Recon Fall 2002 - Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association

The ReconstructionistVolume 67, Number 1, Fall 2002

Table of Contents

12 From the Editor

In Dialogue with World Religions

14 Rebecca T. Alpert, Teaching Judaism in Indonesia: Some Reflections

10 Lewis John Eron, Speaking From, Not For, Judaism:Reconstructionism and Interreligious Dialogue

17 Barbara Eve Breitman, “Tehom El Tehom Koreh/Deep Calls to Deep”— Contemplative Christianity and the Emerging Practice ofJewish Spiritual Direction

27 Richard Hirsh, Beyond the Noahide Laws

32 Nancy Fuchs-Kreimer, Dabru Emet — A Reconstructionist Perspective

Viewpoint

41 Margaret Moers Wenig, Sacred Speech — Sacred Communities

Book Reviews

58 Joel Hecker, Gateways to Hasidism, a review of The Hasidic Parable:An Anthology with Commentary, edited and translated by AryehWineman

69 Yael Ridberg, Journeys in Judaism, a review of The Way Into . . . seriesfrom Jewish Lights Publishing

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The Reconstructionist2 • Fall 2002

FROM THE EDITOR

When the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College was founded in 1968,the program of training for the modern rabbi was envisioned as a parallelcourse of study in which rabbinical students studied Judaism at RRC andsimultaneously pursued a Ph.D in religious studies in Temple University’sDepartment of Religion.

That department, in those days, was a pioneer in the area of interreligiousdialogue, with faculty members from every major faith tradition. Rabbini-cal students were in daily contact with people whose religious communitieswere different from their own, whose texts and traditions were distinct, andwhose faiths were in some cases related to Judaism (Christianity and Islam)and in other cases had developed with little or no historical interaction withJewish tradition (Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism). In such a context, it wasimpossible to take one’s own tradition for granted, or to dismiss another’stradition as irrelevant.

Curiously, if not providentially, the Reconstructionist approach to theunderstanding of religion was both an asset and an obstacle. Insofar as Re-constructionism began with the affirmation that Judaism was the histori-cally developed natural product of the Jewish people, it was not difficult tounderstand other religious traditions as similarly developed historical expe-riences generated by their respective communities. Reconstructionism al-lowed one to respect one’s own tradition as well as the traditions of others.

The obstacle was that other faith groups did not always begin from thesame set of assumptions. Many of those who, in the spirit of ecumenism andliberalism, sought out Jews with whom to enter into interreligious dialoguealso affirmed, to a greater or lesser degree, a supernatural God whose work-ings in history included the forming of a covenant with the “chosen people.”

Reconstructionist Jews thus stood in a curious place with regard to otherreligions, on the one hand seeing them all as common expressions (throughdistinctive refractions) of the human quest for meaning and for the sacred,and on the other hand, holding a very different understanding of religionthan many of those with whom we entered into dialogue.

Rabbi Ira Eisenstein anticipated many of the issues that we would face inthe second half of the 20th century when he wrote his doctoral dissertationin 1939 entitled “The Ethics of Tolerance,” a study of the issues involvedwhen (Western) religions encountered each other in the spirit of democracy,tolerance and pluralism that was found in America. In that work, RabbiEisenstein suggested that among the challenges facing religion in the mod-ern period, perhaps the most important was whether religions could learn torelinquish their divisive claims to authority and truth in favor of more mod-

The Reconstructionist Fall 2002 • 3

est affirmations that would allow for mutual respect and affirmation.If that issue was critical on the eve of the Second World War, it remains

imperative now, in the early years of the 21st century. In this issue, we ex-amine some of the tensions as well as the opportunities that continue toarise when Judaism looks at other religions.

— Richard Hirsh


Teaching Judaism inIndonesia: Some Reflections

B efore Arthur Waskow began theprocess of bringing the liturgi-cal calendar into conversation

Rabbi Rebecca T. Alpert is the Co-Director of the Women’s Studies Programand Assistant Professor of Religion and Women’s Studies at Temple University.

BY REBECCA T. ALPERT

with politics, I never gave any thoughtwhatsoever to the story of the exile ofHagar that we read every Rosh Ha-shanah. In recent years, however, thatstory has become a poignant reminderfor me, for us, of the enmity that ex-isted at the very beginning between theMuslim and Jewish traditions.

Now when we read the story, itmakes me uneasy to think that Hagarand Ishmael were sent off to the desert,and perplexed about having as my an-cestors the “winners” of the contest forAbraham’s lineage. And I struggle withSarah’s cruelty toward Hagar, andpuzzle over what — if any — positivevalues I can glean from the encounter,beyond the warning about this rift.

New Perspectives

At least that was the perspective Ibrought to Yogyakarta (not Jakarta;Yogya is a city of 3 million in the east-ern part of the island of Java) in Indo-nesia this past summer, where I taught“Introduction to Judaism” at the state-

run Gadjah Mada University. The par-ticipants were thirty master’s level stu-dents in a comparative religion pro-gram. All but four were Muslim (thenon-Muslims were Christian andHindu); all but seven were men.

What I learned from their perspec-tive was that the story in Genesis 21was indeed the beginning of the heri-tage of Abraham, but they, the ances-tors of Hagar and Ishmael, were equallyconvinced that they were the true heirsof Abraham. From their perspective,they were the lucky winners of the con-test for Abraham’s lineage, and they feltsorry for the people of Israel, who be-lieved the misguided story in the To-rah. That story cannot, after all, reflectthe truth, since it contradicts the storyas it is told in their sacred scripture,the Qur’an. (Who, after all, was Abra-ham’s firstborn, and therefore legiti-mate heir, they would ask; certainly notIsaac.)

Living Upside Down

That disjuncture was emblematic ofmy experience, which had the impactof stripping away many of my assump-


tions. How could it not, when I wasliterally living upside down; it was, af-ter all, night for me when it was day-time back home.

And when I looked to the summersky, I saw the North Star and Big Dip-per, not part of my own world’s sky ex-cept, of course, in winter. And when Iexplained that Jews pray facing Jerusa-lem (as Muslims do toward Mecca), Irealized that Tevye’s seat “by the east-ern wall” was nothing if not relative,since prayers in Indonesia are said notlooking east, but west.

While fascinating for anyone trav-eling to Asia for the first time, thesedisorientations are nothing in compari-son to the one I experienced as I be-gan, with the help of my students, tosee Judaism through Muslim eyes.

Islam in Indonesia

Islam in Indonesia is not the sameas Islam in America, and not the sameas Islam in the Middle East. Of course,that should not surprise us: Judaism inAsia, North America and the MiddleEast also differs. But we do tend tomake the “other” into somethingmonolithic, a very dangerous thing todo.

So what is Islam like in Indonesia?The Muslims I met were genuinely in-terested in learning about other reli-gions in general, and Judaism in par-ticular. Indonesia is not an Islamic state;it recognizes five official religions:Muslim, Protestant Christian, RomanCatholic, Buddhist and Hindu, al-though Muslims are the vast majority.There seemed to be little interest in,

and active dislike of, groups like LaskarJihad (which do exist there), who wishto make Indonesia into an Islamic state.

Women indeed wear some form ofhead covering (at least all of my stu-dents did, and probably about 25 per-cent of the women I saw in the streetdid, too), but they also ride motorcyclesand are committed to working towardgender equity. They are quite firm intheir assertion that Mohammed fa-vored women’s equality and that latertexts just misinterpreted his teachings,something I have heard only from thestrongest of Muslim feminists I knowin the United States.

Opening Communication

The first democratically electedpresident of Indonesia, known as GusDur (who was himself a Muslim cleric),supported links with Israel. AlthoughGus Dur was ousted by the current rul-ing party, his students and followerswere some of the people I got to knowand meet, and they were passionatelyinterested in dialogue and learningmore about Judaism. Some of themtook my course so they could teachabout Judaism at their own highschools and universities; others wereworking on translations of books byauthors like Louis Jacobs and A.J.Heschel.

Did they represent the majority ofIndonesians? The concept of a major-ity in that context is itself laughable.Indonesia is comprised of 1,700 islandsand many millions of individuals; it isthe largest majority Muslim country inthe world, and it would be folly to draw


conclusions based on my limited evi-dence.

But I also cannot discount the ex-perience I had. Several of my studentswere deeply interested in Jewish-Mus-lim dialogue and in building under-standing, because the world they livein is full of ignorance and misunder-standing when it comes to Jews andJudaism. So they invited me to givespeeches and have informal conversa-tions at several Muslim universities inYogya and in the neighboring city, Solo.

I was welcomed warmly, althoughthe conversations were also at timespainful and emotionally draining. Andthough I promised myself I wouldavoid political conversations about Is-rael, it was obvious from the first daythat this was not going to be possible,since the information they had aboutJews was, in fact, almost exclusivelyabout Israel.

Frightening Stereotypes

My students and the other facultyand students I met shared notionsabout Jews that were positively fright-ening. The following quotations, froma paper by one of my students, describ-ing the stereotypes that Indonesians be-lieve about Jews, are typical:

Jews, in other words, run the worldin support of Israel. And because Ju-daism is not a missionizing religion, mystudents understood it to be “exclusiv-ist,” closed and unwelcoming of out-siders. They interpreted my emphasison peoplehood and community as evi-dence in support of this belief. Theyalso did not believe that Jews are thepure monotheists we claim to be,(Munjit described it as “an Abrahamictradition gone astray”) since the Qur’ansays that Jews believed that Ezra wasthe son of God.

Changing Perceptions

Over the course of six weeks, I wasable to get my students to understandthat the Judaism they were learningabout from their environment was notJudaism; that only some Jews at thetime of Mohammed believed Ezra wasthe son of God; that Jews have power

Jews, by definition, are stubborn,tricky, egoistic, troublesome, butalso smart and therefore danger-ous. In connection with these ste-reotypes, a common acceptedopinion about the Jews is anotherassumption that they are verypowerful internationally in poli-

tics, thanks to their skillful lob-bying, especially over the rulers ofsuch superpower actors as USAand certain European countries;in business, thanks to their sophis-ticated and massive network ofbanking system, media and enter-tainment . . . They are always inagreement with whatever policy ismade by the Israeli government. . . moreover, the Jews are sus-pected to have long-run sophisti-cated plan to destroy Muslimcommunity and any Islamicmanifestation through its interna-tional conspiracy spread all overthe world . . .1


disproportionate to our numbers, butnot to the extent they imagine; that notbeing a missionary religion does notmake us exclusivist, just small; and thatour tragic history can explain a lot ofthe passion we feel about the State ofIsrael.

I also was able to use the similaritiesin our traditions — the roots inAbraham, the nature of the revelationat the core of both religions, their simi-lar emphasis on legal tradition and lin-guistic cognates of Hebrew and Arabicterminology — to enable students tofeel more connected to Judaism.

They were very pleased to learnabout the interplay between Jewish andMuslim mystics, philosophers and le-galists in the Middle Ages, and aboutthe general decency with which Jewswere treated when we lived in Muslimsocieties.

While I contributed much to theireducation, I learned more from my stu-dents, which, as the Talmud suggests,is often the case. At our last sessionwhen they told me how much they hadlearned and how much they appreci-ated our experience together, I reflectedback to them that I had received thirtytimes what I was able to give.

New Perspectives

What I also gained from teachingthem was a new perspective about Ju-daism in the United States. I never re-alized the extent to which Christianityhas defined Judaism in the world to-day. Ashkenazic Jews, whose Judaismwas nourished in Christian soil, makeup 80 percent of the 15 million Jews

in the world, and have a defining ef-fect on Jewish life and culture. (Ithought, for the first time, how differ-ent Jewish history might have been ifwe’d stayed in the Southern Hemi-sphere.)

And there is also no underestimat-ing how important it is that Jesus wasa Jew, a fact I saw more clearly whenconfronted with the realization thatMohammed was not. Despite the deepsimilarities between Islam and Judaism,that is a profound difference.

I also learned that it was acceptableto admit that I was critical of the poli-cies of the government of Israel. Morethan acceptable, actually, it lent myJewishness credibility, because I was notjust touting the party line. I wasn’t surethat I would be able to be open in dis-cussing politics. But I found that itworked and was appreciated, and thatit opened doors to conversation. It alsoleft my students room to be critical ofIslam as well.

Lasting Challenges

It is not easy to prove that Jews don’trun the world, and I would appreciateany and all help in figuring out how todo that. My best answer was whensomeone asked me if Americans believethat all Muslims are terrorists. I re-sponded that about as many Americansbelieve that as there are Indonesianswho believe that Jews run the world;both are unfounded stereotypes.

While I spent much of my time try-ing to convince my students that Jewsare not to blame for the problems wehave experienced (exile, genocide), I


also had to acknowledge to myself (andwe as a Jewish community need tothink about) how little attention wepay to others, how high we build thewall surrounding the Jewish commu-nity, how carefully we police its bor-ders, and how that contributes to thesense that people have (even in Indo-nesia) that Jews care only about otherJews.

My students were astonished to learnabout any universalist tendencies in ourtradition. Yet there are many, and wedo not let others know enough aboutthem, or about us. This isolation andinternal focus is not good for us, andwe might think about ways to createopportunities, like the one I experi-enced, to “get the word out” that Jewsare interested in making connectionsto the outside world and helping oth-ers to learn about us.

Needing Community

I also had the lesson reinforced thatit is almost impossible to be a Jew with-out a Jewish community. I bondeddeeply with the one Jewish woman whowas in Yogya on a year-long Fulbrightscholarship to study student demo-cratic movements there. We had muchelse in common, but the Jewish con-nection was crucial. Luckily for me,Jessica lived out some of her interest inthe subject by going to meet with thetwenty or so Jews of Surabaya, the onlyJewish community left in Indonesia.

She came to my class and presentedher findings about the group, andshowed the class images of the peopleand of the synagogue there. It was one

of the most important sessions we had,since Jews stopped being abstract “oth-ers” for my students and became realIndonesians who lived in their world,and worried, as they did, about gov-ernmental repression.

When Jess showed slides depictingposters with anti-Israel propaganda,and spoke about the fears of LaskarJihad and a fundamentalist takeover,the class laughed nervously. She and Iwere stunned, since we ourselves expe-rienced a sense of fear when we sawposters from this movement that in-cluded the words, “Israel and America:Axis of Evil.”

It was fascinating to see how uncom-fortable our fears made my students,and how much they wanted to disal-low what a threat that group is andshould seem to us. Afterward, many ofthem talked to me about that tensemoment in class. One student’s re-sponse was the most poignant: “Whatare we to do when we are caught be-tween the current military regime andthose who want an Islamic state?” Whatchoice is that, exactly?

Reaffirmations

Before I went, many people told meI was crazy to make the trip. I am gladI did not listen. This experience openedmy eyes to worlds I did not know ex-isted. And it reinforced for me some ofmy most deeply held beliefs: about theimportance of teaching Judaism tonon-Jews — and of being honest aboutyour own interpretation of Judaismwhen you do so. And about challeng-ing the insularity of the Jewish com-


munity — demanding of us that westay open and ready to listen to andlearn from those whom we too oftendiscount and ignore.

Maybe that is the lesson imbeddedin the story of Sarah and Hagar. Per-

haps, if they’d been able to listen to eachother, the story would have had a dif-ferent ending.

1. As quoted in a student paper by AchmadMunjid, by permission of the author.


I

Speaking From, Not For,Judaism: Reconstructionismand Interreligious Dialogue

BY LEWIS JOHN ERON

Rabbi Lewis John Eron is Director of Religious Services at the Jewish GeriatricHome and Jewish Community Chaplain of the Jewish Family and Children’sService in Cherry Hill, N.J.

nterreligious dialogue has playeda central role in my spiritual andtheological growth. I have eagerly

sought out dialogue as a way of learn-ing more about myself and thosearound me. I have been thrilled by theopportunity to look at the world fromanother's perspective, and moved bywhat I have discovered about myself asa result of that privilege.

Interreligious dialogue is a processin which people of diverse religious andspiritual backgrounds and commit-ments address fundamental issues ofmeaning, identity and faith. Unlikeother encounters between people of dif-fering religious and spiritual commit-ments, dialogue goes beyond the simpleexchange of information. In dialogue,the participants hope to strengthentheir understanding of themselves, theirpartners and their deep faith commit-ments to their religious /ethnic/culturalheritages through the sharing of ideas,hopes, dreams and practices.

Truth, Honesty and Openness

Interreligious dialogue depends ontrust, honesty and openness. Dialogueis more than a one-time experience.The insights and skills needed to buildthe interpersonal relationships to allowa dialogue to happen between individu-als of differing faiths develop over timeand through experience. Dialogue ispart of a lifelong approach to spiritualand religious issues.

One enters into dialogue with theassumption that he or she has some-thing to learn from his or her partnerand also that one has something to of-fer. Dialogue is reciprocal. Its purposeis not to convert or convince the otherbut to open up hearts and minds tothe wisdom of others.

