Rabbi Joshua Waxman: February 2006 Archives

The Reconstructionist movement was never supposed to be one.

Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionism in the 1920’s, actually considered himself a Conservative Jew and taught at that movement’s seminary for more than fifty years. (He was also a co-founder of the Modern Orthodox Young Israel movement and the inspiration for the secular JCC movement–so much for denominational labels!)

In his thought and writings, Kaplan was not trying to establish a new movement–far from it. Instead, he tried to chart a path to the revitalization of Jewish life in America that was based in a recognition that Judaism was the always-evolving product of the Jewish people in its never-ending quest to live in covenantal relationship with God. All Jews were supposed to recognize this core truth about how Judaism had evolved and must continue to evolve. In other words, Reconstructionism was–-and, in many ways, still is–-first and foremost a framework to describe what Judaism is, and only then a path to discovering what it should be.

For decades Kaplan wrote and lectured, gaining adherents to the approach he (naively) hoped would unify all Jews. It was only in the late 1960’s that Reconstructionism slowly began to take on the institutional elements that would lead to its becoming a movement.

Kaplan’s bold approach still reverberates today. Instead of becoming bogged down in issues of dogma or institution-building, Kaplan tried to focus on the core questions that underlie Jewish life: how has Judaism come to be as it is today? what must happen for it to continue to remain relevant and organic? how do we create meaningful and engaging Jewish communities? how do we write the next chapter in the ongoing sacred story of the relationship between the Jewish people and God?

The fact that so many of these questions have been taken up by other movements-–albeit with differing answers-–is testimony to the wisdom of his approach. We are, after all, Jews first and foremost, and the concept of Klal Yisrael (the unity of the Jewish people) is one that was dear to Kaplan.

While there is no question that real–-and important–-differences exist between Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative, and Orthodox Jews, I think the focus on labels often tends to emphasize those differences, focusing us more on what separates us than binds us together.

The Reform Movement’s call to convert non-Jews is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, non-Jews are increasingly being told that they are welcome in liberal congregations and on the other their non-Jewish identity is devalued as they receive the message that they are not welcome to be who they are. I’m not sure that kind of conditional welcome is the one that will lead to a healthy relationship with the non-Jews in our communities.

In my congregation, there are many instances of non-Jewish partners who have converted to Judaism several years after their weddings. They convert because they have had the experience of being a part of a truly welcoming Jewish community–often becoming as or more involved than their spouses–and want to take the final step to full belonging. This is only possible because our community is so accepting and welcoming of non-Jewish partners, allowing them to fully experience and be a part of our community to the point that they voluntarily wish to take the final step toward living a Jewish life. I am very proud that an adult bar/bat mitzvah class I am currently teaching contains a number of congregants who converted later in life.

Our welcoming attitude stems from the Reconstructionist movement’s general tendency toward inclusiveness. But more than that, it flows from the way Reconstructionism views being a part of the Jewish community. Judaism is a civilization and one can appreciate and participate in that civilization without being Jewish, just as one can appreciate and participate in American civilization without being American. This approach eschews the traditional in-groups and out-groups that don’t reflect the reality of a non-Jewish parent helping his or her child with religious school homework, supporting them through bar or bat mitzvah, and often helping to create a Jewish household. Instead, we recognize that by living in and participating in a Jewish community and according to the Jewish calendar and sacred rhythms, one does attain a measure of belonging. A good analogy is holding a green card–it doesn’t entitle you to the full rights and privileges of American citizenship (for this you need to undergo the formal process of ‘conversion’)–but it does confer a specific status and many rights on you. At our synagogue, non-Jewish partners are like those who hold a green card, what in biblical terms might be referred to as a ger toshav (see Numbers 15:14-16), the non-Israelite who nonetheless lives in and becomes a part of the life of the community.

It’s important to recognize and welcome the valuable contributions these "fellow travelers" can bring to our communities. As a rabbi, I honor the choice of those non-Jews who are engaged and choose not to convert, just as I honor–and celebrate–the choice of those who freely choose to do so.

I would be more sympathetic to Muslims’ anger at the Danish cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad if it were not accompanied by rampant violence and threats, and if it weren’t being so cynically and opportunistically manipulated by Islamic leaders for their own ends.

In Beirut, for example, the burning of the Danish embassy seems to have been orchestrated by pro-Syrian elements who are already under fire for their campaigns of assassination against anti-Syrian Lebanese leaders. And in Iran, President Ahmadinejad himself is taking the lead role to distract from continuing popular discontent with the exclusion of reform candidates in the recent election and anger over his failure to deliver the economic reforms he campaigned on.

As with his nuclear threats and now with his offensive and ridiculous attempts to link Jews to the publication of the Danish cartoons, Ahmadinejad is willing to go to any length to distract attention from the real problems facing his country. And that is the real desecration in this whole story.

Many American Jews do not feel as connected to Israel as they once did, or as Jews living in many other parts of the world do.

Israel is far away, perceived as scary, and speaks a language–Hebrew–which is, sadly, Greek to most American Jews. Despite the important work of programs such as Birthright Israel, our historic homeland seems to be drifting ever further toward the twin perils of irrelevance and nostalgia.

There is, of course, one additional factor to this trend, and that is the common portrayal over the past 15 years in particular of Israel as a bully, an occupier, and oppressor of the Palestinian people and perhaps its own Arab population as well. This portrayal is rooted far more in anti-Israel and anti-Jewish bias than in fact, and yet there are facts and policies and decisions that many American Jews legitimately find disturbing.

Perhaps this phenomenon is exacerbated because so many American Jews were raised with a picture of an Israel that has done and can do no wrong. The relentlessly pro-Israel position of nearly all mainstream American-Jewish institutions threatened to whitewash Israel’s actions. And it has created cognitive dissonance for many of the younger generation by describing a country and society that sounded very different from the articles they read in the media and the pictures they saw on the Internet.

And there’s a reason for that. Guess what? Israel isn’t perfect.

The American Jewish community needs to come to grips with this fact, instead of insisting on the usual idealized, black-and-white version that was long since rendered obsolete by the disturbing technicolor images that fill our TV and computer screens. The sooner we can recognize these facts, the sooner we can raise a generation of American Jews who love Israel and are committed to Israel in a way that honestly assesses and recognizes Israel’s shortcomings, rather than creating a more fragile and vulnerable commitment based on myopia.

Israel is our historic homeland, the place where our people and our religion were born. It is still the place where Jews most connect to our heritage and can most fully live in the Jewish civilization.

These points cannot be made and articulated enough. Yet we must do so in a way that honors both the imperfect reality of Israel and the integrity of Jewish life in the Diaspora, in a way that doesn’t ring false to those who hear us. Then we can hope to build a solid foundation of love and support for Israel that is organic because it genuinely reflects the experience of American Jews.