Sermons and Divrei Torah
The Jew Within
by Rabbi Elyse Goldstein
(Sermon - Rosh Hashanah 5762)
As I said yesterday, every Rabbi in the world tore up their Rosh
Hashana sermon and recomposed it last Tuesday. Someone said to
me after services yesterday, "Well, the good news is, now you
have next year's sermon!" and thank him for that piece of optimism!
But today, I will preach my regular sermon, for I refuse to give
the terrorists any more air time, at least in this sanctuary.
But I begin with these words of caveat, lest those who did not
hear my words yesterday, mistake me or this community of being-
G-d forbid- callous or uncaring that I choose not to speak today
on the attacks. I will happy to provide copies of yesterday's
sermon for folks who would like to read it, and though I speak
of things "normal" at this moment, my heart is heavy with the
realization that "normalcy" will be hard won again. My "normal"
theme today was to be Jewish identity, and thus it will be, complete
with jokes, for God knows, we need to laugh a little these days,
as much as we need to cry.
So I begin with a stroy of a Canadian sociologist who goes up
north to study the culture of the Inuit. He and his guide go from
igloo to igloo, and in each one he sees an elder sitting in the
corner, eating a candle. He's never seen this before, and he asks
his guide to explain this interesting custom. "Yes" says the guide,
"we eat candles because of the tallow. We need alot of fat in
our diets because of the cold." "I see" says the sociologist,
and on to the next igloo they go. There, he sees an elder sitting
in the corner, eating an entire box of Chanukah candles! The sociologist
is incredulous. Could he have found one of the ten lost tribes?
Could this Inuit tribe be part Jewish? What a find! He turns excitedly
to his guide and says, "Ask the man if he is Jewish." So the guide
speaks some words in Inuit to the elder, and the elder speaks
some words in Inuit to the guide. The guide turns to the sociologist
and says, "No, he says he's not Jewish, but he loves Jewish food!"
It used to be you could predict a person's Jewish identity already
by 18. But today, identity formation is late and very fluid. Yitz
Greenberg once remarked that it used to be an Orthodox Jewish
boy from Boro Park would end up an Orthodox Jewish man in Boro
Park. But today, an Orthodox Jewish boy from Boro Park can just
as easily end up a Reform Jewish Buddhist woman in Boulder. We
no longer speak in the language of "arrival"; most of us are "underconstructionist"
Jews, on a journey of ongoing questioning and development, making
new decisions about ritual and involvement over and over again,
not really ever stepping into an "inescapable framework" of identity
given at birth. The language of "spiritual journey" is the vocabulary
of our age. We rely on experience and play down anything inherited
or routine.The construction of Jewish identity takes so many twists
and turns in the course of a lifetime that we rarely know where
we will end up Jewishly. Think of your own life. Some of you who
were raised in very traditional homes will say, if I had told
you ten years ago you'd be enjoying an egalitarian high holiday
service run by a Reform woman rabbi in a tallis you'd never believe
it. Some of you who were raised in secular, atheist homes, maybe
"red babies" would say if you told me ten years ago I'd be in
any shul at all, and even enjoying it, I'd never believe it. And
some of you who have converted to Judaism will say, I never even
knew what a a shul was, let alone consider I'd be wearing a yarmulke,
and praying in one!
To tell the truth, I learn alot in the ongoing question of Jewish
identity from the people I've converted. Because Jews by choice
have not grown up with all the ethnic memories, the bubbies and
zaidies and holiday smells and sounds, they understand better
than born Jews do that Jewish identity is not so much something
one has, but something one does. A Jew by choice knows that being
Jewish is more than an accident of birth, because they didn't
have that accident. A Jew by choice knows that you can't learn
a "feeling" so telling them you "feel" Jewish isn't a helpful
identity marker. And they know that being a good person is not
the only identity marker of being a good Jew, because they were
a good person before conversion. They wouldn't have to convert
to Judaism, we hope, to become a good person.
Two true stories to illustrate: Several years ago, a woman I was
working with for conversion came before the Beit Din. She was
incredibly nervous, more than need be. In fact, in the midle of
the Biet Din, she broke down into tears. "Whats wrong?" we asked.
"Have you decided not to convert? Do you have second thoughts?"
"Oh no," she answered. "Just the opposite. But this morning, as
I was leaving for the Beit Din, my Jewish mother-in-law called
to wish me good luck. I told her how nervous I was, and she said,
Don't worry dear- after the conversion you can be just as ignorant
and uncommitted as the rest of us!"
