Sunday 3 November 2013

What is Judaism?

DON'T WORRY:  WHEN THEY PUT YOU IN THE OVENS, THEY
DON'T ASK YOU WHAT YOU BELIEVE... [i]

        The title of this chapter refers to a remark that I heard more than once growing up as a Jewish boy in Boro Park, Brooklyn in the 1940s, a time when being a Jew was a matter of mixed fear, pride, and guilt.  Yet aside from the specific reference to the events in the Holocaust, the saying of my grandmother and her friends reflects an attitude very characteristic of that form of Judaism which grew up in the shtetls of East Europe and which flourished in the first half of the twentieth century in America.  This is Judaism with an emphasis on practice rather than belief.  But again this is more than just a reflex or defence-reaction to the pogroms in Russia and Poland in the late 19th century, a retreat into the minutiae of custom and taboo, which, when confronted by the more liberal and sceptical society of Protestant Western Europe and America, could not, as Nathan Glazer suggests, answer the simple question:  Why?  Rather I suggest it is an intrinsic and contradictory element of rabbinic Judaism itself as it has taken shape ever since the destruction of the Temple in 70 C.E.
        When I speak of a "contradiction", of course, I do not mean this in a derogatory sense of absolute self-annihilation, but as a description of a normal aspect of any and all human institutions and social formations.  The contradiction is a form of tension that keeps a language or culture from feeling totally adequate to its experiences in history.  Thus, on the one hand, Jews profess a rigid adherence to a code of law proliferating continuously from the Mosaic dispensation through the total manifestation of Talmudic and rabbinical revelation; while, on the other hand, that dispensation and revelation is not viewed as complete or codified article of faith.  Whatever authority one Jew may credit to a statement of divine writ or an insight of some saintly teacher, another Jew will counter with an equally canonical text of Scripture or valid opinion by another rabbi.  Yet in fact Judaism is not a free-flowing system of relativity, no more so than it is a dogmatic rationalisation of archaic myth.  The real situation needs to be looked at by approaching Judaism less as a religion in the sense of Christianity or other major religions in the West and more as the cultural system or civilization we find familiar when discussing Islam or other major religions of the East.  For Judaism is a civilization within a civilization rather than a body of individuals professing the same doctrines of belief;  these individuals do not form a racial or national type, as ethnic history will show, and except in modern Israel have never shown any political or economic coherence, and even there coherence is rather problematic to say the least.
        In this light, with Judaism taken as a civilization more than a religion, it will be possible to enunciate some of the significant implications of the customs and behavioral characteristics, not as racial stereotypes but as what we may call the language of mentality.  Of course, what I am speaking of here is very much the view that I see in myself though I use some authorities.  Thus the only kind of coherence I am attempting to present in the first part of this book is of a personal testimony, and so experience is as valid as citation, and what I seek is to stimulate discussion rather than offer a definitive treatise.
        A second anecdotal statement to follow the words of the title set out another answer given to me as a Jewish boy in Brooklyn.  This time the statement came from a Conservative rabbi and then was confirmed by my parents.  Asking about the reality and nature of God, I was told:

If there is a God, and God willing there is one, then the only kind of God we can imagine is a loving and reasonable God.  If he is to judge our actions, he will be concerned with our acts of kindness and respect for other people.  So be good and kind, obey your parents, study hard, and show respect for the customs of your parents and grandparents and all our ancestors.  Then if there is a God, no matter what you believe or what you may do about prayers and all the laws of eating and observance, you will be rewarded as a good person.  And if, God forbid, there is no God, then at least you will have made your life meaningful and made the world better for the people you love and come into contact with.  If, on the other hand--may I bite my tongue and suffer for it--there is a God who cares more about belief in him and observance than he does about acts of lovingkindness, then it would be better he does not exist.  And so we shouldn't worry about beliefs, but only do good.

