas of Modem Orthodoxy" Rabbi Dr Sacks writes that "Jewish thought has for the time being and the most part, turned inward from universalism to particularism, from `mission' to 'survival' ."

It is not difficult to appreciate where this development has come from. It is largely a result of the Holocaust and the distrust it has justifiably reawoken in us of relying on anyone other than ourselves. It also marks a certain nostalgia for the world of the Shtetl, a longing for the stable boundaries of an era gone by. It has been further heightened in the last couple of decades by an increasing suspicion of modernity. As has been said, progress is less appealing when it appears to be progress towards the abyss. Returning to one's roots is a way of filling the cultural void left by the collapse of the belief in the achievements of science and the advance of humankind.

But this inward turn presents new dangers, hidden though they may be from those within the often safer "four cubits" of the yeshivah and the strictly orthodox environment.

On the one hand the world is too small to ignore: its wars, its depressions and recessions, its pollution and its warming, its racism and violence cannot but concern us. It is indeed a cliche, but we ignore these things at our peril. If we can't speak to such issues, it may well be asked, then what can we speak to? The need to address the questions of eternity has never yet in the history of Judaism been accepted as an excuse for failing to address the questions of the time.

On the other hand, we Jews who live out there in that small world are too many to risk failing to speak to. We are troubled; we live, many of us, with a divided consciousness. Our Judaism and our awareness of all that is happening in the world around us often find it difficult to meet. We need a religion which will provide a language capable of crossing that gap and speaking to our wider concerns.

There are those who would write people like us off. They seem implicitly to believe that the Charedim, the very orthodox will survive. All the rest of us are really assimilators at heart. Therefore they seek to build a wall around their Judaism and turn it into some kind of hermetically sealed system which knows neither of the wider concerns of the age nor of the impact of history.

But the danger in such an approach is that it will produce what the Talmud terms "three hundred halachot on a tower floating in the air"- a religious system, that is, which is relevant only to the inhabitants of its own ivory sanctum. But we need those halachot, those laws and principles of action in our society here and now and firmly based on this earth. We therefore have no choice but to confront issues, to read and integrate into our religious life the literature of an age of survivors, of atomic threats and environmental disasters.

There is nothing about this which is untrue to Judaism, or even new to it in any way. For Judaism has been fashioned by and large not in secluded isolation from, but in creative confrontation with its day.

Empathy

The Kalms report notes, as does Rabbi Dr Sacks in his response, that a rabbi should make his congregants feel that they are acceptable as they are, without explicit or implicit criticism". To this Rabbi Dr Sacks adds that for the U.S. to reject religious exclusivism and welcome the non-observant, less observant or middle of the road Jew is the truth but not the whole truth, because of the need to provide the challenge of spiritual growth.

With this attitude we would basically agree. But the question to Rabbi Sacks-and to the United Synagogue-must be "do you really mean it?" It is a question we need no less to ask ourselves. The "I will talk to you whoever you are" approach is not good enough if it comes with a sub-text, however inexplicit, which says "But only on my terms".

There are genuine existential concerns which make the practice of a religious way of life extremely problematic. Faith-no less than in the past, and very likely more so-confronts seeming impossibilities. We can, and should, empathise with those who will have none of it. They too are part of the debate.

I therefore cannot agree with Rabbi Sacks' conclusion when he writes in his essay Alienation and Faith that "the man who lives his life in the Torah finds union; he who separates himself from it, separates himself from other men, even those closest to him. Loneliness is the condition of sin". Nor can I accept his further observation that "Alienation... has its place in the inner life of the Jew: as the corollary of sin. The Jew who returns, the Baal Teshuvah, finds refuge and relation restored to him". This does not seem to me to be true to experience; more seriously, though, one would not even wish it to be true to experience, for it is fair neither to the follower of religion nor to the person who does not follow it On the contrary it is often the case that we have as much or more to learn morally from the alienated and the lonely than from the person who readily fits in.

The language we create to address the issues of faith cannot always be comfortable. Were it to be so, we would not only have to edit out much of the world around us but also to pare down the human personality to the extent where what remained would be little more than a travesty. A life of faith is probably also a life of doubt and sometimes one of unease and discomfort. The compensation, however, for being challenged by everything is that we can also learn from everything. The compensation for not necessarily finding God in convenient and predictable places is that we may find God in difficult and unexpected situations. For God is always greater than the pattern of our expectations.