Dialogue is a continuing exchangeof ideas and feelings as people’s under-standing of each other unfolds overtime. Dialogue takes place betweenpeople and not between the commu-


nities, organizations, institutions, so-cial and ethnic groups from which theycome.

Yet dialogue differs from other in-teractions that may also involve peopleof varying backgrounds, such as ath-letic competition, business enterprise,political activity and social action, inwhich the success of the enterprise takesprecedent over the indi-vidual’s social,religious, ethnic and cultural roots.

Dialogue, on the other hand, ad-dresses itself primarily to the individualparticipant’s sense of rootedness withina specific context. Dialogue’s success isfound not in the achievement of anobjective goal, but in the deep and of-ten subtle changes that take placewithin the hearts and minds of the par-ticipants.

Speaking From, Not For

In a successful interreligious dia-logue, each participant must find a wayto speak out of but not for his or herspecific religious context. The deeperthe participants are immersed in theirfaith traditions the richer the dialoguecan be; but as I have found out, alsothe more confusing. Through my ex-perience in dialogue, I have becomemore aware of the subtle gaps as wellas hidden connections between mypersonal expression of Jewish beliefsand practices and those more generallyexpressed. To present who I am spiri-tually and where I stand religiously, Ioften feel the need to present a greatdeal of information as to the range ofJewish opinions across time and place.

Interreligious dialogue goes beyond

the comparative study of religions inthat its primary concern is not with thecustoms, doctrines and structures offaith traditions, but rather with howindividuals develop spiritual liveswithin their own religious contexts.The exploration of worship, spiritual-ity, theology, ecclesiology, history andculture can play an important rolewithin interreligious dialogue, but isnot its goal.

Self-Assessment Is Crucial

Thus, like all others who enter intodialogue, I face the same fundamentalchallenge: How do we honestly presentour own faith tradition and our ownunique relationship to it so that thedialogue partners can understand eachof us as living representatives of livingtraditions?

I enter interreligious dialogue as aJew. Yet, because of training, lifestyleand profession, I have a very particu-lar Jewish identity. My resumé placesme within a very specific context in theJewish world and in Jewish history. Iam an American Jew born in the latterhalf of the 20th century. I am a rabbi.I studied at the Reconstructionist Rab-binical College and I identify with theReconstructionist movement. I have adoctorate in religious studies and aninterest in history and theology. I haveserved the Jewish community for morethan twenty years as a pulpit rabbi, auniversity professor and, currently, asthe community chaplain for a localJewish federation. I need to be awareof all this so that I do not forget howdistinctive and idiosyncratic my ap-


proach to Judaism may be, and howequally deeply rooted it is in the faithand traditions of the Jewish people.

If I Am Not for Myself,Who Am I?

Hillel’s well-known challenge, “If Iam not for myself, who am I? If I amjust for myself, what am I? If not now,when?” (Pirkei Avot 1:14), resonatesdeeply within me, whenever I enterdialogue. That is the moment when Ineed to be both honest to myself andhonest to the faith and traditions of mypeople.

It is doubtful that Hillel could haveconceived of interreligious dialogue inits contemporary sense. After all, dia-logue as we practice it today developedslowly during the past century. Hillel’sworld provided few if any opportuni-ties for people from different religiousbackgrounds to meet in an atmosphereof mutual respect. When they did meet,the most likely result of the encounterwas polemics and/or apologetics. Evenwithin the more limited context of theJewish community, it seemed almostmiraculous when the sages of variousschools could say that both this opin-ion and that opinion represent the au-thentic words of the Living God.

One can imagine the difficulty ofexpressing one’s own opinion in such aworld. Even today, the need to expresssolidarity with our fellow Jews still re-mains strong. The tragic events of theShoah still cast a powerful shadow overour lives. Israel remains beleaguered.Anti-Semitism is still a significant pres-ence. We continue to feel pressured by

the forces of assimilation from the secu-lar world and by missionary efforts ofother religious traditions. We still re-main a largely unknown minoritygroup even to those who seek us out indialogue.

Personal and Corporate Voices

Often, my initial impulse in dia-logue is to speak for “the Jews.” Attimes, the issues raised in dialogue re-flect the participants’ deep lack ofknowledge of each other’s traditions sothat the pressing need is to share basicinformation. Other times, I may per-ceive a statement made by my dialoguepartner as antagonistic, disrespectful orinsulting to the Jews in general so thatI feel that I must defend the Jewishpeople. I can easily lose my personalvoice speaking for my people.

In these situations, I need to findmyself. I need to focus on myself as anindividual Jew and on my partner asan individual Christian, Muslim, Bud-dhist, or Hindu. Before I proceed torespond to his or her statement “on be-half of the Jews,” I need to know thespecific, personal context out of whichthe statement grows. I also need toshare with my dialogue partner themanner in which I heard the statement.

It is important for me to understandmy partner’s words as an individual’sstatement and not as the proclamationof his or her religious tradition. I needto remind myself that I am an indi-vidual Jew, not the Jewish people, andmy task within the context of dialogueis to respond as an individual to an-other individual’s statement.


It is often helpful in such a situa-tion to ask my partner to reflect whathas been said, so that together we maydiscover why he or she has framed theissue in such a way. Together, as indi-viduals, we need to explore our spiri-tual, emotional, and intellectual re-sponses to our own traditions, and toexamine our need to speak universallyfor our faiths rather than as individualadherents.

Perils of Expertise

The paradox at this point in dialogueis that the deeper one is involved inone’s faith tradition and the more aboutit one knows, the greater the tempta-tion is to speak for it in its entirety.Since being Jewish forms such an im-portant part of my personal identity, Ineed to be aware to what extent I mayperceive an “attack” on Judaism or theJewish people or Israel as an attack onmy sense of self. A defensive response,though personally satisfying, will notadvance the dialogue. In the contextof dialogue, we need to turn conflictinto conversation. I would expect noless from my dialogue partner.

In interreligious dialogue, we needto remember that competition andconflict have and continue to be part ofthe interrelationship between our vari-ous faith communities. When Chris-tians and Muslims enter into dialoguewith Jews, all need to know how currentevents in the Middle East as well as thehistorical relationships among the threecultural and faith communities influenceour appreciation of each other.

In dialogue, competition and conflict

are not values. They are, however, partof the real world with which dialogue isconcerned. In dialogue, however, we arenot called upon to rehearse the past, butto share with each other its present sig-nificance for each of us in our own lives.

We also need to understand thatthere may be limits to our dialogue. Atany one point, it may be best to stepback from an issue for a time. There isno need to go directly to the hard andpainful issues. A Muslim-Jewish dia-logue need not go immediately to theconflicts in the Middle East. A Jewish-Roman Catholic dialogue need not fo-cus on abortion or the role of theChurch during the Holocaust. A Chris-tian-Muslim dialogue need not imme-diately focus on Western imperialismor the fate of Eastern churches.

We need to be aware of what issuesare going to put us in a defensive modeand approach them with care. Our per-sonal sense of comfort concerning a topicand our level of trust in the other willhelp define the range and depth of ourdialogue. There can be no dialogue aboutan area in which one or more of the par-ticipants are afraid to be fully themselves.

If I Am Just for Myself,What Am I?

But I come to interreligious dialoguenot merely as an individual, but also asa Jew — a member of the Jewishpeople. If I just speak for myself, whatam I?

What is my identity beyond mypurely autonomous self? What can Ibring to the dialogue besides my per-sonal collection of beliefs and opinions?


A dialogue merely between individu-als with no strong connection to a faithtradition cannot be an interreligiousdialogue. We need to speak from ourfaith traditions. I come to a dialogueto hear a Christian speak as a Chris-tian, a Muslim as a Muslim. I want toknow what their faith and religiouscommunity means to them. In dia-logue, we can learn from each other thevarious ways in which we can expressour own religious traditions in theworld we all share.

By training and experience as aReconstructionist rabbi, I am particu-larly aware of how we can behave andspeak out of Judaism without claim-ing to speak for Judaism. On the onehand, the study of Judaism as an un-folding religious civilization has shownme how inadequate any theologicalstandpoint or movement’s ideology areat capturing the full expanse of the Jew-ish experience. On the other hand, Ihave also learned how theological re-flections and movement ideologies aregrounded in and reflect that experience.They grew out of a specific Jewish con-text and respond to the Jewish worldin which they live.

Representing More Than Self

This insight enables me to speak forthe Jews as an individual Jew. To doso, I need to be aware of my ground-ing in the Jewish tradition and, at leastwithin the context of dialogue, bemindful that what I say and what I doneed to reflect that tradition. For my dia-logue partner to understand me as a Jew,he or she needs to see through me, the

Jewish partner, a broad but honest pre-sentation of Judaism.

Reconstructionists understand thatthe term “Judaism” is ultimately anintellectual construct. It is a quick andeasy way of summarizing our people’s4,000 years of cultural and religiousdiscovery. We know that Judaism, as aconstruct, says nothing, and that onlyindividual Jews speak. When I speakabout “Judaism,” I try to avoid theexpression, “Judaism says.” It is mytask to express the voices of the Jewishpeople, including my own, by talkingabout majority and minority positionswithin the Jewish tradition, by tryingto place ideas and opinions within ahistorical context, and by describingideas and concepts that have foundresonance in the Jewish community —and those that have not.

In the context of a true dialogue,one’s behavior is as significant as one’swords. One cannot honestly talk aboutprayer in Jewish life if one does notmodel it. One cannot explain one’s re-lationship to Shabbat or kashrut, forexample, if one does not enable one’sdialogue partner to experience themthrough one’s own engagement withthem. For me, this means that to ex-press the expanse of the Jewish experi-ence and to show respect to more tra-ditional Jews, in the course of a dia-logue it is often helpful to be mindfulof traditional ritual practices.

Internal and External Dialogue

In a way, this, too, is part of the dia-logue experience. “Dialogue” does notmean to hold a conversation with an-


other but to work through somethingof importance. It comes from twoGreek words: dia, meaning “through,”and logos, meaning “word,” but with asimilar range of meaning as the Hebrewword davar. In dialogue, the inner con-versation between oneself and one’s tra-dition is as significant as the conversa-tion one has with one’s dialogue part-ner. In dialogue, one engages one’s owntradition not to teach the other, but tolearn about oneself in the presence ofanother. Dialogue should evoke a re-examination of one’s own traditionin response to the insights and concernsof the others in the dialogue.

This is not always easy. In May of2002, I participated in an internationalJewish-Christian-Muslim dialogue inSkopje, the capital of the newly inde-pendent Republic of Macedonia. I wasasked to respond to a paper I had notyet read that was to be delivered by aTurkish-Muslim professor during a Sat-urday afternoon session. Although mypersonal practice is not so strict as topreclude writing in private on Shabbat,I felt it would be inappropriate to writein public on the Sabbath before Chris-tians and Muslims who came to learnabout Judaism and Jewish life. The re-sult was that I had to listen more at-tentively to the paper than I would havedone otherwise, and respond out of myheart as much as out of my mind. I be-lieve that it was, ultimately, a more au-thentically Jewish response to the paper.

Connecting With Tradition

As a result of the Reconstructionistfocus on religious practice as the affir-

mation of basic sancta of Jewish life,in the context of interreligious dialogueit is not difficult to ground my personalritual practice in the Jewish tradition.Obviously, the subtleties of Jewish re-ligious practice, which play such animportant role in intra-Jewish dialogue,are far less important in our dialoguewith members of other faith commu-nities.

This is not the case, however, whenit comes to theological positions andideological commitments. I would mis-lead my dialogue partners if I claimedthat Reconstructionist approaches toGod, revelation and chosenness werenormative Jewish beliefs — that is, thatthey reflect the beliefs held by mostJews over most of Jewish history. Onthe other hand, I would disqualifymyself from the dialogue if I could notarticulate the ways in which these con-cepts are rooted in Jewish tradition andthe reasons why I identify with a reli-gious movement that supports a seem-ingly untraditional interpretation.

If Not Now, When?

The skill we exhibit when we are ableto connect our distinctive theologicalmessage — based as it is in philosophi-cal pragmatism, sociological under-standings of religion and a post-mod-ern reading of texts — to the livingreligious tradition of the Jewish people,is the most important contribution weReconstructionists can make to con-temporary interreligious dialogue. Italso presents the greatest challenge webring to the dialogue.

Our embrace of modernist and post-


modernist tools of interpretation chal-lenge those committed to a traditionalreading of their texts and their past.Our commitment to peoplehood andour embrace of a communitarian vi-sion stands against those dedicated toa radical individualism in spiritualmatters. Our abstract but immanentview of God confuses those who asso-ciate divine immanence with descrip-tions of God as a personality and di-vine transcendence with a more ab-stract and philosophical view of God.

We should not step away from dia-logue or from an honest presentationof our spiritual world-view because ofothers’ confusion or discomfort. Oneenters dialogue to meet the other andto the extent that we are other, we havea place in dialogue. We need to be therefor them and for ourselves.

Judaism Without Supernaturalism

More than that, we represent a viewof religion as the product of a commu-nity of people in dialogue with them-selves over a very long period of time.Judaism for us is not a revealed set ofdoctrines or laws but the active log ofthe Jewish people’s continuing voyageof spiritual discovery. We stress the sa-

credness of all the individual voiceswithin the community of discussion,debate, controversy and conversation,the community we call the people ofIsrael. We understand that showing upand participating in Israel’s dialogueand listening to other voices is far moreimportant than whatever understand-ing might make sense to us today.

As Reconstructionist Jews, we bringthat sensitivity to interreligious dialogue.At our best, we come to dialogue alreadycommitted to its basic principles. Wewant to be with other people of faith whoare willing to speak with us out of theirfaith traditions and deeply held religiouscommitments about their lives, their be-liefs, their hopes, and their fears and whoare equally willing to listen to us. We un-derstand that religious and cultural sys-tems grow best when they interact withother religions and cultures.

It is our commitment to Judaism asthe living and unfolding religious-based culture of the Jewish people thatbrings us to dialogue with other faithsand keeps us in dialogue with otherfaiths as together we discover moreabout the blessings we can offer eachother and, in that way, more about theDivine Other, the Holy One, thesource of all our blessings.


“Tehom El Tehom Koreh/Deep Calls to Deep” –

Contemplative Christianityand the Emerging Practice of

Jewish Spiritual Direction

O n the first day of Rosh Ha-Shanah, two years after myhusband died suddenly, I gave

Barbara Eve Breitman is a psychotherapist in private practice and an instructorat the University of Pennsylvania School of Social Work and at the Recon-structionist Rabbinical College, where she also serves as a Spiritual Director.

BY BARBARA EVE BREITMAN

a dvar torah reflecting on Hagar’stheophany in the wilderness. I identi-fied strongly with this single mother,cast into the desert, her relationshipwith home and family shattered. LikeHagar, feeling abandoned by, but stillcrying out to God in distress, I some-how entered a deeper relationship withthe mystery we call God. With nohuman partner to accompany me onthe journey through the desert, I expe-rienced intimacy with a sensed Pres-ence.

In my psychotherapy practice, Istarted hearing differently. Althoughmuch intuition is required to glimpsehow the narrative of someone’s life fitstogether according to the paradoxical

logic of the unconscious, the new lis-tening was more intuitive. Not only didI hear connections between peoples’past relationships and their behavior inthe present, but I began to sense a te-leological unfolding in their narratives,some drawing toward the future, oftenas compelling as the urge to repeat orreact to the past.

Patterns of Connection

There were moments in peoples’narratives in which the energy of life,of love, of creativity, of the call for jus-tice seemed to be drawing people for-ward with more intentionality thancould be explained by the ongoingthrust of maturation and development,or even by self-willed moral conviction.

I also glimpsed patterns of connec-


tion within multiple layers of narrativethat shimmered with meaning andsymbolism greater than could be ex-plained by simply connecting events inthe stories. People were talking with memore about their spiritual yearningsand about God. After I shared someof this with a minister friend in myClinical Pastoral Education group, shebrought me a brochure from theShalem Institute for Spiritual Forma-tion, an “ecumenical Christian organi-zation calling the people of God todeeper spiritual life for the world.”1

“Here; you might be interested inspiritual direction.”

What Is Spiritual Direction?

Spiritual direction, about which Iknew little, is a spiritual practicegrounded in the Christian contempla-tive tradition. It draws historically onthe practices of the early (third to fifthcentury) desert fathers and mothers;integrates the spiritual insights of great16th century contemplatives like St.Teresa of Avila and St. John of theCross; employs the exercises in spiri-tual discernment of St. Ignatius ofLoyola; and includes as well the wis-dom of other illumined teachersthroughout church history.

The practice of spiritual directionhas traditionally been identified withCatholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy,and has continued to be practicedthrough the centuries in various Catho-lic orders. In contemporary AmericanChristian communities, spiritual direc-tion is being renewed for today’s seek-ers, and has spread to many Protestant

denominations.As it is currently understood, spiri-

tual direction involves a relationshipamong two or more people who meetregularly for the purpose of deepeningtheir spiritual life and relationship withGod, whoever or however they under-stand God to Be.