Interestingly, this statement reconstructed from memory contains some useful insights into the kind of Jewish civilisation I am talking about, and is presented in a tone which I could not but articulate almost on the verge of what is typical of the Jewish joke.  Some of these main points are that the question of Jewish faith and observance does not rest on the retelling of biographical myth or interpretation of particular sacred words.  Jewishness of this kind also stresses the significance of good deeds and of moral choices.  These elements are decidedly non-Christian and that brings into focus a negatively defining aspect of Judaism, namely, that to be a Jew is not to be a Christian--and aside from a few pockets of Islamic culture in the Balkans, the Jews are the only European people who are not Christian.  That requires a special clarification of European culture itself, something which the scope of this paper does not allow.
        Yet one clear element of the Jew as non-Christian should be stressed, and that is that Jew does not believe that the Messiah has come and that the world is redeemed, nor even that a process of redemption has begun which is to be completed at the Second Coming of the Saviour-figure.  This is something Martin Buber emphasized in his writings.  The Jew not only knows that the world is unredeemed and the Messiah yet to begin the healing of all the evils in the world, but he feels the double alienation of confronting a Christian society operating on the principle of that very premise.  To all but the most cloistered Jewish community in the Pale of Settlement--and perhaps not even then--the guilt of knowing this truth against the burdensome assertion of the Christian masters was a mixed feeling--a feeling of superiority and also of fear of what the Christians would do because they knew the Jews would not believe their very fundamental lie.
        If the Jews do not have the myth of a Holy Saviour who came into the world, suffered, died, and rose from the dead, and a body of ecclesiastically-sanctioned dogma to believe in, to meditate and interpret, they have something else which centers their religious experience:  the myth of study.  To study is a verb, for the Jew, which means to pray, to argue, to know, to have faith in, and to make choices.  Leo Rosten says, "For centuries, Jews have had the sense of being part of one flowing, continuous, uninterrupted prayer to (and dialogue with) God."
        Yet to pray, even if the words of many prayers were those of formal liturgy, repeated with little concern for their actual content, and so containing notions which could not be believed in if taken as dogma rather than acts (praxis) of piety,--yet to pray also meant to study and to study meant active dialogue, argument, and even debate with God.  Franz Rosenzweig, as reported by Samuel H. Bergman, spoke of the importance of each Jew believing that he added some part, no matter how slight, to the continuous and cumulative prayer or articulation of truth and to about God.  And Hermann Cohen, another early 20th Century thinker reported by Bergman, gave as one of the six distinguishing traits of Judaism the following declaration:

There is an indissoluble relationship between knowledge and belief in Judaism.  Study is a sacred duty.  Hence Judaism knows no conflict between faith and knowledge.

        At times, of course, knowledge easily conforms to traditional faith, but the record of rabbinical commentary shows that for the most part conflict is there, and knowledge and faith jockey for position in the pages of Talmud, Mishna, Gemorah, and more recent versions of the oral Torah.
        The third aspect of this stress on study is that of choice.  Again this does not mean that Judaism was open to an infinite range of options, but it does mean that the ordinary Jew, however naive his reasoning and whatever his motives, to paraphrase Rosten, confronted a spectrum of choices and not a core of mystical beliefs.  Thus we find even in so mystical a Chassidic figure as the Rabbi Nachman that Buber writes of the following saying:

The Aim of the World

                        The world was created only for the sake of the choice and the choosing one.

                        Man, the master of choice, should say:  The whole world has been created only for my sake.  Therefore, man shall take care at every time and in every place to redeem the world and fill its want.

This is a heavy moral responsibility to place on the head of every man and woman, especially every Jew, already burdened with the knowledge that the world has not been redeemed though all of Christendom swear to the contrary.
        There are other implications of this emphasis on study, and we shall have to come back to them shortly:  for the creation of a whole culture that knows how to read, enjoys the virtual malleability of language, and loves the toffee-pull of intellectual debate, such a civilisation will feel most comfortable, and even find its very existence dependent upon, the stickiness of irony--and perhaps express itself most truthfully in the self-deprecating postures of the Jewish joke.
        But let us turn to the myth of study as it appears in the Talmud, and trace its course into the kind of Jewish joke I am speaking of.  For to quote the sages themselves:  "Fill your belly with Torah before you confront Epikoros (i.e., Epicurus, the worldly temptations), otherwise Epikoros will easily knock you over with a straw."
        The myth of Judaism is proclaimed at the very start of what is called "Ethics of Chapters of the Father", that Talmudic section appended to the book of prayers which is read chapter by chapter each Sabbath from the Saturday after Passover until the Saturday before New Year.  It is a myth of intellectual continuity and of the sacrality of intellection itself.  I cite from the Sephath Emeth (The Speech of Truth), the prayer book given to me on my Bar Mitzvah by Temple Beth-El of Boro Park, Brooklyn on 6 June 1953:

                   Moses received the Torah on Sinai, and handed it down to Joshua;  Joshua to the elders;  the elders to the prophets;  and the prophets handed it down to the man of the Great Synagogue [Knesset hogdola].  They said three things:  Be deliberate in judgment;  raise up many disciples, and make a fence around the Torah.