Authenticity

Humility, integrity, conscience, empathy-these qualities should characterise that language of faith which tries to face both directions. This is the language of the meturgeman, the interpreter, as it strives to mediate between the sacred texts of the past and the challenge of our present situation.

But is the endeavour to fashion such a language and to live a Jewish life in the manner I have described authentic? Few are immune to the feeling that "whatever it is, my frummer friend is more it than me".

The answer to that question can only be that the endeavour per se is certainly authentic, as are the results of it-to exactly the degree that each of us strives to make them so.

There are those who are always longing for "the true Judaism", by which they seem to mean a pure, unadulterated religion, free from any spurious admixtures from suspect sources. Where is it to be found? In the Judaism of Samson Raphael Hirsch perhaps? After all, he is in many ways the father of today's orthodoxy. Then what about his concern with German society or with contemporary intellectual issues as they are reflected in his great commentary to the Torah? Perhaps we can find the "pure Judaism" in Maimonides instead? But what about his deep respect for Greek philosophy and what about all he clearly owed to the Arab thinkers through whose mediation it reached him? Maybe we should go back to the Bible; but what then of ancient near eastern literature and law?

The truth is that there is no such thing as pure, one hundred percent authentic Judaism. Judaism has always differed, and differed profoundly, but not through sticking to its own sameness in isolated fixity. Judaism has differed as a result of being involved and through being evolved.

The challenge for us is what we make of the responsibility of carrying that Judaism forward.

SIMILARITY AND DISPARITY

The third speaker in the symposium was Rabbi Chaim Weiner. I have been asked, he said, to compare the attitudes towards halacha in the Masorti Movement with those in the U.S. As I was preparing my words, I could not help but reflect on how much these attitudes are the same, but yet, how very different they are. Only by understanding both the sameness and the difference between us and the Orthodox, can we reach a full appreciation of what is meant by halacha in the Masorti Movement.

Much of the basis for our acceptance of the halacha is the same as the Orthodox. We believe in God-not God just as a remote abstract idea, but a God who is very much involved in the history of the Jewish people. We believe that there is a covenant between God and the Jewish people, a covenant in which God adopted our people and committed Himself to protect it, a covenant in which we agreed to become God's people. God has given us commandments and has dictated a special lifestyle. Those commandments have been transmitted to us in the Torah.

The similarity goes even further. We believe in Rabbinic Judaism, that is, we believe that along with the written Torah we were given an oral tradition, which was transmitted by the rabbis and eventually written down in the Mishnah and the Talmud. These books have become the basis of normative halachic practice to this day. The books have been studied and explained by rabbis throughout the centuries, and they have developed methods by which the halacha can be deduced from them. We study the same books as the Orthodox, apply the same halachic machinery, feel the same commitment. Our goal is to uphold the commitment to halacha-not to undermine it. As religious leaders we strive to bring our members closer to God and to our tradition through increased observance, learning and understanding.

However, despite the similarities, there is a world of difference between Masorti and Orthodox Judaism with regard to halacha-both in theory and in practice. To understand why this is so you must understand that, contrary to popular belief, halacha is not a closed rule book which dictates proper behaviour for every given situation. The fact is that there are principles of halacha which have to be applied to the situations in real life. However, since every situation is different, since there are a whole variety of considerations that have to be taken into account, rabbis have to use their own judgement in evaluating how to apply the halacha in any given situation. There are very real differences in the way the halacha is applied by us.

Let me mention some of the difference in our attitudes to three key areas-to the modem world, to the non-observant Jew and to the process of change itself

(1) The Modern World The basic difference between Orthodox Judaism and Masorti Judaism is in our attitudes to the modern world. Orthodox Jewry views modernity as a threat. Modem science calls on us to question the literal truth of our tradition. Modem values stand as a threat to traditional modes of living. Orthodox Jewry tries to build walls between Jews and the modem world. They wish to live physically in the modem world and spiritually in the Jewish world that was. Masorti Judaism asks: How do I live in the Jewish tradition as a full part of this world, accepting the good and enhancing it with traditional Jewish values.