Contemplative Practice

As a contemplative practice and nota counseling relationship, spiritual di-rection involves periods of resting insilence, reflecting on how the Sourceof Life, Being, the Holy One, Holiness,is experienced day to day, and how tobe more attentive, aware, available andresponsive to that Presence.

Because the Source of Life does notcommunicate as human beings do, oneneeds to cultivate the ability to discernhow God’s Presence is manifest in theordinary moments of life that can betraced through one’s narrative overtime. The premise of spiritual direc-tion is that, as with davening, Torahstudy, meditation or other spiritual dis-ciplines, it is possible to become moreadept at “hearing the still, small voice”through reflection, contemplation andpractice.

Becoming a student in Shalem’s two-year training program in individualspiritual direction meant immersingmyself in the Christian contemplativetradition, not as a scholar or academic,but as a person of faith. It meant open-ing myself to be touched by the spiri-tual wisdom of a tradition towardwhich I, as a Jew, had inherited a his-torical allergy, if not a phobia. Although


I have long been interested in the studyof comparative religion, I initially hadto struggle to enter the symbol systemand mythos of Christianity.

For Christians, spiritual direction isgrounded in an incarnational, Trini-tarian theology that understands hu-man beings to be capable both of be-ing in direct relationship with and ofreceiving guidance from the HolySpirit, the third person of the Trinity.This formulation is not only theologi-cally challenging to Jews, it raises thequestion: Can a contemporary Jew ex-perience or believe in the possibility ofa personal relationship with God?

As a liberal Jew, I have never ac-cepted the medieval idea of hashgachapratit, Divine concern for individualhuman events. I have, however, experi-enced life crises occasioned by circum-stances beyond my control and felt aninner call to which I needed to respond,“Hineni, Here I am.” When the childrenof my first cousin were orphaned by themurder of their mother, I felt in the depthof my being that one of the reasons I hadbeen put on this earth was to say, “Here Iam,” by assuming responsibility for thecare of her daughters.

Hearing Callings

As my life has unfolded, I have beenpresented with many opportunities,invitations — even demands — to usemy unique abilities, talents, and giftsin service to others. I have experiencedmany treacherous junctures when I hadto decide to “choose life” rather thanproceed down a path that would leadto the deadening of my self, my cre-

ativity, my authenticity or my integ-rity. I had not previously thought ofthese as “callings” from God.

Having this language enabled me toname ineffable experiences that hadprofoundly impacted and shaped mychoices and the direction of my life.The idea that in these moments of “call-ing” was evidence of a personal rela-tionship with God was extremely com-pelling. It also enabled a deeper senseof identification with biblical figuresportrayed as having been called byGod. The concept of a personal rela-tionship with God began to come intofocus.

“Holy Listening” and the Shema

In spiritual direction, one learns topractice “holy listening.” This is listen-ing as a contemplative discipline. Asdistinct from active listening or evenempathic listening, we are not tryingto figure anything out, or even to em-pathize with a person’s feelings, al-though that might inevitably occur be-cause our minds and emotional heartsare open.

Holy listening means cultivating anadded dimension: listening with an in-ner attitude of receptivity, with relaxedattentiveness rather than focused con-centration, with what Carol Ochs callsa stance of “attentive waiting.”2 It in-volves listening with the ear of our heartfor intimations of divine presence, lis-tening for how God’s call might beemerging within the being and narra-tive of the other person and withinourselves as we listen to the other.

The central statement of the Jewish


faith, the Shema (Hear Israel, YHVHElohenu, YHVH Ehad), declares thathearing is the quintessentially sacred actfor Jews. Spiritual direction is a disci-pline through which we cultivate thekind of listening asked of us by theShema. The director listens for how theSource of Life, Ayn HaHayim, is beck-oning, drawing, inviting this personinto deeper connection with herself,with others, with Creation; how Lifeis inviting this person into service.

Encounters with the Holy

Because God is One and inheres ineverything, the director can listen tothe total life field of a person for how,through whom or through which ex-periences and circumstances the invi-tation is coming; the director can lis-ten for where, how, when, throughwhom or through what experienceswisdom is being offered in response tothat question. The director opens andlistens for how Being is pressing for fullpresence, aliveness, expression in thisperson’s life, how Being is moving thisperson at her depths.

In my earlier years of involvementin Jewish feminist communities, I hadspoken of “our lives as Torah,” under-standing the stories of women’s currentencounters with the Holy to be as sa-cred as the journeys of our ancestorsrecorded in the Bible. I had not un-derstood myself to be individually ad-dressed by God, but I had experiencedbeing part of a collective that was“standing again at Sinai,”3 respondingto a powerful urging to “go forth to aplace we did not know,”4 propelled by

the sense that giving voice to women’sspiritual experiences was to “let moreof God”5 into the world.

I have found spiritual direction as apractice to be consistent with the femi-nist principle of giving primacy topeoples’ direct encounters with theHoly, rather than ignoring or marginal-izing experiences that do not conformto received tradition. People sometimesenter spiritual direction explaining thatthey have turned away from traditionbecause their experiences of the Holyare too different from the images ofGod they find in the Bible and prayer-book.

Spiritual direction not only supportspeople to give voice to their lived ex-periences of the Holy, but also enablesthem, with a Jewishly knowledgeabledirector, to connect these experiencesto a richer Jewish language than theymight previously have known to exist.

Identifying Spiritual Types

Those who practice spiritual direc-tion know that each individual willexperience and name the Holy differ-ently. A spiritual director needs aware-ness and sensitivity to different spiri-tual types: for some, God may be theOne who urges them to work for so-cial justice and tikkun olam; for oth-ers, God may be the Beloved who in-spires devotion: for still others, Godmay be the Source of Creativity in na-ture, art or healing: for others, Godmay be most available through the ex-ercise of the intellect and the processof study, or through direct perceptionand intuition: and for still others, any


talk of God or naming of God may feelidolatrous, though they may have hadexperiences of ineffable holiness.6

I therefore found the practice ofspiritual direction to be consistent withthe Jewish tradition of God’s multi-vocality at Sinai. If, as a midrash onPsalm 29:4 states, each Israelite andevery Jew to be born heard God at Sinaiaccording to his/her own strength –“Kol Adonai Ba-Koah" – then spiritualdirection is a discipline that enablespeople to develop the ability to hearhow God might be communicatinguniquely to them.

Partners in Seeking

In introducing spiritual direction toJewish seekers, it is important to notethat the custom of spiritual friendshipis not new to Judaism. The rabbis tellsus in Pirke Avot 1:6 to “get yourself afriend” as a companion in religiousmatters. Hasidic rebbes advise that“You should see to it that you have agood friend with whom you can talkregularly about the service of God.”7

We are also heir to the legacy of rebbeswho used their charismatic, esotericcapacities to discern the soul journeysof their Hasidim.

What is new to Judaism is a struc-tured, contemplative disciplinethrough which lay people (one neednot be clergy to be a spiritual director)who seek a regular discipline of discern-ing God’s presence in their lives canmeet together and cultivate greaterawareness and willingness on the spiri-tual path.

Direct Apprehensionvs. Mediation

Through my studies at Shalem, I cameto see how important spiritual directioncould become as a practice for contem-porary Jews. However, I knew there wasand continues to be, both historicallyand theologically, enormous tensionwithin Judaism about whether humanbeings can commune directly with themystery we call God, and more cru-cially, whether Jews will grant religiousauthority to such apprehensions.

There is, in fact, much that rabbisand Jewish scholars have to say on thissubject. In a provocative essay in the“Special Issue on Theology” publishedin the journal Conservative Judaism,Martin Samuel Cohen demonstratesthat this tension actually begins in theBible:

The Torah repeatedly makes thepoint that seeing God is a fatalexperience for human beings inall but the most extraordinary cir-cumstances . . . [however] at thecore of the spirituality of the Psal-ter is the idea, openly and una-pologetically presented, that sen-sual communion with God isavailable to every pious Jew, toevery seeker, who devotes his orher spiritual efforts to the questfor contact with the divine realm.8

Cohen demonstrates that “TaNaKH,although indeed monolithic in its as-sumptions about the existence of God,presents anything but a unified con-cept of how human beings can know,

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serve and commune with the divinerealm."9

Priests and Prophets

But Cohen goes further. He theo-rizes that the “spiritual program” of theTorah is the program of the priests whowere hostile to the institution of proph-ecy and the sensual perception of God.It is the priests and the prophets “whotogether formed the twin poles of an-cient Israelite spirituality,” and “Juda-ism followed a specific path: the wayof the priest.”10

However, Cohen asserts, we havereached a moment in history when Jews“might do well to consider the path nottaken and to consider the spiritualityof the Psalter as a reasonable approachto developing the kind of faith in Godthey wish to motivate and lend mean-ing to their ritual observance.”11

In a response to Cohen, HowardAddison further questions “whether thevisual and aural presence of God isquite as absent in the Torah as RabbiCohen contends . . . although our tra-dition asserts that ‘the spirit of proph-ecy departed from Israel after Malakhi,’there have been no lack of visions orvisionaries among the Jewish people.”12

Addison reformulates the questionabout direct experience vs. normativetradition: “For me, the question is notwhether such experiences exist legiti-mately within Judaism, but rather‘What is the nature of such experiences?How do you know that it is God thatis addressing you, and how within thebounds of normative Judaism shouldyou respond?’ ”13

Debate Over Revelation

In Talmud, the tension is expressedin terms of whether divine revelationstopped at Sinai or continues in thepresent. In the very aggadah (TB BabaMetzía 59b) that vouchsafes to the rab-bis ultimate religious authority, andthat is a prooftext declaring that forJews revelation ceased at Sinai, there isstill evidence of tension.

In a matter of halakhic dispute,Rabbi Eliezar invokes the interventionof Heaven to decide an issue of dis-agreement between himself and theother rabbis. In response to this invo-cation, God performs miracles and aBat Kol, Heavenly Voice, is heard.Rabbi Jeremiah nevertheless concludeswith the famous dictum: “ . . . the To-rah had already been given at MountSinai; we pay no attention to a Heav-enly Voice because You have long sincewritten in the Torah at Mount Sinai. . . After the majority must one in-cline.” God is then imagined to laughjoyously at being defeated by His sons.

Although Rabbi Eliezer is excommu-nicated for invoking God directly, thevery presence of this story in the canonindicates the existence of tension aboutsources of religious authority evenwithin the rabbinic academy. Althoughthe rabbis definitively arrogate religiousauthority to themselves and the talmudicprocess, the tension as to whether spiri-tual wisdom comes through direct con-tact with the divine or solely through themediation of normative religious insti-tutions continues in later eras of Jew-ish history.


Apprehending God’s Presence

In a brilliant but brief study entitled“Devotion and Commandment,”Arthur Green demonstrates how “alarge number of Hasidic sources useAbraham . . . as a . . . way of discussingthe tension they feel around the issueof commandment and spirit,”14 be-tween the primacy of Torah study andobservance as the way of divine servicevs. seeking direct apprehension ofGod’s presence as the more importantspiritual path.

Because Abraham is the exemplar ofthe pious man who heard and followedGod’s call prior to the Sinaitic revela-tion, he is a figure through whomHasidic writers could express the ten-sion they felt between accepting theclassical authority of rabbinic Judaism(which recast Abraham as a Torahscholar) and their energetic, mysticalyearning for devekut, utter attachmentto God.

Divine Service

According to Green, this tensionfinds its most dramatic expression inthe thought of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak ofBerdichev, who “compares two sorts ofdivine service, that of the command-ments, or Judaism as we know it, andthe service of God through devotion(mesirut nefesh) alone,” concluding that“service through devotion alone is infact superior.”15

It is clear that for post-Holocaustand post-modern Jews, our belief in theexistence of God, our capacity to trustany direct experience of the Holy,

much less our willingness to entertainthe notion that communication fromthe Source of Life might be availablein any discernable form to human be-ings has been strained beyond belief.

Our skepticism can only be intensi-fied as God’s name is invoked to jus-tify terrorism on many sides of theMiddle East conflict. And yet, contem-porary Jews continue to yearn for andexperience connection with YHVH,the Source of All Life. Many of the Jewswho have such personal experienceswith the Mystery we call God seek waysof communing with the divine, bothwithin Jewish contexts and through thewisdom of other spiritual paths.

Can We Learn from Christianity?

For centuries, Jews have learnedfrom and integrated the wisdom ofother philosophical and faith tradi-tions. Jewish mystics and mysticism, inparticular, have been deeply impactedby diverse forms of thought as Juda-ism has developed “as a minority reli-gion in a variety of cultural environ-ments.”16

It is probably inevitable, however,that any contemporary borrowing fromChristianity might seem particularlyanathema. In learning from a Chris-tian spiritual tradition, we not onlyhave to face the resistance and theo-logical problems generated by 2,000years of Christian anti-Judaism and themore recent history of racial anti-Sem-itism, we must also confront our fearsof assimilation in the uniquely chal-lenging Christian milieu of the Ameri-cas.


I was therefore particularly movedto discover a model for interreligiouslearning that preserves the distinctive-ness of each tradition while enabling adeep and transformative encounterwith the other. The intellectual originsof the model can be found in the workof Jesuit scientist, theologian and vi-sionary Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.

“Center to Center Union”

According to his famous formula-tion, “In any domain, whether it becells of a body, the members of a soci-ety or the elements of spiritual synthe-sis, union differentiates.”17 What deChardin observed was that as forms oflife unite in what he calls “center tocenter union,” they do not dissolve,disintegrate or metamorphose into theother, they actually become more richlyand uniquely themselves.

This is the mystery of love betweenhuman beings, as it is the mystery ofhow increasingly complex life formsevolve biologically.

of interreligious encounter throughwhich human consciousness couldevolve to a higher stage of spiritual de-velopment, complexity and awarenessof God.

Social Constructivism

While de Chardin wrote prior to thepost-modern critique of grand evolu-tionary schemas, Leonard Swidler, aprofessor in the religion department ofTemple University, incorporates thecrucial insights of social constructivisminto a contemporary reformulation ofde Chardin:

By touching each other at the cre-ative core of their being, [indi-vidual elements] release new en-ergy which leads to more complexunits. Greater complexity leads togreater interiority, which, in turn,leads to more creative unions.Throughout the process, the in-dividual elements do not lose theiridentity, but rather deepen andfulfill it through union.18

With the growing understandingthat all perceptions of and state-ments about reality were — evenif true — necessarily limited (theopposite of absolute, that is liter-ally unlimited), the permission,and even the necessity, for dialoguewith those who thought differ-ently from us became increasinglyapparent . . . But if we can nolonger hold to an absolutist viewof the truth . . . we must take cer-tain steps so as not to be logicallyforced into the silence of total rela-tivism . . . That is we need to en-gage in dialogue with those whohave differing cultural, philosophi-cal, social, religious viewpoints soas to strive toward an ever fuller per-ception of the truth of the meaningof things.19

At this point in history . . . theforces of planetization are bring-ing about an unprecedented com-

De Chardin believed that “center tocenter union” was a model for the kind


Rabbinical College and at a programcalled Lev Shomea (The ListeningHeart) offered under the auspices ofElat Chayyim, I have discovered notonly how desirous many Jews are tohave a structured context for talkingabout their direct experiences of theHoly, but also how this practice hasenabled rabbis and knowledgeableJews, as well as unschooled seekers, todeepen their relationship with Judaism.

As I have been engaged in bringingthe practice of spiritual direction intocontemporary Jewish communities andarticulating a Jewish theology in whichto ground it, I find that classical Jew-ish sources and texts feel more alive tome. Though spiritual direction, as aspecific form of spiritual practice, isbeing borrowed from the Christiancontemplative tradition, the practice ofkeeping God before us always is cen-tral to Judaism.22

Any practice that enables us todeepen our connection with the livingGod deepens our relationship with theSource of Revelation in Judaism.

plexification of consciousnessthrough the convergence of cul-tures and religions. . . . However,now that the forces of divergencehave shifted to convergence, thereligions must meet each other incenter to center unions, discover-ing what is most authentic in eachother, thereby releasing creativeenergy toward a more complex-ified form of religious conscious-ness.20

Such interreligious exchanges canenable a new global consciousness toemerge that “will not level all differ-ences among peoples; rather it will gen-erate . . . creative unions in which di-versity is not erased but intensified.”21

Learning and Enriching

This is precisely the kind of encoun-ter I experienced at Shalem. I went toShalem to learn from Christians abouttheir contemplative tradition, but inthe process, I reengaged Judaism withrenewed energy, commitment and cre-ativity. I also did not intend or expectto do any teaching about Judaism whileat Shalem; however, I was strongly en-couraged by Shalem’s faculty and stu-dents to share my Jewish knowledge.