Immediately on the heel of these words, in which continuity and understanding are proclaimed, we are introduced to Simon the Just who gives the ethical summation of what Torah--which the footnote to this prayer book glosses as "the Pentatuech, the Scriptures, the Oral Law, as well as for the whole body of religious truth, study, and practice"--represents and is to be explicated and infinitum by the Pirké Avot (Ethics of the Fathers).  Simon

         used to say, Upon three things the world is based:  upon the Torah, upon Temple service, and upon the practice of charity.

Then passage by passage the essence of Torah is passed from sage to sage, each generation explicating, dividing, arguing, expanding and modifying the sayings of the previous generation.  And thus the first chapter concludes:

  Rabbi Chananya, the son of Akiba, said, The Holy One, blessed be he, was pleased to make Israel worthy;  wherefore he gave them a copious Torah and many commandments, as it is said, It pleased the Lord, for his righteousness' sake, to magnify the Torah and make it honourable (Isaiah xlii.21.)

                                                                                                                                       (p.232)
        A copious Torah is certainly not restricted to the Ten Commandments or to the Pentateuch or to all the canonized books of the Hebrew Bible or to the first collection of Oral Law, the Mishnah, or to all its subsequent commentaries, expansions, and additions.  The copious Torah is the continuous, open-ended, ever-fruitful discussions by all Jews everywhere over the meaning, value, and obligations of studying Torah.
        Particularly in its East European rabbinical manifestation, Judaism has been a religious culture in which a whole people dedicate themselves to the constant study of Holy Books, but not a solitary meditation on unassailable texts which have some magical aura to impart.  Though there have been individuals and groups which have momentarily taken themselves apart for precisely that effect, the enterprise study has been a vocal, communal, and vociferous one--an endless argument rather than polite discourse, and especially not a unison incantation.  To be sure, the process has occasionally led to pockets of sterility, especially where social and economic factors have forced communities into defensive seclusion in books.  This has created an almost paradoxical situation of mythic amnesia, a community effectively unaware of where it is, and dreaming it is wrapt away to an eternal Sabbath.
        Yet more often, the consequence has been more self-conscious.  To be a Jew in Europe is to be forever on the fringes of the dominant Christian culture, to be alienated from the possibilities of full participation in the society's basic formations, to be at best treated as a retarded child--a people who are condemned because they failed to recognize the very god their prophets had designed--and at worst as a cancer in the bowels of the body politic.  Rarely could a Jew pass any sustained period of time without being aware or being made aware of a negative definition--of being a non-Christian.  Even today that is a key defining element in the character of a Jew.  Confronted by a society which may be more secular than its own earlier manifestations but which is so clearly Christian--Protestant, Catholic or Orthodox-- in its unspoken presuppositions despite all the rhetorical pleadings to the contrary by its desperate holy men, the Jew is conscious of decisions of morality and perception to be at every step of life.  If these are today hardly those of strict food tabus and distinctions in dress, they are yet inherent in formularies of juridical and business agreements, the casual phraseology of domestic encounters or the more ritualised language of weddings, funerals, and school or political meetings, not to mention the commonplaces of art and theatre, the rhythms of entertainment and the patterns of relaxation.  For so long as the Jew retains any identity, even if it is removed from overt statements of belief or participation in the fixed rituals or prayer and religious study, he still retains attitudes towards learning which are not equal to those of the Christian;  he does not harmlessly hear the commonplaces of Christian liturgy and belief;  and he does not easily accept Sunday as more important than Saturday, or find bearing a cross a satisfying image of human suffering.  Though he has often not had the option of turning the other cheek, but had his face pushed into the mud, nevertheless the Jew finds it difficult not to be argumentative in the face of dogmatic credos, statements crying out for discussion, if not voluble rejection, such as all those mysteries which Christians believe precisely because they tease reason into silence.