A second story: A few years ago, I worked with a young man interested
in conversion. He had been drawn to Judaism through his reading,
and though he was raised a Christian, he no longer felt pulled
to that faith. One small catch: he was engaged to be married to
a Christian woman, and she had no interest in converting. I talk
to him of the issues of intermarriage, but in this context, between
a non-Jew who converts to Judaism and a non-Jew who dosn't. Think
about it, I say: when a Jew marries a non-Jew and wishes to raise
Jewish children, there is, at least, a set of Jewish grandparents
who can be called upon. There are Jewish childhood memories. There
is the Jewish family's synagogue connections. In your case, there
will be no Jewish grandparents, no Jewish memories, no Jewish
past on either side. Not impossible, I said, but surely something
to think about. He didn't see any issue, he said, because his
Judaism would be a private matter between him and God only. What
did his wife have to do with it? He would practice those things
he could do by himself; he'd join a synagogue by himself, continue
to read Jewish books and take classes by himself. He'd be Jewish
"in his heart." But that is a Christian view of Judaism, as a
"faith" one can privately hold in one's heart, away from others
and of no consequence to either the family or the community. This
kind of Judaism is governed by what Steven Cohen calls "the sovereign
self." Each person now performs the work of fashioning his or
her own autonomous Jewish self, defined by the self and regulated
by the self, idiosyncratic in observances and customs, pulling
together elements from the various Jewish and non-Jewish repetoires
available. Now think about why we find it so hard to find community.
How does one make a community without shared expectations, communal
standards, when the "mother tongue" of individual Jews is not
community but the sacred self, profound individualism, highly
personal? Sociologist of religion Robert Wunthrow writes, "Faith
is considered a private matter...It is practiced mostly in the
quiet recesses of personal life." The problem is, Judaism is not
a private kind of faith. It flourishes, it thrives on a communal
life. And it is here contemporary Jews and their insistence on
personal meaning, coupled with the search for community, most
often collide.
So pretend you are a rabbi counselling a prospective convert to
Judaism. What markers of Jewish identity would you give to guide
that person toward Judaism?
Let's talk about the old markers: Israel, the fight against anti-semitism,
synagogue, philanthropy and family.
Of all the traditional symbols of a Jewish life, widespread equivocation
and even despair over the "situation" in Israel is surely the
clearest indication of the growing uncertainty about what used
to be a strong and unabashed indication of being " a member of
the tribe." I well remember the ardor of 1967 and 1973. Perhaps
recent events will rekindle some commitment, but the troubled
state of the peace process, along with the refusal of Orthodox
religious monopolies to grant rights to non-Orthodox forms of
Judaism in the Jewish state has caused a clear rift with Diaspora
Jews. Of course before Tuesday I would have reassured you that
you can still travel to Israel and feel safe. But who knows- ironically,
Israel may be one of the safer places to be in the next few months.
I point to my March study mission and assure you, when you go
from the hotel to the bus back to the hotel again and when you
are at tourist stops with armed security, there's little to fear.
The great tourism stay-away is not only about fear. It is also
about ambivalence. Israel used to be one of, if not the, central
icons in the formation of a Jewish identity. It no longer is so.
And the fight against anti-semitism was once one of the sure markers.
Do "they" hate us? Hate is a strong word. Today's anti-semitism
is more subtly packaged as anti-Israel, Zionism=racism, innuendoes
about "clannishness" and wealth, political correctness over the
Merchant of Venice but not alot of insides churning in the audience
when Shylock is mocked at the end. "It's just a show." In my parents'
generation there was more to worry about, they enjoyed the jokes
about "goyim" and "shiksas" whose country clubs they couldn't
get in to and whose suburban friends they longed to be. But in
2001, the overwhelming evidence is that Canadian Jews are throroughly
acculturated, and the experiences of non-acceptance are very minimal.
The synagogue was once one of those identity markers. Yet recent
findings by the American Jewish Committee suggests that while
many Jews do believe in God, most do not belong to synagogues,
and many do not see any incongruence between deep belief on the
one hand and lack of attachment to the synagogue on the other.
A generation ago, Jews defined themselves strongly by denominational
boundaries. Indeed it was in the 60's and 70's that the our denominations-
Reform, Conservative, Orthodox and Reconstructionist- enjoyed
their denominational heydays. Platforms were formulated, seminaries
strengthened, and institutions built to insure the success of
the four pillars. But today's Jews, and even Jewish leaders, are
fond of calling themselves post denominational, pluralistic, transdenominational.