I discovered that many contempo-rary Christians suffer because access tothe roots of their own faith have beensevered by 2,000 years of traumatic re-lationship between Christians andJews. Their encounter with me as a Jewenriched their own Christian faith.

In the process of training spiritualdirectors both at the Reconstructionist

1. From the Shalem Institute’s missionstatement.2. Carol Ochs and Kerry Olitzky, JewishSpiritual Guidance (Jossey-Bass Publishers:San Francisco, 1997).3. This is an allusion to Judith Plaskow’sgroundbreaking book of Jewish feministtheology, Standing Again at Sinai (Harper& Row, Publishers: San Francisco, 1990).4. This experience was captured for con-temporary seekers in Debbie Friedman’ssong “Lechi Lach.”5. The Kotzker Rebbe says: God is presentwhere we let God in.


6. Tilden Edwards, Spiritual Friend: Re-claiming the Gift of Spiritual Direction(Paulist Press: New York 1980), 112-116.7. Yitzchak Buxbaum, Jewish SpiritualPractices (Jason Aronson, Inc.: New Jer-sey, 1990), 669.8. Martin Samuel Cohen, “Seeking Godin the Bible,” Conservative Judaism, Vol.LI, Number 2, Winter, 1999, 27.9. Ibid.10. Ibid., 30.11. Ibid.12. Howard A. Addison, Response to Mar-tin Cohen, Ibid., 35.14. Arthur Green, “Devotion and Com-mandment: The Faith of Abraham in theHasidic Imagination” (Hebrew Union Col-lege Press: Cincinnati 1989), 19-20.15. Ibid.16. Moshe Idel, “‘Unio Mystica’ as a Crite-rion: Hegelian Phenomenologies of Jewish

Mysticism” in Doors of Understanding, StevenChase, ed. (Franciscan Press, 1997), 321.17. Teilhard de Chardin, The Phenomenonof Man (Harper & Row: New York, 1961),262.18. Ibid.19. Leonard Swidler, “The Age of GlobalDialogue,” in Doors of Understanding, op.cit., 17.20. Ibid,. 20-22.21. Ibid., 16-17.22. “Shiviti YHVH lenegdi tamid; PlaceYHVH before you always” (Ps. 16:8) be-came the central verse in Jewish devotionalart in the 18th and 19th centuries, up tothe present. It forms the centerpiece ofmany synagogue plaques, as well as Jewishmeditation objects, votive tablets and amu-lets that are named after the first word ofthe verse.


Beyond the Noahide Laws

T his second Torah portion of theyear, Noah, like the first,Bereshit, is quite long; one

Rabbi Richard Hirsh is Editor of The Reconstructionist and Executive Directorof the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association.

BY RICHARD HIRSH

might even say that the story of the floodcovers a lot of ground. And like the firstchapters of the Torah, the story is excep-tional in its absence of connection to theprimary concern of the Torah, namely,the story of the Jewish people, with thetiny exception of the mention of Abra-ham at the very end of Genesis 11. It of-ten seems that the rabbis who devised thedivision of the Torah into weekly por-tions seemed intent on getting beyondthe universal history of the first elevenchapters as quickly as possible, and socrammed them into two long liturgicalassignments.

Perhaps they meant to be protective,trying to deflect Jews from excessive re-flection on the mystical meanings of Ma’-aseh Bereshit, the wonders of creation. Per-haps they were embarrassed by the senseof myth that is woven through the exag-gerated narratives of the antedilu-vians.Or perhaps they simply thought that thesooner one got through this cosmic over-ture, the sooner one could get to the realstory — the story of the Jewish people.

Where the Torah Begins

We are familiar with Rashi’s restate-

ment of Rabbi Yitzhak’s question ofGenesis 1:1: Why does the Torah starthere instead of at Exodus 12, hahodeshhazeh lachem rosh hodashim, “this sea-son [of the leaving of Egypt] is whereyour story begins.” The answer offeredis: lest the other nations come alonglater on and dispute the Israelite claimto the land of Canaan; God made theworld and apportions the territory as Godwishes. And in exactly this type of inter-pretation, we see a traditional under-standing that the universal aspect of theTorah takes on meaning only in rela-tionship to the particular story of theJewish people. An analogy is RoshHaShanah as Yom Harat Olam, the daythe world is created — which just hap-pens to fall on the first day of the Jew-ish year.

But these early stories, and especiallythe story of the flood and its aftermath,cannot be so easily neutralized ormarginalized. If perhaps for no otherreason than that Adam and Eve, Cainand Abel, and Noah are better knownthan Aaron and Miriam, Nadav andAvihu, and, l’havdil, Korah, Dathanand Aviram — to name but a few ofthe key characters in “our” part of theTorah — we are annually called backto the humbling realization that thewhole world is not, in fact, Jewish.

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the gentile population is obligated to:1. establish a legal system (dinim)2. reject idolatry (avodah zarah)3. reject blasphemy (gilelat Hashem)4. reject sexual immorality (giluy arayot)5. reject bloodshed/murder (shefichutdamim)6. reject stealing (ha-gezel)7. not consume meat torn from a liveanimal (ever min ha-hai)

In the Babylonian Talmud (San-hedrin 56 AB) prohibitions on castra-tion, sorcery, and mingling of plant/animal species are added to these seven.In the non-canonical Book of Jubilees(perhaps dated to the second centuryas well) the positive command to honorparents is included. But in most com-mon as well as popular countings, thebasic seven enumerated in the Toseftaare assumed.2

In comparison to the 613 mitzvot bywhich Jews are bound, the gentilesseem to get off fairly easy. And one cansee the marketing wisdom of the saintformerly known as Saul (Paul), who,in the years following the death of Jesus,argued that gentiles could come intothe “new covenant” without the bur-den of the Torah commandments.

A Lot or a Little?

But while seven mitzvot may not seemlike much, in that strand of rabbinictradition that has no particular fond-ness or respect for gentiles, we find “thesages’ critical view of the pagan worldthat made them skeptical of the gen-tiles’ ability to fulfill even these few,very basic obligations. . . Nevertheless,with the notion of the Noahide laws

The Noahide Laws

The story of Noah is the primarytext from and through which classicalJewish tradition sought to understandthe relationship of humanity at largeto the God of Israel — and vice versa.This God also just happens to be, cour-tesy of the conundrum of monotheism,the one God of all creation, and byimplication, the one God who muststand in some form of relationship tothe other peoples of the earth.

To help mediate some of the tensioninherent in this audacious claim, Jew-ish tradition speaks of the shevah mitz-vot bnai noah, the seven command-ments that are binding on humanityat large. (In the classical rabbinic imagi-nation, the Jewish people are of coursebound by the 613 commandments ofthe Torah.)

Rabbinic tradition derives theseseven Noahide obligations primarilyfrom Genesis 9:1-11. That text, likeExodus 20, which does not easily orclearly yield the “Ten” Command-ments, does not clearly delineate sevenlaws that can be easily identified andenumerated. But through a combina-tion of what the text says and what therabbis infer, we end up with seven com-mandments with which gentiles mustcomply.

Seven Laws of Humanity

According to David Novak,1 the ear-liest citation of the seven Noahide lawsoccurs in the Tosefta, a rabbinic textdating to the late second century of theCommon Era. In that text, we see that

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in the background, tolerant feelingstoward the non-Jewish world doemerge.”3

When Israelite religion and laterJudaism’s significant others were pagannature religions or dualistic systemssuch as Zoroastrianism or gnostic mys-tery cults, it was perhaps easier to un-derstand “that the overriding view ofthe non-Israelite world expressed in theHebrew Bible [was] negative.”4 Butwith the rise of Christianity and, sev-eral centuries later, Islam, Judaism’s sig-nificant others were no longer quite“them,” but in some peculiar way weresort of “us,” at least related in some wayto us.

The Christian claim of universal sal-vation required some response on thepart of Judaism. One talmudic posi-tion is hasedei umot haolam, yesh lahemhelek l’olam haba, the righteous of theother nations have a share in the worldto come. And by the middle ages, Jew-ish religious authorities, under the in-fluence of universalizing philosophy, inthe context of cultural exchange, andout of social and political necessity,found themselves engaged in debateover whether Christians and Muslimswere idolaters (Akkum [acronym forovdei kochavim umezalot — literally,worshippers of stars and constella-tions]) or monotheists (B’nai Noah).

While there was debate, the major-ity view that eventually emerged amongrabbinic authorities was that Christiansand Muslims were not idolaters. This,of course, would have been of littleconcern or consequence to any Chris-tians or Muslims, who presumably werenot waiting for Jewish authorities to

rule on their respective faiths. But itdoes show one more step along the pathof Judaism coming to terms with thepossibility that other religions mighthave a glimmer of truth to them.

Through a Jewish Prism

But even then, Jewish perspectivesrefracted the gentile world through aJewish prism. Thus, Maimonidieswrites:

A gentile who accepts the sevencommandments [of Noah] andobserves them scrupulously is arighteous gentile and will have aportion in the world to come,provided that he accepts themand performs them because theHoly One, blessed be He,commanded them in the Torahand made known through Mosesour teacher that the observancethereof had been enjoined uponthe descendants of Noah evenbefore the Torah was given. Butif his observance is based on areasoned conclusion he is notdeemed a resident alien, or arighteous gentile, but/or one oftheir wise men.5

As in Rashi’s commentary to Gen-esis, we again see how gentile reality isbut a pale reflex of Jewish centrality: Ifnot for the Torah revealed to the Jews,gentiles would not know what theywere supposed to believe and how theywere supposed to act. In other words,gentiles who reason themselves andtheir society into a social compact

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whereby the seven Noahide laws arefoundational, still do not fulfill thefaith requirement, regardless of theircomportment. They pass the sociologi-cal test but not the religious one. Theymay be better to live among in thisworld, but they are not going to be ourneighbors in the world to come.

Modernity and Faith

The advent of modernity, with itstendency to push formerly exclusivereligious and ethnic groups into col-laboration, conversation, cooperationand conflict with each other, forced theissue of Judaism’s relationship withother faiths to evolve again. To liveharmoniously in a secular society in-volved the inevitable diminution ofclaims to exclusive salvation and pos-session of the one true faith. Perhaps aprice that we pay, especially in America,is the modest and moderate and mini-mal meaning that we have often givento religion. As Dwight Eisenhower said:“Our government makes no sense un-less it is founded in a deeply felt reli-gious faith — and I don’t care what itis.”6

The struggle of one religion to un-derstand its affirmations in conversa-tion with those who, with equal integ-rity, affirm different beliefs, is difficult.There is always the temptation to re-duce faith to least common denomi-nator terms. And there is always thetemptation to affirm one’s own tradi-tion by denying the possibility of mean-ing in another’s.

The Noahide discussion throughoutJewish history is one way in which Jews

have carried on the conversation aboutwhat constitutes the essential and non-negotiable beliefs and behaviors thattranscend tribes and bind people intoa common humanity. The Noahide tra-dition is on the one hand a repudia-tion of the exclusivity that denies thatthere can be more than one path to thesame God. The Noahide tradition isthus a corrective to the fundamentalistimpulse to demonize and to ostracizethose who are “not us.”

But it is equally a repudiation of rela-tivism: not all choices are equal, notall beliefs are valid, and not all actionsare acceptable. Beyond the distinctionsthat exist between groups, we search forbasic behaviors of humanity to whichwe can hold anyone responsible. TheNoahide tradition is thus a correctiveto the relativism that would prevent usfrom affirming one belief over anotherin a values-neutral universe.

Beyond the Noahide Laws

But the Noahide laws can only takeus so far on the journey toward rethink-ing both our own religious traditionand our relationship to those living inand through other religious traditions.As long as the supernatural assump-tions of the origins of religion, sacredtext and religious identity remain in-tact, we will be unable to escape thegrudging tolerance that often substi-tutes for an embrace of the opportuni-ties — and risks — of religious plural-ism.

The Noahide laws are not evidenceof a liberal appreciation of the validityof other faiths, wrote Mordecai Kaplan:


1. Novak, David, The Image of the Non-Jew in Judaism (New York and Toronto,The Edwin Mellon Press, 1983), 3.2. See, for example, J.H. Hertz, ThePentateuch and Haftorahs (London,Soncino Press, 1972) 33, n.7.3. Rembaum, Joel, “Dealing With Strang-ers” in Etz Hayyim Torah and Commentary(Philadelphia, 2001, The Rabbinical As-sembly and the Jewish Publication Soci-ety), 1381.4. Ibid.5. Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Malachim, 8:11.6. Quoted in Will Herberg, Protestant-Catholic-Jew (New York: Doubleday andCompany Inc., 1955), 84.7. Kaplan, Mordecai M., The Future of theAmerican Jew (New York: Reconstruction-ist Press, 1948) 223.8. Sullivan, Andrew: “This Is A ReligiousWar,” New York Times Magazine, October7, 2001, 52.

The tradition of the Noahide lawssuggests that the future may well de-pend on which form of religion — plu-ralistic or exclusive — gains ascendancywithin all of the religions that seek, intheir own way, to discover God andwhat God expects of us. Perhaps whatmatters most is not the presumptionthat God has, as it were, pointed outonly one true religion, but that we be-gin to think instead of the One TrueGod toward which differing religionsmay yet learn to point.

Maimonides . . . maintained thatfor a gentile to conform to theNoahide laws was not enough. Toobtain salvation he must look up-on those laws as revealed by God.Since the only evidence of anyrevelation is to be found in theTorah of Israel, the achievementof salvation by a Gentile was thusmade to depend on his recogniz-ing Israel as the chosen vehicle ofdivine salvation for mankind.7

We are, the Torah suggests at the endof parashat Noah, destined or doomedto descend into differing tribes. Pre-modern societies affirm that there canbe only One Truth among those tribes.The Other is not different; the Otheris wrong. Modernity affirms that anyor all of those tribes may hold A Truth,but that no one holds The Truth. TheOther is not necessarily wrong; theOther may only be different.

The difference in outlook is notwithout consequences. In our post-September 11 world, the implicationsof exclusivist religious faith are all tooevident. We are, Andrew Sullivanwrote, “fighting for religion against oneof the deepest strains in religion thereis. And not only our lives but our soulsare at stake.”8

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Rabbi Nancy Fuchs-Kreimer is Director of the Religious Studies Program andAssociate Professor of Religious Studies at the Reconstructionist RabbinicalCollege.

BY NANCY FUCHS-KREIMER

Dabru Emet —A Reconstructionist

Perspective

n contrast to other religious sys-tems in the world, Judaism andChristianity have much in com-

mon. Both agree, in their traditionalforms, that God works in history andthat historical events reveal to us God’sintentions for God’s chosen people, theJews, and ultimately for humankind.As Richard Rubenstein1 pointed out,Yo-hannan ben Zakkai and Justin Mar-tyr shared the view that the destruc-tion of Jerusalem by the Romans waspart of the unfolding of a divine drama.The difference was in their understand-ing of that drama.

Because Christianity’s founding“myth” (as Rubenstein referred to it)emerged out of Jewish history, Jewswould inevitably be players in theChristian view of the world. Jews, onthe other hand, had their own “myth”of Jewish history in which Christiansplayed a far less important role.

Nevertheless, both Judaism andChristianity have classically affirmedrevelation in history and scripture as arecord of that revelation. Both affirmGod’s ongoing involvement in history.

Not surprisingly, the cataclysmic de-struction of European Jewry in theheart of Western Christendom has oc-casioned profound thinking in bothcommunities.

Theological Revolution

During the last half century, a theo-logical revolution has taken place with-in Christianity. The recognition ofChristianity’s complicity in creating theconditions leading to the Holocaustprovoked some Christians to acknowl-edge the ongoing validity of Judaismand the Jewish people. This has ledsome to efforts at responsible rethink-ing of God and of Christianity.

In the interreligious world, confer-ences and symposia, dialogues and jointpublications have flourished. Theolo-gians have devoted large portions oftheir professional lives to reconstruct-ing Christian thought in light of thenew awareness of the ongoing validityof Judaism.2

Over the last decades, increasingnumbers of Roman Catholic and Prot-


estant groups have published theologi-cal statements with explicit condem-nations of the Catholic Church’s his-toric teaching of contempt, and clearaffirmations of Judaism and the Jew-ish people as en-duringly valid.3 It wasthe courage and creativity of this workthat inspired me as a graduate studentto specialize in the field of Jewish-Christian Relations.

Why No Jewish Response?

Yet despite all this activity, until re-cently no organized Jewish body hascome together to issue a correspond-ing statement concerning Christianityand its place within Jewish thought.Several factors contributed to this. Per-haps most obvious, unlike the CatholicChurch, the Jewish people lacks a Vati-can, and while we do have institutionssimilar to those of the Protestantchurches that drafted, voted upon andpassed the resolutions concerning Jewsand Judaism, Jewish groups do not of-ten engage in theological pronounce-ment.