These differences have a strong influence on practice. For example: the role of women is understood very differently in our society than it was in the past. The Orthodox ask: how can I keep things exactly as they were. The Masorti ask: how far can I go within the boundaries of halacha to involve women more fully? The same can be said about other issues. Interfaith relationships, determining the curriculum of studies in our religious institutions, acceptance of Jews who think differently, deciding how we should dress, where and what we should eat.

(2) The Non-observant Jew The difference between us and the Orthodox becomes more pronounced when we compare attitudes to the non-observant Jew. In the Orthodox mind, a non-observant Jew is at best someone who doesn't know better, at worst a sinner who has to be socially excluded. The Orthodox try to impose observance wherever possible, by force, by persuasion or by embarrassment. The Masorti rabbi views religious observance as a question of individual choice. Members are encouraged to observe, but it has to be their own choice. Therefore, if you drive to the synagogue on Shabbat, you are still welcome in its gates. There is a tolerance for those who differ. You can question openly, you can debate, speak-not only be spoken to (or at). Being a committed Jew has many facets. Religious observance is only one of them. There are good Jews who are marginally observant. There are some terrible people who are outwardly very observant.

No more is this difference in attitudes clearer than in questions of conversion. The halacha states, for example, that a child can be converted to Judaism because it is assumed that it is to a person's advantage to be a Jew. It is a good thing to be a Jew. The Orthodox do not apply this principle universally, for they feel that it is in no way an advantage to be non-observant Jew. We say, being Jewish is a good thing, is a great thing. Even a non-observant person reflects God's holiness. If you are not an observant Orthodox Jew, the Beth Din does not serve you in your greatest hours of need-when you adopt a child, when your child has met a non-Jewish partner.

The Kalms Report emphasises this feeling of being excluded, as being a "not good enough Jew" that United Synagogue members have. In Masorti you are accepted and respected no matter who you are and helped to grow spiritually when you are ready.

(3) Change The third difference is in our attitudes towards change. Change is necessary in any society-as the world changes so we too have to change. Judaism has always been changing. Our Judaism is very different from that of the Bible and from that of the Mishnah. Even the most Orthodox societies have changed. However, in the modern world change is a problem because our world is changing so fast that it is hard to adapt without losing one's sense of continuity, one's sense of identity.

Orthodoxy has responded to the modern world by trying to stop change. One of the leading figures in moulding Orthodox thought was a rabbi known as the Hatam Sofer, and he coined the phrase "Anything new is forbidden from the Torah" as a slogan for his attitude to modem life. One frequently has the impression that for the Orthodox rabbi everything is forbidden. However, the world has changed greatly and not recognising this means being more and more remote from the real world, from the Jews who are part of that real world.

This is not to say that every change is good and that eve g should be changed. Tradition needs roots and one needs to continue to draw on these roots to grow. Masorti Judaism wishes to balance tradition and change-to be open to change when this is necessary, to reject it when it isn't. Finding the correct balance is not an easy thing. However, the halacha admits much more potential for change when studied objectively than the Orthodox are willing to recognise.

When faced with the need to change, the Masorti rabbi asks:

"How can I say yes?" Not, "How to say no?" I have no doubt that many of the solutions we have found to the problems facing us-defining the role of women, intermarriage and conversion, Jewish divorce, to name but a few-will have to become universally accepted in the future. The Orthodox problem will be how to do what is necessary, even though it is what the Masorti have been saying all along. I would say that the Orthodox could learn a lot from our experience.

Despite the differences, there is much Masorti Judaism and Orthodoxy have in common. I do not see any reason why an Orthodox Jew could not adopt the practices of the Masorti Movement and still remain fully committed to Torah Judaism. The Kalms Report calls for change-for a more open, welcoming, tolerant rabbinate, for a synagogue which belongs in the modern world.

That is what we have. My hope is that the leaders of the United Synagogue heed the call. There is much in the experience of the Masorti Movement worldwide from which they can learn. In the final analysis, we are not Orthodox Jews, Masorti Jews or Reform Jews-we are just Jews. The future of the entire Jewish community is dependent on all of us succeeding. By working closer together, by learning from each other successes and failures, by co-operation and mutual support we all will emerge stronger-and bring a better future to the entire Jewish community.