        For more often than not Jews believe or believe that rather than believe in their religion, insofar as the rabbinical authorities prescribe, on the one hand, there are upwards of 613 commandments to obey everyday, a tangled fence guarding the very outer limits of restricted territory;  while on the other hand the codes and digests tells them that concern for human life obviates all other laws and puts at the center only two linked realities--the integrity of the unitary soul and the need to love in active deeds of charity all mankind.  Even when "belief" is in doubt, "practice" is required.  What to the outsider may seem, and occasionally is for individuals driven by a variety of personal and public obsessions, a sterile tangle of legalisms and pointless and arbitrary restrictions and hysterical behaviour, is from the inside very much a dynamic of intellectual discussion and controversy, a shadow-play only because so often significant public motions are disallowed.  It was not for nothing that even so early rabbis as Shemayah advised, "Love work, hate lordship, and seek no intimacy with the ruling power."  To the Jew the world and the flesh do not couple with the devil to form a trinity of guilt-evoking alienation from the self;  but in the historical world, it does often seem that religious belief and political ideology too often do inhabit a figure of the devil and threaten the very fabric of material life.  It is other peoples' beliefs in that make it often impossible for the Jew to live out that practical behaviour he or she believes that ought to be done.  Hence, I suggest, so strong a dislike for things to believe in, and credos to rationalize.  As Maurice Cuddihy has shown, if from a somewhat hostile position, when Jews were finally allowed into the Christian European civility in the 19th century, they quickly asserted these modes of pilpul, of argumentative scepticism and intricate burrowings under the skin of orthodoxy, that many of their names have become bywords for all that threatens the Christian normative concern for order and consistency--Marx, Freud, Einstein.  The cumulative development of human character and human society, with earlier forces working their way through to the lates layers and interacting with them;  the sense of a universe of relativity, where space and time can bend in upon themselves.  These are Jewish attitudes, though of course not exclusively so.
        But to be Jewish is not always a misery, and it is not all a deliberate attempt to undermine the civil facade of the host culture's  polite society.  As any one familiar with even a smattering of Yiddish or of Yiddish tradition will know, the language, the culture, the people are permeated by a unique ironic sense, a vocabulary which finely distinguishes between dozens of shades of inadequacy, pretentiousness, and folly;  a host of formulary expressions and customs to mitigate and control lapses to taste, judgment, or passion;  and an intricacy of human relationships which, while it could never agree on something so simplistic as a world plot, devises endless schemes to prevent drunkenness, plant trees in Israel, and entertain the aged.  The Jesuit scholar, Father Walter J. Ong, has expounded rightly on the male domination of instruction in Latin amongst European youth, and on the rhetorical culture which arises from such alienating rites of passage.  But against the playfulness and violence attendant upon such an elitist culture, the situation of Jews stands out.  For not only were boys taken from their mothers and their mother language of Yiddish in order to learn Hebrew and the masculine roles of the liturgical office and of study, but these boys were not an elite--they were all the males.  And they were not alienated for that reason;  the alienation arose from the fact that their mother language was Yiddish--wherever they were, in Germany or Poland or Romania--it made men and women distinct from the surrounding dominant culture.  They were not only alienated;  they were alien--only after 1812 slowly gaining civil and political rights in Western Europe, but much more slowly and sometimes never attaining social equality or acceptance.
        The playfulness arises in Judaism from the very nature of the religion and culture's central concern:  study, and discussion, and argumentation about words.  To demand of every Jewish male that he be a scholar is to make of many only middling scholars but of all a people who love to play with words, who relish a good verbal slinging match, who are ready to hear both serious truths and all too true trivialities in the truth that words express.  And you cannot make every male study Torah and argue about it at every conceivable chance without creating an atmosphere in which most, if not all, women take part in the grand debate.  Whilst a certain amount of formal study takes place in the shul or synagogue, the kitchen table is an altar of altercation as well, and the bed a bed of controversy too:  yet altercation and controversy couched in love, in the joy and anguish of holding the family and all Israel together.
        Joy and anguish come together.  Not just in the rhythm of the triumphant Sabbath separating one day in heaven from a week in hell, but in the realization that, despite all the Christians' belief in it, the Messiah has not come, and the world is still very much a vitiated paradise.  It is a terrible joke that those who proclaim the reality of a God of Love visit such horrors on the people of the law who are out of all Christian law.  But the joke is not always so tragic or so cosmic.  It is usually more restricted, personal and domestic, focused on the ever-self-contemplating Jew himself.  Shlemiels, shlamazels, shleps, and shmeggeges inhabit this little community, locked off from political concerns by the walls of the ghetto or the boundary stones of the peasants' fields that surround the shtetle.  Probably with much less magic and occultism than Isaac Bashevis Singer paints, this little world is dull and ordinary, yet only in the important sense of being a world of real concerns taken seriously - food, shelter, children, and old age.  It is not dull because such a world, whose echoes are in learned discourse rather than mystical dreams, is forever analyzing the slightest details and nuances of its crowded encounters.  It is not ordinary because refined and honed by Talmudic study and family debate the Jew is forever meeting with new forms of worry and anxiety.  As the old Jewish woman said to the young lady who put off a family until she would first make her career:  "No children, so what do you for aggravation?"  What is often taken as a solecism, using aggravation where you mean irritation, because to aggravate is to intensify what is already irritated, is correct indeed:  to be is to be irritated, life is a bit of a sore, and everything and everybody aggravates.  Aggravation becomes in that sense intransitive--who needs to shlep in more:  it is the very quality of our being once we are.