When theological statements havebeen made, such as in Emet v’Emunah,the Conservative Movement’s 1988declaration of Jewish doctrine, otherfaiths have been dealt with as a groupwithout singling out Christianity forspecial treatment.4

Quite simply, the issues of Judaismand Jews are more important theologi-cally for Christians than the issues ofChristianity and Christians are forJews. Although Franz Rosenzweig anda few other theologians have exploredthe notion of a Jewish theology of

Christianity, it would be fair to say thatthe endless fascination of Christianswith Judaism has not been reciprocatedby most Jews.5

Pluralism and Respect

We believed in pluralism and mu-tual respect for all other faiths. Wehoped that Christians would not per-secute us or try to convert our children.Beyond that, we did not see Christian-ity as needing any special response. Onthe other hand, how the Holocaust speaksto our own understanding of God, ofchosenness and of history remains animportant question for Jewish theol-ogy. Rubenstein suggested in the 1960sthat it would lead many Jews to “de-mythologize” the very world view weshare with Christians.

Nevertheless, as Jews continued toappreciate the positive results of Chris-tian self-examination and to enlist re-pentant Christians in various Jewishcauses, an uncomfortable asymmetryemerged. While Christians were pro-foundly interested in talking aboutGod, Jews appeared content to reap thebenefit from Christians’ more benignview of Jews — but remained reluc-tant to discuss theology. Jewish schol-ars who had the benefit of sustainedrelations with Christians through theirwork began to wonder if the Jewishcommunity could do more.

Origins of Dabru Emet

In the mid-1990s, the Baltimore-basedInstitute for Jewish-Christian Studiesconvened a group of Jewish scholars who


believed that it was past time at leastto acknowledge the changes withinChristianity, and to let Christians knowthat the struggles they were goingthrough to rethink their own faith werenot unheeded by all Jews. Beyond that,the group wondered if the time hadcome for a more daring step, for Jewsto challenge their own thinking and tooffer a thoughtful communal responseto this unprecedented change in the re-lationship between the two faiths.

The group conceived of a book ofessays and a public statement thatwould offer an affirmation of Chris-tianity parallel to the one Christianbodies have been publishing about Ju-daism. The statement that emerged —Dabru Emet (“Speak the Truth,” afterthe words of Zechariah 8:16) — waswritten by four highly regarded profes-sors of Jewish studies: Tikva Frymer-Kensky of the University of Chicago,David Novak of the University of Tor-onto, Peter Ochs of the University ofVirginia, and Michael A. Signer of theUniversity of Notre Dame. It was pub-lished in The New York Times (and sev-eral other newspapers) on September10, 2000 with 170 signatures of rab-bis, Jewish scholars and intellectuals,including some leading Reconstruc-tionist rabbis.6

I was an early member of the group(although no longer active when thestatement idea developed), a signer ofthe statement, and a contributor to thebook that was published in conjunc-tion with the statement.7 I signed thestatement because of my respect for mycolleagues, and to honor and supportthe venture. I understood that this was

an important political gesture and that,subtleties of belief aside, I shared theintention of the enterprise and admiredthe motives and good will of the au-thors.

Jews React to Dabru Emet

Not surprisingly, Christians whocare about these matters were delightedby this conciliatory and pioneering ges-ture. The reaction among Jews wasmore varied. Irving Greenberg, writingon Beliefnet.com, called it “the mostpositive affirmation of Christianity evermade by a committed Jewish group”and praised its authors for their cour-age. Other Jewish leaders, however,strongly dissented.

The statement about the Holocaustdrew the most emotional responses.Many Jews felt that Christians had beentoo easily “let off the hook.” JamesRudin of the American Jewish Com-mittee argued that the statement hadbeen too generous in its appraisal ofthe role of Christianity in the Holo-caust. He pointed out that it was ironicthat while the Jewish statement said,“Nazism was not a Christian phenom-enon,” the United Methodist Churchhad recently referred to the Holocaustas “the catastrophic culmination of along history of anti-Jewish attitudesand actions in which Christians, andsometimes the Church itself, have beendeeply implicated.”8

Obviously, the statement reflectedthe setting in which it emerged. TheChristians with whom Jews tended tobe in dialogue were now doing such asuperb job of self critique that 170 Jews


felt it was a moment in history in whichthey could be the ones saying, “It wasnot so bad after all.” In another timeor place, such a statement by Jewswould have been inconceivable.

Jewish Objections

A longer and more sustained critiqueof Dabru Emet was launched by Jon D.Levenson, a Harvard Bible scholar writ-ing in Commentary magazine in De-cember 2001. In April 2002, a seriesof letters to the editor appeared inwhich the thrust of Levenson’s critiquewas endorsed by such scholars asMichael Wyschodrod, David Bergerand Jacob Neusner, while the authorsof the statement and other scholarswrote to defend it. One of the goals ofthe original statement, that of provok-ing dialogue within the Jewish commu-nity on these matters, appears to havebeen met.

Levenson began his critique by lam-pooning the “earnest and anodyneplatitude” with which the documentconcludes, “Jews and Christians mustwork together for justice and peace.”Levenson had a chuckle over that, re-marking that it “no doubt provokeddismay among those bent on workingapart in the service of injustice andwar.”9 (Regrettably, the irenic tone, re-spectful speech and good manners Jewsuse in interreligious dialogue are oftenwoefully absent in intrareligious Jew-ish dialogue.)

But a more serious critique followed.Reacting to the first major dictum in thestatement, “Jews and Christians worshipthe same God,” Levenson wrote:

Jews have not always been con-vinced that Christians worshipthe same God. Maimonides, forexample, the great Sephardic le-gal authority and philosopher ofthe 12th century, explicitly clas-sifies Christianity as idolatry, thusforbidding contact with Chris-tians of the sort permitted withpractitioners of other, non-idola-trous religions. Even in the medi-eval Ashkenazic world, where avery different view of Christian-ity obtained, some authorities in-terpreted the monotheistic affir-mation of the Shema, the manda-tory daily declaration of Jewishfaith, as an explicit denial of thedoctrine of the Trinity.10

One could argue with Levenson onhis own terms that the Ashkenazi tra-dition has found room for Christiansan non-idolaters and that MenachemHaMeiri, Moses Rivkes, Jacob Emden,Elijah Benamozegh and Israel Lifschitz,to name the most prominent, viewedChristianity not only as ethical mono-theism, but attested to the religio-ethi-cal redemptive role of Christianity inhuman society — often in languageand ideas far more bold than those inDabru Emet.11

Reconstructionist Dissent

Although I signed the statement, likeLevenson I am uncomfortable with thetheology underlying the statement thatwe “worship the same God.” Here,however, Levenson — an OrthodoxJew — and I — a Reconstructionist


— part company. In fact, our concernsare photographic negatives of one an-other, diametrically opposite critiques.

Levenson worried that the statementwas too conciliatory, implying a kindof relativism when it comes to theo-logical truths rather than affirmingJudaism’s own unique and, presumably,truer, ones. My issue is just the oppo-site. As a Reconstructionist, I do notbelieve that Judaism holds special theo-logical truths that ought to be clarified,kept distinct from other truths anddefended.

Levenson is correct, of course, thathis approach would certainly be morefaithful to the way Jews have under-stood their relationship to Christianbeliefs throughout history. But likethose who wrote the statement, I donot agree that such “faithfulness” isdesirable today. My problem with thestatement is not that it is cedes toomuch in the way of truth, but ratherthat it presumes to know too much.

Religion As Human Construct

I come to interreligious dialoguewith an assumption that our theologi-cal claims, just like those of Christian-ity and, for that matter, other religioustraditions, are creative efforts on thepart of men and women to express inhuman language their experience ofGod. So, the opening claim — “Jewsand Christians worship the same God”— seems to me to be a strange asser-tion. There is only one God and so, bydefinition, all human beings worshipthe “same God.” So, too, do I find pre-sumptuous Levenson’s claim that this

is “a question of the identity of Godhimself,”12 surely a matter about whichnone of us know much at all.

I believe what the authors were try-ing to say (and what I, as Reconstruc-tionist would have said) is that Chris-tians and Jews are on historically con-nected and somewhat related paths to-ward that God. What the statement infact did was to mirror what recentChristian theological statements hadoffered the Jews: we know somethingabout religious truth and we are nowdeeming your tradition to be in theinner circle of those “in the know.”Levenson was concerned that the state-ment gives in too easily on matters oftruth. My concern is that we are treat-ing both the Christian and Jewish tra-ditions as “true” in a way that I do notunderstand either of them to be.

In my view, the most we can say isthat historically the two spiritual tra-ditions reveal close connections. I agreewith Levenson that they also have somestrong divergences. I see no compellingreason to privilege Christianity overother faiths as a theological compatriot,except in terms of historical develop-ment.

Heresy in Dialogue

This last statement is quite hereticalin the Jewish-Christian dialogue world,where a cozy kind of compact has de-veloped in which we each find roomfor the other in our narrative concern-ing our special place in God’s plan. Atthe heart of the new mutual acceptanceof Jews/Judaism and Christians/Chris-tianity is a continuing interest in the


issue of the chosen people. In fact,Christianity makes very little senseapart from the “chosen people” doc-trine, a challenge for those of us whofind the whole idea problematic.

Rabbi David Rosen, the Interreli-gious Affairs Director of the AmericanJewish Committee based in Jerusalem,was a supporter of the statement. Hewants to go even further :

aging the mythic language of God,chosenness and history, especially whenit comes to discussions of modern dayIsrael. This is not lost on the authorsof the statement, who welcome Chris-tian support for a Jewish State in whatthe authors of the statement call “thePromised Land.” The statement goeson to say:

A serious Jewish theology of Chris-tianity will need to go further thansimply respecting “Christians’faithfulness to their revelation; itrequires an understanding of thesignificance of that revelation interms of the Divine plan for hu-manity.13

I share the desire to be conciliatory,but honesty forces me to ask: In whatsense do we mean to be using this theo-logical language? Would it take awayfrom the power of what we are engagedin to speak more openly about the wayin which many of us understand thislanguage as metaphoric and mythic?And if it is, in fact, human stories weare spinning about an unknowable di-vine reality, then what are the implica-tions for what we want to say to andabout one another?

Implications for Israel

I agree with Rubenstein that the lan-guage Jews and Christians use to talkabout God’s work in history is the lan-guage of myth. Reifying these myths isa risky enterprise. There are certainobvious benefits, of course, in encour-

Christians appreciate that Israelwas promised — and given — toJews as the physical center of thecovenant between them and God.Many Christians support the stateof Israel for reasons far more pro-found than mere politics. As Jewswe applaud this support.

Sounds good? But perhaps we are tooquick in our applause. Do we really wantsupport for Israel that is based on an un-derstanding of “God’s promises to Hispeople,” promises that many of us havelong since demythologized in our ownthinking, promises that encourage whatfor some of us are dangerous trendswithin our own community ?

Philo-Semitism Ascendant

For centuries, Jews were demonized;now, in some Christian circles, philo-Semitism reigns. Yet, what we cannotbe, as long as we agree with the Chris-tians on our supernatural status as apeople, is simply human — neithersaints nor sinners. Do we really wantto continue being players in anothercommunity’s myth? Perhaps we havelittle choice, but we need not encour-age it.


It is understandable that at a timewhen the Jewish people feels increas-ingly isolated in the world, we wouldbe eager for support and delight in ashared religious language that appearsto motivate Christians to be our allies.On the other hand, such support maynot be the most helpful to our long-term interests. In any event, the ulti-mate issue is not strategies for supportof Israel but rather intellectual integ-rity. Can I in good faith support Chris-tians in believing “Israel was promisedto the Jews” when I do not believe thatmyself?

I welcome the dialogue and I ap-plaud Christian efforts at self-analysisand reconstruction. Although I knowmany Christians are more comfortablespeaking with me within our sharedmythic language, I need to hold fast toa broader view that is consistent with aReconstructionist understanding ofreligion. That means that despite theinterest in the Christian world in hav-ing a special relationship with Jews andour desire to reflect back their self-un-derstanding and to reciprocate theirsense of intimacy with us, I believe that,to recast the opening statement ofDabru Emet, “all people worship thesame God.”

Dialogue Beyond Christianity

I am interested in dialogue withmany faiths, not only Christians, andso the claim in Dabru Emet that “werejoice that, through Christianity, hun-dreds of millions of people have enteredinto a relationship with the God of Is-rael” is more than I would want to say.

The implication of that statement isthat it would be good for non-Jewishnon-Christians to convert to Christian-ity. I am not sure that Jews want to of-fer that message to the various non-Christians with whom they are in dia-logue. I am quite sure it is not a mes-sage that I can affirm.

Ironically, Dabru Emet appeared onthe scene at a time when the questionof how Jews and Christians see one an-other is becoming less and less central.Will Herberg’s America of Protestant-Catholic-Jew is disappearing.14 Increas-ingly, people are identifying with secu-larism or secular “spirituality.”

Perhaps it is not so ironic. As Eu-gene Borowitz teaches: “Judaism has farmore in common with Christianitythan with secularism gone pagan . . .Judaism and Christianity are at leastunited in having a common enemy.”15

Furthermore, Muslims (who willoutnumber Jews in America in severaldecades) and members of Eastern reli-gions are participating in the interreli-gious conversation, although withgreater complexity since 9/11, a com-plexity that should not deter us frompersevering in the much needed con-versation. Now that we Jews and Chris-tians are not the only players, we aredrawn even closer to one another.

Concerns About Survival

What will be the impact of Jewish-Christian dialogue on Jewish continu-ity? Again, Levenson’s critique is quiteon target, although as a Reconstruc-tionist I would come to a different con-clusion than he about what to do with


the resulting problem. Levenson tookissue with the pronouncement towardthe end of Dabru Emet that “A newrelationship between Jews and Chris-tians will not weaken Jewish practice.”He argued that the statement was tooglib when it concluded that interreli-gious dialogue will not lead to assimi-lation, intermarriage, etc. This we can-not know. As he points out,

The Reconstructionist Wager

Reconstructionism is making a dif-ferent wager. In the Reconstructionistcommunity, we have abandoned claimsto being the chosen people or those inpossession of special truths. We are farfrom certain that we need not worryabout assimilation. Actually, we arevery concerned about the risks involvedin living in an open, pluralistic society.

We live this way not because we aresure of Jewish continuity but becausethat is how we can be true to our ownbest insights and understanding. Wehope, and have some evidence to sup-port our optimism, that Jews will con-tinue to find Judaism meaningful andworthwhile even if they do not see it asmaking theological claims that are truerthan others. Rather, they will come tolove and cherish the uniquely Jewishlanguage and traditions and sancta withwhich we celebrate our lives.

In that context, dialogue with otherfaiths enriches us, because it allows usto share with all people of faith andspirit our common humanity and de-sire to tell meaningful stories to our-selves about our sojourn on this increas-ingly frightening earth. The maturingconversation between Jews and Chris-tians, whose traditional stories overlapin such profound ways, is, in this con-text, certainly to be desired.

communities that have largelyovercome their animosity andmoved to mutual respect, as Jewsand Christians have done to a sig-nificant extent in the UnitedStates, must look elsewhere forsuch reinforcements to groupidentity as existed under theolder and more contentious ar-rangement. Under any conditions,the risks are higher for the smallercommunity — that is, the Jews.16

I quite agree. But the proper responsemay not be to build higher walls andstronger boundaries.

Strangely enough, Richard Ruben-stein’s own views were not so differentfrom Levenson’s on this question.While he personally no longer believedin the Jewish mythic understanding ofthe Jewish people and their history, heconcluded

The Jewish religious mainstreamwill, within the foreseeable future,consist primarily of those who af-firm faith in the God of history andthe election of Israel . . . covenantand election appear to be indis-pensable to normative Judaism.17

1. “Person and Myth in the Judaeo-Chris-tian Encounter,” in After Auschwitz: Radi-cal Theology and Contemporary Judaism,(Bobb-Merril, 1966).2. See, for example, Paul van Buren, ATheology of the Jewish-Christian Reality


(three volumes, New York: Harper andRow, 1983).3. The literature is vast. For a review as ofthe late 1970s, see Michael B. McGarry,Christology after Auschwitz (New York:Paulist Press, 1977).4. “Theological humility requires us to rec-ognize that although we have but one God,God has more than one nation. Our tra-dition explicitly recognizes that God en-tered into a covenant with Adam and Eve,and later with Noah and his family as wellas His special covenant with Abraham andthe great revelation to Israel at Sinai. It ispart of our mission to understand, respect,and live with the other nations of the world,to discern those truths in their cultures fromwhich we can learn, and to share with themthe truths that we have come to know.” Emetve-Emunah (New York: Jewish TheologicalSeminary of America, 1988).5. For an exposition of Rosenzweig’s the-ology of Christianity, see H.J. Schoeps, TheJewish-Christian Argument: A History ofTheologies in Conflict (London: Faber andFaber, 1963), 132 ff.6. To view the statement and a list of allsignatories, see http://www.icjs.org/what/njsp/index.html.7. “Redemption: What I Have Learned

From Christians,” in Christianity in Jew-ish Terms, eds. Frymer-Kensky, Novak,Ochs, Sandmel, Signer (Colorado: West-view Press, 2000).8. James Rudin, http://www.jcrelations.net/stmnts/njsp_dabru_emet.htm.9. Jon D. Levenson, “How Not to Con-duct Jewish-Christian Dialogue,” Com-mentary, December 2001, 33.10. Ibid., 37.11. David Rosen, in an address given atthe 20th anniversary celebration of theDutch Council of Christians and Jews(OJEC) at Tilburg, the Netherlands, No-vember 6, 2001, http://www.bc.edu/bc_org/research/cjl/articles/rosen.htm.12. Levenson, op.cit., 33.13. David Rosen, op.cit.14.Will Herberg, Protestant-Catholic-Jew,(New York: Doubleday, 1960).15. Eugene Borowitz, “On TheologicalDialogue with Christians,” in ExploringJewish Ethics (Detroit: Wayne State Press,1990), 394.16. Levenson, op.cit., 3717. Richard Rubenstein, “Naming theUnnameable; Thinking the Unthinkable”(a review of Arthur Cohen’s The Tremen-dum), Journal of Reform Judaism, Spring1984, 54.


