Making Space
Part one of a series on Jewish identity

by Daniel E. Levenson, ALM

When I started the New Vilna Review in December of 2007, I did so with the goal of creating a space online where authors, thinkers and artists could explore the ways that Jewish identity is formed and understood in the modern age. I wanted to ask the question, on a large scale, of how Jewish identity is formed and changed by individuals and communities in the early years of the twenty-first century. This is a question I will be returning to in a series of essays that will appear here on the New Vilna Review website, the first of which you are now reading.

One of the central challenges that many Jews living in the Diaspora today face is how to maintain a sense of distinct cultural identity while still maintaining connections to, and being a part of, the larger society that surrounds the Jewish community. There are of course, some Jews for whom this issue does not exist, namely, those who live within the Ultra-Orthodox community and pay little heed to what happens beyond the borders of their own world. At the other end of the spectrum, are Jews who have essentially given up any claim to a sense of Jewish identity, and have essentially fully assimilated themselves (short of outright conversion) into the larger society, retaining perhaps only token aspects of Jewish identity such as celebrating an occasional Jewish holiday. For the former group there are still questions of what it means to be a Jew in the modern world and how to lead a “proper” Jewish life, but the mechanisms with which they work this out and come to their own conclusions are to be found, in the main, within their own communities. As for the latter group, since Judaism has become for them a negligible aspect of the ways in which they perceive of their own sense of self, the question is largely mute

This leaves us, however, with the vast majority of Jews (and I would include myself in this category) who are neither Ultra-Orthodox nor assimilated. This is a group which finds itself often caught between multiple worlds and multiple senses of identity, yet I would characterize it as comprised of individuals who readily identify themselves as Jews and feel a connection to both the Jewish past and present, however they may define these things. The problem with trying to define parameters for such a demographic, though, is that aside from the diverse ways that Jewish identity is manifest and expressed within it, there is very often a constant process of change and evolution taking place at the individual level as well in terms of understanding what it means to be part of the Jewish community.

In order to create a healthy environment for such exploration to take place, I believe we need to foster within Diaspora communities a sense of space and spaciousness which will allow us as Jews and individuals to give each other the room we need to work through the central ideas of Judaism and discover how we relate to them and integrate them into our own lives.  As I think about this I am reminded of something Isaiah Berlin wrote in his book The Crooked Timber of Humanity, in a chapter entitled “The Pursuit of the Ideal”. Berlin expresses, quite well, the idea that while there are definite limits (in terms of evil, cruelty and oppression) beyond which we cannot go if we are to remain human, we need to be able to develop a sense of empathy and a willingness to step back and not always demand that our own particular ideas and values dominate. Berlin writes “There is a world of objective values. By this I mean those ends that men pursue for their own sakes, to which other things are means. I am not blind to what the Greeks valued – their values may not be mine, but I can grasp what it would be like to live by their light, I can admire and respect them, and even imagine myself pursuing them, although I do not – and do not wish to, and perhaps could not if I wished. Forms of life differ. Ends, moral principles are many.”

While Berlin is writing here of communication between cultures, I think it is a valid statement to apply to discussions within the Jewish world about how we understand ourselves and our communities. On a certain level, in order to engage in dialogue within the Jewish world, we have to be willing to concede that what other Jews have to say about how they understand Judaism to be valid. Such discourse is not entirely free of limits however, and just as Berlin describes limitations that keep conversations across cultures in the realm of what is “human” so too would I add my own qualifier and say that in our conversations about what is “Jewish” we must also work within certain boundaries.  By this I mean that ideas which are clearly outside the spectrum of normative Jewish observance – the theology and philosophy of groups such as Christians who claim to also be Jews for example – have no place within the dialogue about what it means to be a modern Jew. We can of course talk to people who hold such values and ideas, and in such a mode I think one would wisely invoke Berlin’s earlier noted comments about the potential for understanding between civilizations and cultures, but in order for us to understand ourselves in the 21st century, we need to be clear about which ideas are simply beyond the pale.

Making this space is of course easier said than done. As more than one rabbinic scholar has pointed out, with the invention of the printing press. the process of writing down customs and opinions and then widely disseminating them throughout the Jewish world has left us with less room to maneuver, as it were, when it comes to Jewish practices. Even outside of the Orthodox world, many Jews look to works such as the Shulhcan Aruch (a compilation of Jewish legal opinions) and of course to the Talmud, for guidance about the proper ways to carry out Jewish rituals and customs. There is some room for individual interpretation or family tradition, but I would argue that there is not enough. We need to create space within our institutions, synagogues and homes where such discussions can take place. We need to take a page, figuratively, from the Talmud and realize that the Judaism that we have inherited and that we practice – whether we identify as Orthodox, Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionsist or some other designation – is Rabbinic Judaism, and Rabbinic Judaism has at its core the principles of exploration, discovery and debate.

Within the text of the Tanakh itself, modern scholarship has shown quite clearly, there are a multitude of different voices, opinions and ideas which came together to form the body of what we call the Hebrew Bible. In his book The Divine Symphony, The Bible’s many Voices, author Israel Knohl takes a close look at the editing and creation of the Torah, noting that “The multivocal editing of the Torah sets the tone for Jewish literature. The Torah starts with a debate (makhloket) between two contradictory accounts of Creation: The Priestly tradition (Gen.1-2.4a) and the J account (Gen. 2:4b-3:24). The editors put them side by side since in each of them there is a divine truth. The editors of the Mishnah followed suit.” (Knohl 2003, 5).

Knohl is highlighting the importance of discussion and even of disagreement in Jewish tradition – not to the point that it becomes strife-ridden and divisive, but to suggest that as a basic premise, individual Jews coming to study a Jewish text must approach it both with reverence as well as a willingness to question the ideas that lie before them. Knohl later writes regarding the redactors of the Torah, their names lost to time, that,  “By transmitting to us the full scale and range of the different – and at times contradictory – voices, they have enabled us to listen to the divine revelation with all its fullness and richness. We now have to learn to listen to the various parts of the symphony, each instrument speaking out  from an array of ideological possibilities and often in discord with one another.” (Knohl 2003, 8)

In order to be able to begin to listen to such a symphony as Knohl describes, in order to create a culture of Jewish rediscovery and reconnection in the Diaspora I believe that we must also support efforts to create a better system of Jewish education.  We need to make Jewish learning opportunities more accessible and widespread, and above all we need to encourage Hebrew literacy. Enabling individuals to read (and understand) even basic Hebrew would enrich the Jewish life of individuals and families by making them feel more connected to both the liturgy of the synagogue service as well as other Jews around the world, but most importantly it would begin to make texts such as the Torah and Mishnah accessible in the original language.

If we increase Jewish educational opportunities for people of all ages, I believe that eventually there will emerge, organically, a desire to create the kinds of spaces mentioned above, in which a creative, productive dialogue will be able to take place across generational and denominational lines about what it means to be a Jew today and how these perceptions inform the ways that we build our communities. Some of this innovative educational work is already happening today – the Me’ah Program for example, which is comprised of 100 hours of non-credit Jewish study for adults, has proven quite successful, and many synagogues are expanding their adult education offerings. As Jews who are committed to and care about creating a rich and diverse spiritual and intellectual climate we need to do all that we can in order to support such efforts, and to find new ways to expand them. Once we have done this work and created these new structures, then we can begin to have a real discussion about what it means to be a Jew in the Diaspora today.

This essay is the first in a series of pieces exploring modern Jewish identity by Daniel E. Levenson, Publisher of the New Vilna Review, which will appear on the New Vilna Review site.

Copyright Daniel E. Levenson 2010