There is today, for really the first time in Jewish history, the
emergence of Jews who are deeply spiritual and yet who have severely
diminished interest in the spiritual life of the community.
And philanthropy was once one of those markers. Gloria Steinem
once remarked, "If you look at my check stubs, you'll see what
I stand for." Liberal Jews give lots of money to the opera, the
museums, many worthy social causes. But liberal Jews also give
lots of money to Jewish organizations and causes that would come
round and say their family's own way of being Jewish isn't authentic
or even valid. I like to tell the story of my uncle Max, of blessed
memory, who used to give a nice sum of money to a small yeshiva
in Jerusalem every year. Every year he'd get flowery letters of
thank you, beginning with "Dear Max, the blessed, the holy, may
he live in good health and long life...can you please send us
money again." The year I was living in Jerusalem as a rabbic student
Uncle Max told me to go and check out that yeshiva he had been
generously supporting all those years and take a Talmud class
there, in his name. You can imagine their answer. "There are some
things even your Uncle Max's money cannot buy." Recent scholarship
on religion in the United States has demonstrated a pervasive
consumerism even when it comes to giving tzedakah. What do I get
for my gift? Now let me be perfectly frank with you, and I apologize
in advance if I offend anyone. But Kolel, the adult education
centre which is the host of these High Holiday services, suffers
trememdously from this consumer syndrome. People pay for a semester
class or a High Holiday ticket and think thats all they need to
do to keep the institution alive. They have paid for a "product."
But who pays the photocopying, the mailings, the hydro, the Rabbis
salaries, the secretary, the security system, the roof when it
leaks at 151 Eglinton West so these services can go on next year?
Now let me be even more blunt: most of the people in this room
have not paid synagogue dues this year. Maybe they will next year,
and I hope so, but imagine if everyone gave even half of the price
of those dues to Kolel on top of the price of their ticket, as
a symbol of shared responsibility for a communal institution not
just to survive but to flourish. Would I know your Jewish identity
from your check stubs?
And the family, the last traditional marker of Jewish identity,
still remains a strong central icon. But though Jewish parents
used to lead the way into Jewish life, and a strong Jewish childhood
was once a good predictor of a strong Jewish adulthood, the opposite
is now true. Adults practice Judaism for their children, starting
first when they have children, believing in the conventional wisdom
that the children will bring the adults back to Judaism. In truth,
the children only bring the adults back to children's pediatric
Judaism: flag waving at Simchat Torah and adorable Esthers and
Mordecais at Purim. Children propel adults into the unavoidable
position of serving as Jewish role models. They impel critical
decisions regarding Jewish observance, Jewish schooling. If your
kids described your household activities in a typical week, how
would a listener know that it was a Jewish house?
I know it is my custom on the High Holy Days to offer you answers.
Perhaps it is the tenor of the last few days that makes answers
seem difficult. For some of us, the old markers of Jewish identity,
Israel, the fight against anti-semitism, synagogue, philanthropy
and family, remain steady beacons along the way. For others, there
is a little of each left in the stew. But for some, none of those
old markers work any more. The danger is not so much in losing
the old signposts as in having no substitutes. When I used to
live in Boston, and people would ask directions on the road, we
were fond of giving the typical answer: you can't get there from
here. How are we going to get there from here? Without coordinates
on a spiritual map, the journey meanders. I have no sure sense
of what being Jewish will look like in ten years or twenty- even
what it would look like to be an Orthodox Jew, so don't think
the signposts aren't shifting there, because they are, too. Is
each of us to be the final arbiter of what it means to be Jewish?
If so, how will we ever find a shared community? I think so many
of us are hungry, are starving for a new kind of Jewish community-spiritual
and egalitarian, caring and liberal, observant and progressive,
all at the same time. But we won't get it by sitting in the corner
eating Chanukah candles. Theodore Herzl said "If you will it,
it is no dream" and Kevin Costner said, "If you build it, they
will come" but someone has to put up some new signposts or we
won't have any direction for ourselves or for our children. And
surely in the trying days ahead, we will want to know the comforting
embrace of a community, and count ourselves more secure by being
in it.
Shana Tova.
Sermons and Divrei Torah
Additional Resources
Elul: Period of Preparation
Yamim Noraim: Days of Awe
Rosh Hashanah: Introduction
Shofar Symbolism
The Custom of Tashlich
Yom Kippur: Introduction
G'mar Chatima Tova...