T

Rabbi Margaret Moers Wenig is Instructor of Liturgy and Homiletics at He-brew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion.

BY MARGARET MOERS WENIG1

Sacred Speech —Sacred Communities

o the rabbis, gossip was a seri-ous crime: “One who speakslashon hara2 [gossip] . . . de-

nies the fundamental principal of theexistence and authority of God” (B.T.Arachin 15b). “God does not accept theprayers of one who speaks lashon hara”(Zohar, M’tzora). “Lashon hara is thecause of our exile” (B.T. Yoma 9b, Gittin57b).

In contrast, anthropologists, philoso-phers and feminists enumerate the cru-cial roles that gossip plays, “conveyinginformation without which,” as SiselaBok has put it, “neither groups nor so-cieties could function.”3 Who amongus could function without gossip? Whoamong us would want to? And yet,most of us also know from experiencethe serious damage gossip can cause.

The friction between these conflict-ing attitudes sparks a debate that shedsnew light upon a complicated issue andchallenges us to reconsider our ideasand alter our behavior. It is impossibleto study the laws of lashon hara with-out reaching a new level of conscious-ness about our use of words. At thesame time, it is also impossible to studythe traditional prohibitions againstlashon hara without feeling the need to

argue with them, revise them or adaptthem. This process of study can helpus use the power of speech for good andnot for evil, for the creation of sacredcommunities rather than for their de-struction.

Lashon Hara Overheard

• In her sermon, the rabbi is compar-ing and contrasting the religious tra-ditions of Judaism and Islam. Amember of the congregation hap-pens to be a scholar of Islam. In hisview, the rabbi’s portrait of Islam issimplistic at best, a dangerous dis-tortion at worst. He finds it diffi-cult to sit through the rest of the ser-vice, difficult to concentrate on theremaining prayers. For him, the ser-mon has undermined the rabbi’scredibility. When, at the kiddush, an-other member says, “Wasn’t that aninteresting sermon?” the scholar ofIslam blurts out exactly what hethought.

• A synagogue nominating commit-tee is meeting to choose a slate. Whenone potential nominee is mentioned,someone says, “I’ve worked with him.He makes many promises and ful-


fills few. He’s disorganized and for-gets deadlines. When he loses histemper, watch out!” The committeepasses over that proposed nominee.When the slate is made public, themember who was overlooked is dis-appointed. He is a longtime mem-ber and wanted to serve the congre-gation as a trustee. He mentions toa friend, “I don’t understand whathappened. I would have made agreat trustee.” The friend, who hap-pened to be on the nominatingcommittee, tells him why his can-didacy was rejected.

• A student’s paper is severely criti-cized by a professor. “Look at this,”the student says to friends, show-ing them the professor’s comments.As a result, none of the friends reg-isters for a course taught by thatprofessor.

• Teenage girls at a sleepover get totalking about their classmates.When one mentions Max, Sarahand Jessica roll their eyes. Allison,who is also at the sleepover, hap-pens to be one of Max’s good friends.On Monday morning, Max sayssomething nice to Allison about Sa-rah and Jessica, who stopped to talkwith him in the hallway. “Youknow, Max, they don’t really likeyou,” Allison tells him.

• The local paper carries the story ofthe resignation of a rabbi accusedof having an affair before he andhis wife had separated. At a party,a few members of the congregationare discussing their rabbi’s resigna-tion. After all, it’s in the paper, it’scommon knowledge. Another guest

pipes up, “Jewish leaders are sohypocritical. That’s why I’d neverjoin a synagogue.”

Laws of Lashon Hara

“Who is the person who desires life(hafetz hayim) . . . ? Guard your tonguefrom evil and your lips from speakingguile” (Ps. 34:13-14). The rabbis’ pro-hibitions against lashon hara were col-lected and expanded by Rabbi IsraelMeir Kagan, who in 1873 publishedanonymously the Sefer Chofetz Chayim.This teacher of musar (ethics) came tobe known by the title of his book. ZeligPliskin, in Guard Your Tongue: A Prac-tical Guide to the Laws of Lashon HaraBased on Chofetz Chayim,4 makes theChofetz Chayim eminently accessibleto the English reader. According to theChofetz Chayim: We are “forbidden torelate anything derogatory about oth-ers. If a derogatory statement is true, itis termed lashon hara. If it is false, evenpartially so, it is termed motzi shem ra(defamation of character) and the of-fense is more severe. . . .”5 Reporting tosomeone that another has acted or spo-ken against him, called rechilut (tale-bearing), is also prohibited. Whenlashon hara (including motzi shem raand rechilut) is spoken, no fewer than31 biblical commandments are vio-lated.6 Among them:

. .

-aDo not utter (or accept) a false re-port (Ex. 23:1).-aYou shall not go about as a talebeareramong your people (Lev. 19:16).-aYou shall not take vengeance nor beara grudge against the children of your


about our spouse to our best friend;-ato make any statement, even if notexplicitly derogatory, that might causefinancial loss, physical pain, mental an-guish or any damage to reputation;-ato make any derogatory comment,even if it causes no harm;-ato say something derogatory about aperson in his presence or to his face ifothers may hear it;-ato disparage groups, a particular com-munity, groups of Jews or all Jews;-ato implicate another person in orderto exonerate ourselves;-ato reveal any personal or professionalinformation about people that theythemselves admitted to us, even if theydid not request confidentiality;-ato speak favorably about another per-son lest the hearer take advantage of theinformation and with it harm the sub-ject;-ato praise another person excessivelylest a listener be provoked to disagree;-ato make a seemingly neutral comment,such as “Have you seen Sam lately?” if itmay provoke others to speak ill of him;-anot only to speak lashon hara but alsoto listen to lashon hara;-ato sit in synagogue or in class next tosomeone who speaks lashon hara;-ato speak ill of a talmid chacham (ascholar), in his presence or absence. Weare forbidden to ridicule the teachingof a talmid chacham. If a talmid hachamis the practicing rabbi of a communityor a rosh yeshiva, belittling him is anegregious sin.8

The above list is daunting. Whoamong us has not violated one or moreof those prohibitions? Is the list toobroad? Are some of the prohibitions im-

people (Lev. 19:18).-aCursed be one who smites his neigh-bor secretly (Deut. 27:24).

The greater the number of peoplewho hear one’s lashon hara, thegreater the sin. Those who habitu-ally gossip (baalei lashon hara) areguilty of a much graver sin . . . Onewho constantly speaks lashon haracommits sins greater than idolatry,adultery, and murder...7

Broad Understanding

The Chofetz Chayim defines lashonhara broadly: We are forbidden-ato show someone’s letter or other writ-ing to others in order to belittle thewriter, even if we make no comment;-ato convey lashon hara through hints andsigns, hand or finger motions, facial ex-pressions, coughs, winks, tone of voice;-ato recount derogatory informationthat is already common knowledge;-ato speak lashon hara in jest;-ato take revenge on someone by tell-ing others that she refused to or failedto help us;-ato make derogatory remarks aboutanother person even if we do not iden-tify the subject of the remarks;-ato discuss someone’s misdeeds evenwith a person who witnessed themalong with us;-ato discuss a person’s negative charac-ter traits;-ato ask for information about some-one from a enemy or competitor ofthat person;-ato say negative things about our bossto our spouse or to say negative things

.


possible to observe? Do some of theabove forms of derogatory speech ac-tually serve a positive social function?Even the Chofetz Chayim permitsspeaking and listening to lashon haraunder certain circumstances. Before wetake exception to the wide-ranging pro-hibitions, however, we would do wellto remember the damage lashon haracan cause and thus the reasons to takeseriously prohibitions against it.

Dangers of Lashon Hara

At the very least, lashon hara canwaste time. Teenagers may spend hourseach day gossiping with friends, in per-son, on the phone or by sending “in-stant messages” on the Internet. For someteenagers, lashon hara may supplanthomework, pleasure reading, music,chores, physical exercise or sleep.

Worse than a waste of time, lashonhara may damage a growing child’s self-esteem. Like teasing or taunting to akid’s face, lashon hara behind a child’sback, which influences the way otherkids treat him, can seriously damage achild’s self-esteem. Children who donot match the profile of the majorityof students because they are black, orgay, or immigrants, or short/fat/skinnyor because they don’t wear cool clothes,may become prime subjects for lashonhara. In those cases, lashon hara beginsin prejudice and subsequently promotesand reinforces prejudice.

Adults, no less than teenagers, mayspend inordinate amounts of timespeaking lashon hara. Lashon hara thatdamages the reputation of an adult mayprevent her from earning a living. The

“blackballing” that was characteristic ofthe McCarthy era left many out ofwork. On a larger scale, lashon haraabout an entire group of people, broad-cast from pulpits, over the radio or onthe Web can lead to racial/ethnic/reli-gious hatred and to violence. Jews haveoften been the victims of such forms oflashon hara.

Even when it does not lead to dis-crimination or violence against thesubject of the gossip, lashon hara cando violence to values we hold dear, pri-vacy and truth among them. Rabbi Mar-garet Holub writes, “When other peopleintervene by telling someone informa-tion about us, they are violating our con-trol of our personal information, andthis can feel like theft . . .”9

Truth, too, is compromised by lashonhara. Even when the speaker is notguilty of intentional distortion, still, heis presenting, at best, only one side ofthe story. Since standards of proof arerarely met in gossip, lashon hara vio-lates the principle: innocent until provenguilty. Moreover, even if lashon hara,when first spoken, could be objectivelydetermined to be “fair,” with each retell-ing (as anyone who has played the gameof “telephone” well knows), the story be-comes less and less accurate.

Lashon hara may sometimes be mo-tivated by an unconscious desire toavoid some truth. “It is easier to talkabout other people than to talk aboutourselves,” writes Holub. “It is easierto whisper, ‘I think so and so is gay . . .’than to talk about our own anxietyabout gayness.” Gossiping with a goodfriend or co-worker about painfulsituations at home or at work may calm


us down enough to enable us to toler-ate bad situations. While in some caseslearning to tolerate what we can not af-ford to change may be a healthy strategy,other times, says Judy Pritchett in con-versation with Margaret Holub, “gossip,by relieving anxiety, [may] allow us to[avoid] making necessary changes.”

Impact on Communities

As lashon hara can affect the lives ofindividuals or threaten the safety of eth-nic groups, so can it undermine the well-being of a small community. People mayflee from or avoid assuming leadershiproles in communities in which back-biting is rampant, privacy is not hon-ored and people are constantly beingjudged. In a congregation in which“nothing is communicated face to face,and [the rabbi is always suspected of ]an ulterior motive,”10 how many youngpeople (including the rabbi’s children)will aspire to become rabbis? And whenit is the rabbi who is known for spread-ing gossip, what child of that congre-gation would grow up longing to fol-low in her rabbi’s footsteps?

ties with the non-Jewish . . .11

Some of the most dispiriting en-counters were those I had as tem-ple president. Mostly they weretalking about the rabbi, assumingthe worst about his conduct ormotives, discrediting him in waysthat range from petty to slander-ous. . . . Sometimes people raisedlegitimate concerns with me insensitive ways. At other times, Ifelt that people were cruel. The neteffect was that the synagogue feltless like a sanctuary, less holy, thanit might have.12

Lashon hara can soil a sacred com-munity. As a past president, I hadthe unfortunate opportunity tohear first-, second- and third-handgossip, mostly untrue, or at best,only partially true. . . . Perhaps themost damaging gossip was prob-ably around our rabbi. We los[t]members, teachers, staff . . . Gos-sip about our rabbi hurt impor-tant temple relationships with lo-cal Jewish organizations, hindered

Finally, our inability to control thedissemination of gossip and the diffi-culty of retracting its words or undo-ing its damage increase the destructivepotential of lashon hara. In “How to beA Popular Teenager,” Deirdre Dolangives us this illustration: “Melanie senta scorching e-mail message to Julie, call-ing her a ‘tattletale’ and ‘traitor’ and tell-ing her to keep her ‘fat mouth shut’ orshe’d end up being ‘a big ugly loser.’Within minutes, Julie sent the messageto half the school.”13

Long before the Internet, the Chof-etz Chayim gave his own illustration:A penitent asks for a way to repair dam-age done by spreading harmful infor-mation. The Chofetz Chayim gives hima feather pillow and tells him to slit itopen and shake the feathers out. “Nowgo collect the feathers,” he tells the peni-tent. We can no more collect the scat-tered feathers than we can unsendlashon hara-filled e-mail messages for-warded again and again.


Benefits of Lashon Hara

As necessary as it is to mitigate thepotential damage, some forms of lashonhara are benign and thus hardly worthprohibiting, while other forms actuallyserve valuable social functions.

Anthropologist John Beard Havi-land documented ways in which gos-sip plays a constructive role. “Gossipprovides an individual with . . . a mapof his social environment, includingdetails which are inaccessible to him inhis own everyday life.”14 Quoting F. G.Bailey, he explains,

An event or an action is public notonly to those who see it, but alsoto those who hear about it. Indeedit is speech which defines the na-ture of that event: the moral evalu-ation, which is what matters, is ofits very nature unseeable. Com-ment relates event and action to the‘eternal verities’ (egoism, equalityand so on) and just as these abstractqualities are invisible, so also arethe events which are judged in theirlight. The map which a man hasof the community around him, ofwhat is going on and of how heshould respond to others, is a mapcreated by the spoken word, by theinformation circulating around hiscommunity.15

ous world behind closed doors.”16

Gossip not only provides a map ofthe seen as well as the unseen elementsof society, gossip also helps us apply andactually modify cultural standards ofbehavior. Beard Haviland, again: “Gos-sip is a primary metacultural tool, anactivity through which people examineand discuss the rules they espouse. . . .Through dialogue, gossip [also] allowsrules to change: it redefines the condi-tions and application for rules, thuskeeping them up-to-date.”17

Mapping Worlds

Gossip maps a seen and unseen world,enables people to apply, interpret andmodify cultural norms, and creates anddefines the boundaries of a communityof shared value. Gossip can, of course,exclude or evict individuals (or groups)from a community of shared values, butif the grounds for exclusion or evictionare not unjust then participation in acommunity of shared values is probablysomething we all desire.

The first two definitions (i.e., theoldest usages) in the Oxford English Dic-tionary reflect this function of gossip: agossip is “1. One who has contractedspiritual affinity with another by act-ing as a sponsor at a baptism (from godsib) 2. A familiar acquaintance, friend,chum. Formerly applied to both sexesnow only to women. Especially appliedto a women’s female friends invited tobe present at a birth.”18

In other words, there is an appropri-ate connection between the intimacyof family, spiritual family or the closestof friends and the intimate informa-

In Scorpion Tongues: Gossip, Celebrity,and American Politics, columnist GailCollins makes a similar claim: “By re-vealing behavior that’s normally hid-den, [gossip] helps people understandhow things really work in the mysteri-


tion they share with one another. Formerclassmates or camp buddies share infor-mation with each other about membersof their group (e.g., who is ill, who isgetting divorced, whose child is havingtrouble, who is changing careers, whocould use a friendly call). Cousins talklate into the night about a shared grand-mother whose behavior and attitudesboth inspired and mystified them.“Gossip forms a moral community,”that is, “a group of people prepared tomake moral judgments about one an-other.”19 Within this community ofshared values, speaking lashon hara maymake it possible for initial hurt or out-rage to give way to comprehension oreven forgiveness: the simple act of talk-ing about another person may suffi-ciently alleviate anxiety in the speakerto relieve the speaker’s worries and de-escalate the conflict.

