One People, My
People: Making the Case for Jewish
Peoplehood
Of course it was the
hottest day we spent in Jerusalem.
We were a motley crew assembled beside our thankfully air-conditioned
bus looking less put together than usual.
Our concerned comments floated heavily in the air. “Do you think my skirt is long
enough?” “Should I button the top
button of my blouse?” “Why is it
that I need to wear socks with my sandals?”
Our conversation
was affected entirely by the site visit scheduled for the afternoon, a visit to
a Haredi music conservatory in Jerusalem where modesty mattered with a capital
M. The explicit dress code
reflected the customs of their traditional Jewish community – a Jewish world
dramatically different from my own.
As I worried about respecting their ideals, I wondered if they would
show the same semblance of respect towards my Jewish practice.
This institutional
visit was part of a fellowship year designed to help future rabbis grow into
visionary Jewish leaders. The year
focused on teaching us how to ask the big questions that challenge twenty-first
century Jews and their various Judaisms.
We spent hours wondering what it means to belong collectively to the
Jewish people – especially a Jewish people who reflect the remarkable diversity
seen in today’s world.
We explored the
notion of Jewish peoplehood – an idea that Jews are somehow all connected and
responsible for each other – during a summer seminar in Israel. The Jews we encountered challenged us
at every moment about definitions of inclusion, the connection points of Jewish
practice, and our collective responsibility towards one another. To an outsider, these conversations
must have reflected a Jewish version of the popular children’s book – Are
You My Mother? We wandered
around Israel, met and conversed with Jews from remarkably diverse backgrounds,
and thoughtfully asked – Are You My People?
Now, peoplehood is
an interesting idea. It has become
a bit of buzzword in the Jewish world.
There is no doubt, of course, that Jews are a people. And that we have been a people since
biblical times. Jewish peoplehood
may be hard to define but the idea that Jews are a nation or a people is
encountered over and over again in Jewish literature. The Torah refers to us as “Am Yisrael” – the nation of
Israel, “Klal Yisrael” – All of Israel, and “B’nei Yisrael” – Children of
Israel. Through connection and
shared destiny we become the large, complex, eclectic, irritating, awesome, diverse
Jewish family the world knows today.
And, as all of you well know, family comes with its own set of
obligations, complications, expectations and responsibilities.
These
obligations and expectations are quite readily seen in this week’s parasha, Vayeira. This rich portion involves multiple
encounters – between God and Abraham, between God and God’s potential people,
and between these people amongst themselves. In Vayeira we see the complex beginnings of our formation
into a family. These biblical characters are, as Tammi J. Schneider reminds us
in the Eskenazi-Weiss commentary, individuals who “vividly depict the
challenges, anguish, and joy human beings experience as they create families
and discover the complexities of multiple commitments.”[1]
This collective
mentality, of course, creates a serious tension for us – especially when some
of us disagree with how to practice (or perhaps not practice) the rituals and mitzvot
that make up Judaism today. It
begs the question of whether we can really be a people united in a covenantal
relationship with God when so many of us have such different perspectives,
understanding of practices, interpretations of traditions, and relationships
with modernity? I believe in so many interpretative perspectives I was certain the
ultra-orthodox would disdain – an equality of women and men in relationships,
the ability of both men and women to be spiritual leaders in religious
communities, and equal access for all members of our diverse Jewish community
to Torah, text study and God. Is
it really possible for us to see each other, share with one another, or is this
just a fantasy made unlikely because of very real differences?
Perhaps the idea
of peoplehood helps this conundrum.
And while it may sometimes put us on the defensive about the legitimacy
of progressive practice, the concept of peoplehood can cut across our
differences and turn the diversity within the world’s Jewish communities into a
family of families. Many credit
this notion of peoplehood to Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionist
Judaism. Kaplan used the term peoplehood
in several of his well-known essays and books in order to “create an
understanding of Judaism broad enough to include everyone who identified as a
Jew regardless of one’s understanding of or approach to that identity.”[2]
This awareness that all Jews are family members who are connected and
responsible for one another seems counter-intuitive to the individualism that sometimes drives American sensibilities. For at its core, the foundation of
peoplehood specifies a privileging of our connection to Jews over
non-Jews. And in an age of
universalism, this privileging of Jews over non-Jews makes many uncomfortable.
But I actually think it has remarkable strategic power for responding to the
realities of our Jewish future. A
strengthening of Jewish peoplehood can help to redefine Jewish belonging –
binding us again to one another in pursuit of a renewal of obligation to build
and act on our connections to one another.
Now, as you wisely
may be asking yourself right now, how are earth are we supposed to put this
idea into action? How might we, as
the Talmud teaches, re-embrace the idea that kol Yisrael arevim zeh bah zeh – all Israel is bound up together?
Bill Robinson, of the Jewish Education Project, proposes if we are serious
about creating common identity we need to return our focus to religion and to the
sacred, communal rituals that bind us .