        If we believe that God made this world and is responsible for it, what can we say about all the aggravation?  Can we blame God because one man is a shnook and another is a nebbish or because that lady is such a yenta she drives everyone crazy?  What makes the Orthodox priest lead the ceremonial parade that precedes a pogrom or the Stormtrooper kick a pregnant mother to death?  Are we to say this is God's plan, that somehow all this is for our good, that it is meaningful and that suffering is a sacred duty imposed on the human race?  Whatever he may profess, that priest is not a Jew-hate because of his Christianity but inspite of it--he doesn't know what he is doing;  he is all vershimmelt or verdrayt in his kopf.  And that Nazi, nu, so he is a hooligan given too much power, a sick creature.  Yet that doesn't help or exorcise what they do.  And those Jews who are tortured, raped, or killed are not being punished for their sins or rewarded with martyrdom for their virtues.  The enemies are too stupid to make such distinctions and we cannot pretend that God has some special plan making all this madness part of a great mysterious beauty.
        In all those generations of Talmudic argument, in all those hundreds of thousands of arguing out Gemorrah and Mishna a suspicion arises, that which seems to have some pattern may not;  that perhaps there is no plan, no meaningful order... except that which our study and our arguments impose.  Our copious Torah, ever more copious, and yet always the same, that is perhaps all that has any meaning.  The light of learning is the eternal light.  The intricate machinations to fill ever more little blue and white cans (pishkele)  of charitable money for the sisterhood, the orphans in Poland, the tree-planting in Israel, the refugees in boats, all this is the very heart of charity.
        Not that aggravation should be taken to the metaphysical heights or depths of Original Sin, of course.  Jews do not harp obsessively on homiletic or eteological myths from ancient cults and liturgies trapped within the fixed pages of Holy Writ.  Rather, tsuris is the very stuff of life, external to the individual but intrinsic to the family and the community, to all of Israel, and perhaps, though who knows, to the whole of humanity.  For tsuris comes partly from the hypersensitive introspection enforced upon isolated, alienated groups of people who have little or no civic role to play in the dominant contextual society, from the valuing of each nuance of moral and physical discomfort to the level of an exquisite krechts or a kvich; and also partly from a deliberate adoption of the role of chosen people--a people chosen to suffer for all mankind, to suffer not in silent stoicism, but loudly and demonstrably so that, just in case he has forgotten, God should recall the anguish of the human race.
        There are so many Jewish jokes which deal with close, domesticated, fallible images of God, a God who is not a withdrawn image of perfection, but very much one of us, a Jewish God, that it may be justifiable, if not in theological at least in effective cultural terms, to speak of the moral and metaphysical implications of these jokes.  Such jokes may report God's complaints about his son carrying on with shiksa, Mary;  or of God calling on his old partner, Satan, to ask if, during the Holocaust, he wouldn't mind taking some of the overflow until more accommodations in Heaven could be arranged and agreeing to install air-conditioning himself.  Less perhaps than the joke proper, with its climactic reversal or witty revelation, there are the anecdotes which envisage God joining in discussions at a synagogue in Lodz or Lublin and being bested in an argument by some famous rabbi.  Though magic and mystical splendor to be sure play their part in Jewish folk dreams of the court and other eruptions into the sacred world, the characterizing paradigm is the intellectual debate and the intensity of talmudic study.  Some such imagery appears in medieval monastic writing, but the Jewish tradition is not only richer and more pervasive in this intellectualized familiarity with the embodiments of sacrality, it is also much later and continues to this day, particularly amongst Chasidic communities in America and Israel.