Judging Behavior

Lashon hara not only helps us main-tain the web of relationships in ourcommunity of shared value, it also re-minds us that our behavior, too, is be-ing judged. As much as we value pri-vacy, the question “Who owns this story?”becomes more complicated when, forexample, a woman speaks about her ownfather’s alcoholism. As Holub pointsout: It is “his story,” to be sure. But it isalso her story. Does she have a right todescribe life as the child of an alcoholicin order to explain to her lover why pre-dictability in a relationship is so impor-tant to her?

In Secrets: On the Ethics of Conceal-ment and Revelation, philosopher Sisela

Bok argues that “People cannot be said. . . to own aspects of their lives that areclearly evident to others and thus in factpublic, such as a nasty temper or a ma-nipulative manner, nor can they reason-ably argue that others have no right todiscuss them.”20 It is humbling and per-haps sometimes inhibiting of negativebehavior to remember that “all ourdeeds are written in a book” (Mishnah,Avot 2:1), that everything we do and sayaffects others and may be judged by them.

Just as children will inevitably dis-cuss their parents, citizens or subjectswill talk about their leaders. To voteintelligently, to exercise responsibleroles as citizens, we need access to in-formation about the actions of publicofficials, good and bad. “The greatestpossible example in the political realmof ethical disclosure of negative infor-mation has to be Daniel Ellsburg’s leak-ing of the Pentagon Papers to The NewYork Times. “One could make the case,”argues Rabbi Margaret Holub, “thatgossip ended the Vietnam War.” Free-dom of speech is such an essential in-gredient of our democracy that the pressis afforded broad protection against li-bel suits. “A public official and a pub-lic figure and a private individual in-volved in a matter of public concernwill have to prove that a statement isfalse in order to prevail on their libelclaim” and will have to prove “actualmalice,” i.e., “that the editors or re-porter had knowledge that the factswere false or acted with reckless disre-gard of the truth.”21

For subordinates, lashon hara alsoserves as a means of legitimately wrest-ing some power from the more power-


ful. If a child is being abused or an em-ployee is being discriminated against,speaking lashon hara may actually helpthose who are vulnerable resist the abuseof power or organize to overthrow thosein power. As Gail Collins puts it: “Formuch of human history, [gossip] was oneof the few weapons available to the pow-erless: servants who spread stories abouttheir masters, peasants who irreverentlyspeculated about the most private aspectsof life in the manor. . . .”22

In our day, the seeds of class-actionsuits are planted when one black or fe-male employee confides in another herfrustration at being passed over for amuch-deserved promotion. Some femi-nists consider certain forms of gossip amitzvah, “to question everything. Toremember what it has been forbiddeneven to mention. To come together tell-ing our stories, to look afresh at, andthen to describe for ourselves . . .”23

Degrees of Damage

Speaking lashon hara may be a justi-fied political act or it may be a creativeone. How much literature or theaterdescribes, pokes fun at, or satirizes peo-ple? Empathy is crucial to art but soare irony and humor. As important asit is to take seriously the dangers oflashon hara, it is also important not totake life or ourselves too seriously.

sation. It doesn’t harm the personat whose expense we laugh. . . . Ithink we each need a little free zone— a few minutes a week, a singletrusted companion, something likethat — to keep ourselves from be-ing insufferably self-conscious or,worse, sanctimonious. I think thatthe very same energy which allowsus to laugh and mock, also keepsus alive, curious and fun.24

Sisela Bok urges us to remember theessential roles gossip may play:

Cheap, superficial, intrusive, un-founded, even vicious: surely gos-sip can be all that. Yet to define itin these ways is to overlook thewhole network of human ex-changes of information, the needto inquire and to learn from theexperience of others, and the im-portance of not taking everythingat face value. The desire for suchknowledge leads people to go be-neath the surface of what is saidand shown, and to try to unravelconflicting clues and seeminglyfalse leads. In order to do so, in-formation has to be shared withothers, obtained from them, storedin memory for future use, testedand evaluated in discussion, andused at times to encourage, to en-tertain, or to warn. Everyone has aspecial interest in personal infor-mation about others. If we knewabout people only what theywished to reveal, we would be sub-jected to ceaseless manipulation;and we would be deprived of the

If we are honest, there is probablysome percentage of that awful gos-sip we all do which is just fun. Itreally doesn’t fan the flames of ournegativity. It doesn’t keep us frommore serious and intimate conver-


pleasure and suspense that comesfrom trying to understand them.Gossip helps to absorb and to eval-uate intimations about others’lives, as do letters, novels, biogra-phy and chronicles of all kinds. Inorder to live in both the inner andthe shared worlds, the exchange ofviews about each other — in spiteof all the difficulties of perceptionand communication — is indis-pensable.25

I don’t know how the Chofetz Chay-im would respond to the positive as-sessments of gossip offered above. Per-haps he would nod in recognition. Wedo know, however, that even the Chof-etz Chayim permitted lashon hara whenit was the only available means to pre-vent future danger. Consider the fol-lowing example:

In premarital counseling, a rabbilearns that the groom had long en-gaged in sexual practices at highrisk for HIV infection. The rabbiasks him if he’s ever been tested.The groom says, “No.” When therabbi recommends testing, thegroom is outraged and refuses. Intheir next meeting, the rabbi sug-gests to the bride that her fiancé’sbehavior and attitude might posesome risk to her and to their fu-ture children.26

mitted, in fact, required. Pliskin sum-marizes:

If you are considering a partner-ship with someone in business orin marriage, you are permitted toinquire about details of thatperson’s character and behavior.You are required to explain to theinformant why you are asking forinformation about your potentialpartner . . . When it is permissibleto ask for information about some-one, the person who is asked isobliged to give a truthful answer,even if his reply will contain de-rogatory facts. . . . If someonewishes to relate [information] inorder to prevent an unqualifiedperson from being mistakenlyhired, it is permissible. It is permit-ted to speak of the poor quality ofa person’s merchandise in order toprevent another from being cheat-ed. It is permitted to speak lashonhara if you believe your words willhelp an injured person receivecompensation.27

Although it is permitted to speaklashon hara in order to prevent or toredress damage, our commitment to theprincipal of “innocent until provenguilty,” and to the prohibition againstconvicting someone on the testimonyof a single witness alone, still stands.Therefore, while it is permissible to lis-ten to lashon hara offered as a warningof possible danger, it is “forbidden toaccept what you hear as absolute truth.”The listener should simply “exercisecaution.”28

If the intent is to alert someone ofpossible danger or to warn others notto follow in the footsteps of one whohas transgressed mitzvot, speakinglashon hara about that person is per-


Acceptable Standards of Speech

How can we guard against the dan-gers of lashon hara without attemptingto suppress the forms of gossip that areessential to society or merely harmlessfun? Which prohibitions should weteach, which simply cannot be ob-served? Which prohibitions or lenien-cies strike us as unethical?

As individuals, we can experimentwith different standards. As an exercise,try these for a week:-aTake note of everything you say aboutanother person or about a group ofpeople.-aStop yourself from repeating anythingyou do not know firsthand to be true.-aStop yourself from saying anythingthat might harm someone else (eventheir reputation).-aEach time you are tempted to speakabout another person, ask yourself,“Can I accomplish my goal (e.g., to be-come closer to the listener, to help afriend, to correct a problem . . .) in abetter way?

We will each discover our own lim-its. I, for one, do not wish to keep se-cret from my partner things that hap-pen at work. In many cases, our spousesare the only people with whom we cansafely discuss such matters. Of course,professional confidentiality restrictswhat we may say to our spouses, andspeaking with a spouse is not a substi-tute for professional supervision. None-theless, speaking with our spousesabout a negative encounter with a boss,colleague, or student may be essentialto helping our spouse understand whywe are on edge. As long as a spouse does

not accept the lashon hara as the abso-lute truth and does not act on the lashonhara we tell him/her, little harm is done.And if our spouse can help us speakdirectly to the person with whom weare in conflict, then speaking lashonhara to a spouse serves a constructivepurpose. Similarly, a single person prob-ably also needs someone to whom she/he can safely speak lashon hara.29

Traditional prohibitions againstlashon hara afford the greatest protec-tion to talmidei hakhamim, to commu-nal leaders, to rabbis and roshei yeshiva(seminary heads).30 If we see any ofthem transgressing a mitzvah, weshould assume that our eyes deceivedus, or that the transgression was in er-ror, or an aberration. And if we tellsomeone else what we saw, the punish-ment is more severe than if the subjectof our lashon hara were not a sage.

Rabbi Stephen M. Wylen, in Gossip:The Power of the Word, rejects the tra-ditional hierarchy that gives sages thegreatest benefit of the doubt but accordsnone to those considered apikorsim(heretics) or to non-Jews.31 Miriam Pes-kowitz, in Spinning Fantasies: Rabbis,Gender and History, identifies anotherinjustice: While on the one hand therabbis employed strong language to dis-courage lashon hara, on the other hand,lashon hara about a woman, even fromthe mouths of other women ineligible togive official testimony as witnesses beforea court, was sufficient grounds for a hus-band to divorce a wife he suspected ofadultery.32 Whatever prohibitionsagainst lashon hara we teach ought tobe free of double standards and avoidprivileging one group over another.


Alternatives to Lashon Hara

• Giving others benefit of the doubtWhile it may be unjust to give great-

er benefit of the doubt to one categoryof people than to another, there is meritto the notion of initially affording it toeveryone. When we witness behaviorin others that provokes our rage, insteadof ascribing the worst of motives or themost blatant of conscious intent, andthen sharing our judgment with oth-ers, we might instead assume the best ofintentions. We are taught, “As we judgeothers favorably, so will God judge usfavorably” (B.T. Shabbat 127b).

• RebukeSometimes, however, a situation

should not be simply “explained away.”In such cases, the alternative to lashonhara prescribed by the Chofetz Chayimis direct (but private) criticism of thepresumed offender. As much as Jewishtradition prohibits lashon hara, it re-quires rebuke in fulfillment of an equal-ly important biblical precept: “You shallnot hate your kinsman in your heart.You shall surely rebuke your neighbor(hocheyach tochiach et amitecha), butincur no guilt [because of him].” Thismitzvah is placed immediately follow-ing the prohibition, “Do not go aboutas a talebearer” and immediately before,“You shall not take vengence or bear agrudge against your kinsfolk. Love yourneighbor as yourself. I am the EternalGod” (Lev. 19:17-18).

Rabbi Wylen teaches: “If you are dis-pleased with the actions of another per-son, above all do not tell a third party.Tell only the person who has displeased

you, using gentle words of rebuke.”33

In his courageous sermon as a studentat HUC-JIR, Rabbi Matthew Gewirtzbroached the subject of rebuke:

Who among us wants to rebuke aneighbor, . . . a classmate or a col-league? Many are scared to critique.We fear transgressing “You shallsurely love your neighbor.” Weknow we can hurt someone by re-buking them and can be hurt if theperson we rebuke lashes out... Wecan ruin a relationship, engage inan unhealthy power struggle, oropen up our own sense of vulner-ability and insecurity . . . Yet, weare commanded to rebuke anddeemed guilty of sin if we do notattempt to do so. Rabbi Tarfonsays, “I wonder if there is anyonein this generation capable of ac-cepting reproof” . . . Rabbi Elazarben Azzarya responds, “I wonderwhether there is anyone in thisgeneration who knows how to re-prove” (B.T. Arukin 16b).

The risks of hurting someone or be-ing hurt are severely reduced if we fol-low the guidelines offered by our tradi-tion:-aMaimonides in his Mishneh Torahteaches that one “should administercritique in private” and never publicallyembarrass another (Maimonides,Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Deot 6:7).-aThe Rambam teaches further that oneshould critique his/her neighbor by“speaking to the offender gently andtenderly, so that he can hear the cri-tique.”


-aWe must think through the reasonsbehind our critique. . . . We may beangry or even jealous and so we critiqueothers to compensate for our own senseof failure. True critique is not a vehiclethrough which we express hostility.-aIt is our responsibility to critique ourfellow, continually, until he changes hisways. Only when our fellow refuses tolisten are we free from the responsibil-ity. “Love unaccompanied by criticismis not love . . . Peace unaccompaniedby reproof is not peace”(Bereshit Rabbah54:3)34.

Rabbi Wylan adds,

our own advantage if we will onlylisten. . . . Rebuke a wise man andhe will love you (Proverbs 9:8;Sifra to Leviticus 89a-b).35

Most of us find it difficult to ac-cept criticism. We become defen-sive in the face of rebuke. We leapto justify ourselves. We shut offour minds and do not let anywords of criticism enter our ears.Rebuke is hard to take when itcomes from a person in authority— a boss or a teacher or a leader.It is even harder [for some] to ac-cept rebuke from a peer — a co-worker or a friend or a sibling. Itis nearly unbearable to accept re-buke from a subordinate, an em-ployee, or a child. The wise over-come their human nature andtrain themselves to love rebuke.One can learn a lot from rebuke,whether spoken in anger or out ofgenuine concern. We might learnsome way that we can improveourselves. Even a tongue-lashingfrom a spiteful person may con-tain some surprising insight intoour character that we can use to

• AppreciationRebuke or direct criticism is a mitz-

vah. At the same time, we do not wantto nurture negativity but to help de-velop in ourselves and in others an at-titude of gratitude. Rabbi Gewirtzwarns, “Let us not allow our responsi-bility to offer rebuke prevent us fromalso seeing the good in each other.”

Sacred Speech,Sacred Commnities

We who believe in the lofty poten-tial of synagogue life dream of creatingin our congregations “sacred commu-nities,” microcosms of the world wewould like to create on a global scale, aworld in which each person would beviewed and treated as a creature of God.At the same time, sacred communitiescannot grow stronger by ignoring thegenuine weaknesses or faults of theirmembers, leaders or corporate culture.Sacred community admits that peoplesin, and believes wholeheartedly that inmost cases constructive rebuke, teshu-vah, reconciliation and forgiveness arepossible. Change is possible. Learningis possible.

Can a rabbi or a national movementdictate standards of lashon hara for allJews for all time? I think not. Just aslibel laws vary from state to state andhave changed over time, so too mustthe laws of lashon hara be developed bylocal communities to meet their needs


at a specific time. Some families andorganizations suppress all negative com-ments. In those settings, laws of lashonhara may have to focus on permittedforms. Other families and communi-ties fuel the destructive fire of lashonhara. In those settings, laws of lashonhara may have to emphasize the prohi-bitions and their sanctions. All wouldbenefit from studying the ChofetzChayim, and later critiques. Imaginesuch study taking place throughout themovements, by professional and non-professional staff, officers, trustees,committee chairs and other leaders,youth groups, confirmation classes,families, havurot, at regional biennials,and national staff retreats. . . .

“Once you read the Chofetz Chay-im,” testifies Rabbi Holub, “it is hardto chat idly about other people everagain.” Rabbi Wylen’s and Rabbi Plis-kin’s summaries provide excellent ma-terial for study. In Pliskin’s words, ourtradition promises: “If a person dili-gently applies himself to studying thelaws of lashon hara, God will removehis yetzer hara (his urge) for forbiddenspeech. But if an entire group will re-solve together to guard their speech, themerit is greater than if only one indi-vidual has made this resolution.”36

Recommended Actions

Though every community must ul-timately establish its own particularlaws of lashon hara, some general no-tions may be helpful.

Opening up channels for honestfeedback in an organization is essen-tial:

.

Many people gossip out of frustra-tion because they are not feelingheard, listened to, and they feelpowerless to elicit change. Thepeople in charge may not be ap-proachable, or don’t appear to care,or don’t produce results when ap-proached. I’ve noticed some ex-tremely caring people gossiping[out of just such frustration]. Also,the people who have the nerve toconfront and complain to th[ose]in charge get pegged chronic com-plainers, but what those people incontrol don’t realize is that the oneswho don’t complain often simplyleave the congregation without asound.37

Good leadership is essential to theopening of channels for honest feed-back. In Leadership and Conflict, SpeedB. Leas, observes, “A leader who is un-comfortable with dissension . . . whonegatively judges those who do surfacedisagreements, is going to cause evenmore organizational difficulty.”38

Direct criticism saved and enrichedmy rabbinate. I arrived at Beth Am, ThePeople’s Temple in 1984 following abitter conflict between two warring fac-tions. Though the focus of that con-flict was gone, the war continued, andI was slated to be the new target. In abrilliant act of leadership, the presidentimmediately mandated a monthly Li-aison Committee meeting. Both sideswere represented, as well as those withaccess to the grapevine and those inpositions to make decisions that mostmattered to the members of the con-gregation.