Citing sociologist Emile Durkheim, Robinson reminds us that religious
worship actually reflects worship of community. Community best actualized by
calling upon on rituals, both old and new, to assure connection and continuity of
a people.[3] Let’s use our historic narrative of
ritual that has shaped the Jewish collective since our ancient construction as
a kingdom of priests and a holy nation to harness the intrinsic power of shared
rituals in order to reshape them to fit an evolved definition for 21st
century Judaism. It might be multi-dimensional
to reflect our diversity. Or it
could occur in a shared place or a shared time that belongs to all Jews. Maybe
it is in a national Jewish imperative to pursue justice.
Whatever the
chosen methodology, I believe the time has come for a return to our collective
narrative. To figure out how we might work to transcend mutual fear and
distrust in an effort to love our family members, even when we may not always
understand their choices and they might not understand ours. A midrash about King Solomon is
incredibly instructive. A
two-headed man and his siblings bring a dispute over their father’s inheritance
to Solomon. The two-headed man
claims that his two heads guaranteed him twice the inheritance. His siblings protest: sure, he has two
heads but those two heads share just one body and therefore he deserves only
one portion. King Solomon, a king
with a flair for the dramatic, suggests pouring boiling water over one of the
man’s heads. If the second head stayed indifferent and not affected by the
other head’s pain, then we could know the man as two separate individuals. If
the second head screams out in pain, then we would know the man as one person.[4]
This complicated
parable reflects the destiny of the Jewish people – we are indeed one body,
with perhaps today more heads than we can count. Jewish history recounts over and over again the times we
have either cried out in pain or shouted out with joy for one another. So even as
each of us uses our own unique head of interpretation, all Jews still share in
the exact same inheritance. For
better or worse, Jews are connected – in suffering and in joy. That’s what it means to be a family – my
joy can be your joy, your pain must be my pain, my struggles reflect your
struggles, your evolution demands my evolution.
But perhaps even more important
than our family tree, if we desire to truly change the world, to make it a
better place for ourselves and those who will inhabit it after us, working
together as a united collective is our only choice. And as challenging as it
sometimes feels, this work of creating the space for collective space must stay
strong here in our progressive Jewish space. As the movement that fights for inclusion – that models over
and over again what it means to make space for others – making space for fellow
Jews, especially when it feels hard, seems to me the only way to authentically
continue calling ourselves an inclusion movement. I recognize – believe me I really recognize, how tricky this
task can seem. I too have felt the
sting of rejection, of not feeling Jewish enough – and yet, there are still enough
moments in my pursuit to remind me that even when the peoplehood glasses are a
bit blurry, my responsibility remains as Pirkei Avot teaches: while you are not
obligated to complete the work, neither are you free to desist from it.[5] Standing up for the high Jewish ideals
of justice and equality must begin with standing up and standing with one
other.
The religious Zionist thinker Rav Kook taught
endlessly about the idea of Ahavat
Yisrael – the love for each and every Jew. He often drew criticism from
fellow traditionalists who considered the secularists less than when it came to
Judaism. When called out about his
willingness to engage with all Jews, Rav Kook once famously responded that there
was already enough rejecting in the Jewish world. He preferred to fill the role
of embracing.
So, it was on that
hot day in Jerusalem that I found myself with the potential for a peoplehood moment.
I took a deep breath in order to model what it means to openly embrace instead
of automatically reject. I looked inside for something that could bring us
closer together if even for a moment.
I found it that
day in an answer one of the women gave about her choice to live such a
traditional life. It struck me
with its simplicity – “These are my sisters. With them, I belong.”
I understood her completely.
I know about sisterhood, about that feeling of belonging, of acceptance. When I smiled at her in understanding
of her answer, something softened in her face. In that moment, perhaps we both remembered that long ago we
were sisters too. I like to think
that for each of us that brief moment of recognition will serve as a reminder
that all Jews need see each other as b’tzelem Elohim, created just like
themselves, in the absolute perfect image of God. Let this image lead us to
always encounter each other first as family, however distantly related we may
seem to one another, so that all Jews become our Jews. One people, my people – collectively
belonging and collectively connected.
[1] The Torah:
A Women's Commentary, Editors, Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, Andrea L.
Weiss, New York: URJ/Women of Reform Judaism, 2008. pg. 84.
[2] Peoplehood Now, sponsored by the NADAV Foundation,
editors: Shlomi Ravid, Shelley Kedar, Research: Ari Engelberg, Elana Sztokman,
Varda Rafaeli. p.13
[3]
Bill Robinson.
Finding the Sacred Rituals of Jewish Peoplehood. The Peoplehood
Papers, volume 8 - Nurturing Jewish Peoplehood in the 21st Century - What
Should We Do Differently? - published by the Center for Jewish Peoplehood
Education.
[4] Weiss, Rabbi Avraham. Spiritual
Activism, A Jewish Guide to Leadership and Repairing the World. Jewish
Lights, 2008. Page xiii
[5] Pirkei Avot,
2:21
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