        The implications to be drawn from this phenomenon are that Jews live at one and the same time in a sense of domestic familiarity with a God who is warm and humane and with a God whose awesomeness too easily becomes vitiated into something like a great joke--a sense that he may have abandoned the world to its own vices and devices, or even that he may not exist at all.  The phenomenon also implies that Jews tend, somewhat like Odysseus upon learning from Athena that cunning lies and shape-shifting have their moral value to the one man who has precipitated self-consciousness from the virtual trance-like stupor of heroic posturing, to revel in irony and to find cunning virtually the only effective weapon of survival in a world of hypocrisy and mystical self-delusion.  Again, the Jewish joke, with all its witty plays on words and nice distinctions between fools, pretenders, and overly self-conscious scholars, reveals a cultural heritage of ironic behavior.  For Christian Europe a sustained programme against rural-based oral culture under the names of Reformation and Counter-Reformation, climaxing in the twin secular modes of Christian seriousness, Enlightenment and Romanticism, effectively silenced the playful and festive rhetoric of the great masses;  it reduced them to regular behavior and and internalized morality to the point where religious institutions have become obsolescent.  Pockets of resistence now are clearly identified as rowdyism, drunkenness, and lazy disregard for normal working rhythms.  But for Jews, the transition to most of the commercial aspects of the post-medieval world came with less disruption to community life, and rebelliousness could bypass the wide range of aesthetic and philosophical fashions and go directly into the confrontation between religious reform and religious rejection.  Not that the path into modernity was easy:  it was a path thoroughly mined with pogroms, restrictions on everything from clothing styles to marriage, and a variety of subtle biases to the etiquette and speech-habits of the Jew.  And it was a path no less blocked by conservative forces within Judaism than by Antisemites on the outside.
        Yet even all this resistance simply reinforced the habits of ironic behaviour.  Yet only for some people, of course:  since the great number of Jews, like any other people, cover the full gamut of human types of personality and intelligence, and simple, serious piety would be the norm.  What is significant appears in the jokes and the folk anecdotes, and that is, the harping on the ironic type, the cultural pleasure in dwelling on intellectual acumen, to the point at which God himself is a participant in the process.
        Having said that, however, we need to see another clear aspect of modern Judaism, especially that which developed in the two places of most recent assimilation and success, Germany and America.  For in Germany throughout the last two-thirds of the 19th Century and the first quarter of this Century important strides were made in articulating a number of reform movements, religious changes to make Judaism more like Christianity in having beliefs and homiletic relevance to the secular society.  Indeed, the very notion that Judaism could be a religion only which exists within a national state is a remarkable shift in Jewish thought.  But leaving aside the arrested development of this movement or rather set of movements in Germany due to the obvious intrusion of Nazi extermination, the situation in America more recently in the past World War II years has evolved to one of great ambiguity, and this reverberates even to Israel and other lands of the diaspora.
        Attempting to meet Christianity on its own grounds, that is, with moral statements relevant to the society's political and social problems, as well as with an articulated code of religious beliefs, Judaism has only met with limited success.  Today, outrageously against statistical evidence, Judaism is accepted as one of the three main religions of America and rabbis take their turn in opening sessions of Congress or in meeting with the President to discuss matters of national importance.  With six million Jews out of a population of some 250 million people the picture is utterly lopsided:  but makes sense only because Jews have manipulated their traditional respect for learning and their cultural control of the ironic to play an inordinate part in the fields of education, entertainment, and charity ... and to a much smaller degree, despite adverse myths, in the financial world.  Yet so seen, Judaism cannot compete with Catholics or the Protestant sects:  for the beliefs articulated are not the central facts of the religion, and there is no credo or myth to be focussed on.  hence, more and more Jews slide from the faith of their fathers into atheism and some into conversion.
        And yet atheism is not so much the danger, given the reality of Jewish traditions where practice has always preceded belief in importance;  the danger is in that kind of secular life that divided Jews from the community of Jews, from the continuing, indeed the continuous argument and discussion which is the core of study.  Insofar as the study is limited to traditional texts, from Talmud and all its expansions and commentaries, the nature of study becomes virtually self-defeating in the approach of Judaism to participation in the modern world;  but such study widening its discussions to a new encounter with the philosophies and beliefs of that world, that is, incorporating to the continuing dialogue, can make its adjustments.
        To find out how Jews fit into the world, we have to remember that the world, olam, is sacred and the place of sanctification.  The process of sanctifying the world is what we would call history—history not as a mere record of past events, but the dynamic flow of human events, and in fact the very substance of our humanity.






[i] This is one of the first essays I wrote on Judaism early in the 1970s, I give it virtually as first presented orally to a seminar of clergymen in the Chapel of Auckland University.

1 comment:

  1. well, the problem has been resolved in 1948. wasnt it?

    ReplyDelete