The agenda? Every month, the mem-bers of the committee brought com-plaints from the congregation to myattention. One, who had opposed hir-ing me in the first place, carried a littlenotebook in his breast pocket and aftereach service solicited criticism fromthose he knew might be dissatisfied.Every month, he drew his little note-book from his pocket and went downthat month’s list. As the president putit: The committee was established “notto stop gossip” but “to create an atmo-sphere where gossip would not breed.It was meant to drain the swamp.”39

Another past president testified to theachievement of that goal: “Gossip thatstemmed from legitimate concerns andgrievances” was curtailed by the exist-ence of “an appropriate avenue to dis-cuss the issues” while “idle gossip whichstems from a drive possessed by toomany people to entertain themselves atthe expense of others” was not affectedby the existence of the Liaison Com-mittee.40

In the first few years, the constantcriticism was painful for me to hear. ButI far preferred knowing the details ofcongregants’ complaints to the anxietyI would have felt had I not known whatpeople were saying about me behindmy back. In time, when it became clearthat the criticism would not scare meaway, the Liaison Committee meetingsbecame the place where the leaders ofthe congregation (who eventually sawthemselves not as enemies but as partof a team) helped me figure out how torespond to the criticism and, wherepossible, how to avoid provoking it inthe first place. And I felt free to use the

committee meetings to air my owncomplaints and enlist their help in ad-dressing them. Brit Kodesh: Sacred Part-nership, Readings and Exercises for Self-Study on the Relationship Between theProfessional and Volunteer Leadershipencourages every congregation to “cre-ate a liaison person or committee foreach member of the clergy.”41

While the Chofetz Chayim prohib-its the disgracing, belittling or ridiculeof a rabbi, legitimate disagreement witha rabbi’s teaching is permitted. As im-portant as the Liaison Committee wasto my tenure and education at BethAm, equally important were the weeklyOneg Shabbat discussions, a traditionestablished decades earlier by Rabbi Is-rael Raphael Margolies z”l. After eachShabbat evening service, the congrega-tion helped itself to coffee and cake andsat down for an hour-long discussionof that night’s sermon. The rabbi wasgranted absolute freedom of the pul-pit. The congregation was granted equalfreedom to disagree.

I never worried that congregantsmight whisper about my sermons be-hind my back. They shared their reac-tions to my face: blunt, trenchant, noholds barred. On occasions when therewas no sit-down discussion, congre-gants who objected to a sermon wouldtell me so on the receiving line, in aletter, on the phone or in e-mail com-munications. In congregations in whicha sit-down discussion of the sermon isnot practical, the rabbi could establisha special e-mail address dedicated tocongregants’ reactions to sermons.Lashon hara about the rabbi’s sermonswill, I predict, decrease and objections


voiced directly to the rabbi will becomeinstead the basis for valuable dialogue.

Sanctioning Transgressions

Sometimes, even in congregationswith open channels of communication,there still are members who disturb thewell-being of the congregation byspreading nasty rumors. The Alban In-stitute calls such members “church kill-ers” or “clergy killers.”

Clergy killers . . . do evil inten-tionally. . . . There are clinicalnames . . . personality disorders,paranoid, antisocial, borderline,histrionic, narcissistic, and pas-sive- aggressive. They may be pre-vious or present victims of abuse.They may have volatile or addic-tive personalities. They may haveinadequate socialization, arrestedadolescence, and violent rolemodels . . . Pastors are not alwaysinnocent victims either. . . . Byand large congregations are madeup of warm, loving, and tolerant[people]. And just for that reasonpeople with power needs or otherpathologies find the church a vi-able environment to act out theirinternal illness. Ideally, the con-gregation will react in responsibleways to transform or at least con-tain the harmful behavior. . . .More often, churches are un-skilled or unmotivated to callpeople to account.42

tional leaders about the reasons andprocedures for censure, removal and/or excommunication of members.”43

An article on Beliefnet.com reports that“A North Carolina church takes a toughstand on gossip. Senior pastor Phil Sprypreaches against it once a year, andmembers sign a covenant in which theycommit to getting along with one an-other. Those that fail to honor theagreement are asked to leave.”44

Except when dealing with “clergy orsynagogue killers,” it is probably nothelpful for a synagogue president todismiss a member’s lashon hara by say-ing, “You know lashon hara is a sin; I can-not listen to you,” or by simply refutingthe content of the complaint (even if it isinaccurate or false). I believe that in manycomplaints lies some valuable informa-tion about the subject of the lashon haraor about the speaker of the lashon hara orabout the circumstances that gave rise tothe lashon hara. Before censoring thespeaker, it may be worth discerningwhether or not in this case somethingvaluable can be learned.

Healthy Criticism

It is important for leaders to findhealthy ways of enduring the indirector direct criticism they will inevitablyreceive. Leaders need to ask themselves:What will help me endure this? Whatsupport do I need? How can I listen tocriticism (lashon hara or rebuke) with-out feeling so vulnerable that I am in-capable of responding in any way butself-defense or offense? “The quality ofinterpersonal transactions between themembers of the congregation,” writes

If all other strategies have failed,“educate yourself and key congrega-


Rabbi Lawrence Kushner,

is the single most important factorin determining its health. Do theybear witness to the piety the con-gregation claims to perpetuate?Where the human relationships areself-righteous, deceitful, and toxic,congregational life is wretched.Where they are tolerant, honest,and nurturing, congregational lifecan be a transforming joy.45

Rabbi Margaret Holub and membersof her community have discussed pas-sages from the Chofetz Chayim and ex-perimented with standards of “rightspeech.”

More than once of late I’ve heardsomeone stop a sentence and say,“Oops! I shouldn’t say this. . . .Thevery process of being aware of howwe speak about others and how wehear others will itself guide us inthe direction we want to go. . . .This process of discovering how tolive through conversation andcommunity is itself exactly the op-posite of the kind of frozen silencethat I fear when speech is thought-lessly curtailed . . . I have everyconfidence that we will find ouranswers as we keep talking.46

3. Bok, Sisela, Secrets: On the Ethics of Con-cealment and Revelation (Pantheon Books,New York, 1982), 101. See also “Go Ahead.Gossip May Be Virtuous,” by PatriciCohen, The New York Times, Saturday, Au-gust 10, 2002.4. Plishkin, Zelig, Guard Your Tongue: APractical Guide to the Laws of Lashon Hara,Based on Chofetz Chayim (New York, 1975).5. Ibid., 29.6. Ibid., 13ff.7. Ibid., 31.8. This list is an abbreviation of prohibi-tions enumerated in Plishkin, 31ff.9. This and all other quotes from RabbiMargaret Holub are taken from an unpub-lished paper, “Gossip — An Appreciation,”which she graciously agreed to share withme and permitted me to quote.10. E-mail to me from a rabbi who wishesto remain anonymous, Dec. 6, 2001.11. From a letter written by a past presi-dent of a congregation in California. Whilehe gave me permission to quote him, hewishes to remain anonymous.12. From an e-mail to Joy Weinberg, man-aging editor of Reform Judaism magazine,written by a member of the UAHC Boadof Trustees who wishes to remain anony-mous to protect the privacy of her rabbi.13. Dolan, Deirdre, “How To Be a Popu-lar Teenager,” The New York Times Maga-zine on the web, April 8, 2001, 3-4.14. Haviland, John Beard, Gossip, Reputa-tion and Knowledge in Zincantan (Univer-sity of Chicago Press, 1979), 10.15. Ibid., 10.16. Collins, Gail, Scorpion Tongue: Gossip,Celebrity and American Politics (WilliamMorrow & Co., Inc., New York, 1998), 6-7.17. Haviland, op cit., 170.18. The Compact Edition of the Oxford En-glish Dictionary, complete text reproducedmicrographically, Vol. 1 A-O (Oxford Pressat the Clarendon, 1971), 310-311.19. Haviland, op cit., 8.20. Bok, op cit., 97.21. Goldstein, Norm, ed., The Associated Press

1. Another version of this article appearedin Reform Judaism (Summer, 2002), pub-lished by the Union of American HebrewCongregations.2. Technically, the expression should betransliterated leshon hara, as there is a shevaunder the lamed, but the spelling used hereis the more common.


Stylebook and Briefing on Media Law (Per-seus Press, Cambridge, MA, 2000), 359.22. Collins, op cit., 7.23. Rich, Adrienne, On Lies, Secrets andSilence: Selected Prose 1966-1978 (W.W.Norton, New York, 1979), 13.24. Holub, unpublished paper.25. Bok, op cit., 90-91.26. Report from a congregational rabbi whowishes to remain anonymous.27. Plishkin, op. cit., 64-83.28. Ibid., 83.29. In taking this position, I am aware thatI am contradicting a CCAR Responsum(5750.4), “Gossip between Husband andWife,” which upholds the prohibitionagainst gossip even between spouses:

. . . it might be argued that, since totalconfidence between husband and wifehelps to cement foundations of theirmarriage, lashon hara could be seen asserving a wholesome end (i.e., shalombayit), especially when they agree notto reveal the information to anyone.But such an argument offends againstthe basic rule that one should not tryto accomplish a mitzvah by commit-ting an averah. (2)30. Plishkin, op cit.,99.

Drs. Judith Plaskow and Martha Ackels-berg for calling this to my attention.33. Wylan, op. cit., 103-4.34. Gewirtz, Matthew D., HUC-JIRchapel sermon on Parshat Ki Tisa, March7, 1996.35. Wylan, op. cit., 102-3.36. Plishkin, op. cit., 188-9.37. E-mail message, Nov. 30, 2001, from acongregational leader who wishes to remainanonymous.38. Leas, Speed B., Leadership & Conflict,(Abingdon Press, Nashville, TN, 1982), 63-65.39. Letter to me from Judah Rosenfeld,December 15, 2001.40. E-mail to me from Dr. David D.Markowitz, December 19, 2001.41. Kahn, Rabbi Yoel, Brit Kodesh: SacredPartnership, Readings and Exercises for Self-Study on the Relationship Between the Pro-fessional and Volunteer Leadership in ReformCongregations (Synagogue 2000 andUAHC, 2001), 45.42. Pappas, Anthony G., Pastoral Stress:Sources of Tension, Resources for Transforma-tion (Alban Institute, 1995), 46-7.43. Ibid., 55.44. Butcher, Andy, “Psst, Did You Hear?Someone told me this church has a zero-tolerance policy toward gossip!”,www.beliefnet.com, 1.45. Kushner, Rabbi Lawrence, “The Tent-Peg Business: Some Truths about Congre-gations,” in New Traditions, No. 1, 1984.46. Holub, unpublished paper.

31. Wylan, Stephen M., Gossip: The Powerof the Word (KTAV, Hoboken, NJ, 1994).32. Peskowitz, Miriam, Spinning Fantasies:Rabbis, Gender and History (University ofCalifornia Press, Berkeley, 1997). I thank


T n the 1956 edition of Tales ofRabbi Nachman, MartinBuber wrote in his prefatory

Dr. Joel Hecker is Chair of the Department of Modern Jewish Civilizationand Assistant Professor of Jewish Mysticism at the Reconstructionist RabbinicalCollege.

REVIEWED BY JOEL HECKER

Gateways to HasidismThe Hasidic Parable: An Anthology with Commentary

edited and translated by Aryeh WinemanJewish Publication Society, Philadelphia: 2000, 191pages

remarks, “I have not translated thesetales, but retold them with full free-dom, yet out of . . . [Rabbi Nahman’s]spirit as it is present to me.” With thatbold, romantic, existential interpreta-tion, Buber began his efforts to renderthe spiritual wealth of Hasidism acces-sible and meaningful to modern read-ers.

In several volumes’ worth of essays,Buber aimed to represent the Hasidicteachings, not with the ostensibly clear-eyed objectivity and dispassionateanalysis of the historian, but rather withthe goal of enabling the reader to openher very self to the presence that theHasidic teachers themselves were try-ing to elicit. Buber aimed to kick-startan entire generation out of the spiri-tual lethargy that modernism, in hismind, had wrought, and he sought todo so through the resurrection of ap-parently parochial and archaic tales andteachings.

Appeal of Hasidic Stories

What was the allure of these teach-ings and tales, unmoored from theirEast European and ultra-Orthodoxmilieus? First, they offered the prom-ise of an unmediated relationship withGod, apparently freed from the appur-tenances, rites and robes of institution-alized religion. In the modernized ren-derings of Hasidism, all one needed todo was open one’s heart with sincerityand joy in order to enjoy devekut, com-munion, with Divinity itself.

Deep within each person lay a sparkof holiness that waited its overdue pol-ishing and attention. God was not theharsh biblical judge or the exactingcounter of mitzvot, an image promul-gated by the rabbis. Instead, God wasto be seen as the Source of All Life, theHidden Repository of Mysteries, theFount of All Being.

These were descriptions that harmo-nized with the ideals of universalismand individualism that colored muchof Western culture in the 20th century.Rational ideals of democracy and free-dom were, somewhat ironically, found


to be distant echoes of this esoteric andarcane lore. In the cosmology of Hasid-ism, holy sparks were scattered through-out the cosmos, each needing its re-demption by a particular individual,sometimes through eating a particularmeal, sometimes through business deal-ings in a particular location.

Each of these events promised a sur-prising encounter redounding in spiri-tual, even material, riches. This doc-trine of avodah be-gashmiyut, worshipthrough materiality, taught that every-thing in the world bore holy sparks;that through the sincere and open en-gagement with the spiritual core ofpeople, food, places and things, onecould open up one’s own being to thecommon unity underlying all of real-ity.

Origins in Mysticism

Jewish mysticism dates back to an-cient times, and it was almost alwaysthe restricted preserve of an elite groupof initiates, men who had spent con-siderable time in traditional learning ofTalmud and halakhah. It was only withthe advent of Hasidic teaching thatmaking hidden holiness manifest be-came a popular doctrine. In this seem-ing democratizing of holiness, the childand the pauper, the shoemaker and thedonkey-driver were all potentially equalbearers of holiness. As in the famousHasidic tale, the whistle of a child onYom Kippur could break through allthe barriers that hampered the successof the adults’ prayers. In this theme ofsurprise and paradox, Hasidism leveledthe playing field of the esoteric tradi-

tion within Judaism. For Buber, these Hasidic teachings

resonated with the revival of religiousfeeling that he himself was trying toengineer, as suggested in his landmarkI and Thou. In that work, he draws dis-tinctions between religion and religi-osity, institutionalized religion and thespontaneous movements of the indi-vidual spirit.

In Buber’s romantic assessment ofHasidism, the nascent movement wasrebelling against an entrenched rab-binic elite, and idealizing all interac-tions in the here-and-now.1 The imma-nentism found in Hasidism, the latentpresence of Divinity in all of reality,provided the perfect backdrop to hisown revivalist encouragement to seekan I-Thou relationship with the Eter-nal Thou at every turn.

The Hasidic Parable

In The Hasidic Parable, Aryeh Wine-man offers translations and analyses ofmore than forty parables taken from arange of Hasidic sources, though mostare from the early generations ofHasidism. This book has the advantageof treating the parable — a small liter-ary unit, often overlooked in theshadow of the tales or the larger homi-lies that make up the bulk of Hasidicteachings. Wineman defines parable asan imaginative story whose meaningrefers to something quite beyond itself;it alludes to an analogy or applicationnot contained within the story proper.A parable is a work of fiction, neces-sarily brief and compact, that is not toldfor its own sake, but to make a point


and speak a truth (xiii).Most Hasidic works are collections

of homilies, long discursive talks, of-ten centered or building upon exege-ses of the biblical portion of the week.They were generally delivered on theSabbath at the Friday evening mealnight or at shalosh seudos, the third mealeaten in the Sabbath’s late afternoon.Delivered in Yiddish, they were re-membered by an amanuensis whowould write them down at the end ofthe Sabbath.

Subsequently, they would be trans-lated and published in Hebrew for pos-terity, usually without editorial over-sight of the rebbe who had given thetalk. Contained within these homilieswere the parables, often serving to il-lustrate in a folksy way the more chal-lenging substance of the teachingsproper. Very often the parable (mashal)was followed by the application or sig-nificance (nimshal) of the story.

Paradox and Surprise

Wineman argues that the parablesare not subsidiary elements of the hom-ilies; rather, the often paradoxical sur-prises of the parables are a major com-ponent of what lends the homilies theirpower. The parables usually revolvearound a king (or sometimes a fatheror a teacher) who seeks an indirectmethod to transmit his teachings. Inother instances, the surprise occurswhen a parable challenges a common-sensical premise, thus encapsulatingprofundity within its nugget-like struc-ture. The parable is a literary mirror ofthe cosmic act of tzimtzum, in which

God concentrates divine energies intothe finite world, or a teacher simplifiesa profound teaching into digestibleform.

The descriptions above all suggestthe concessions made by a father orteacher in the face of reality: acceptingthat ideal teaching must cede groundto practicality. Some of the Hasidictexts, however, go so far as to argue thatthe truth can only be understood byway of the parable: Yitzhak of Radvilexplained that “paradoxically, onlythrough the concrete garb of analogycan one grasp the abstract idea con-veyed in parable, just as the human eyecan gaze at the bright sun only througha curtain or veil”(xviii).

Wineman sorts the parables the-matically: “Paradox and the Unex-pected,” “Redefinitions,” “Deepeningthe Implications of Divine Oneness,”“Echoes and Transformations of OlderMotifs,” and “The Polemics of an Hourof History.” Each section, save one, hasclose to ten translations of parables withan accompanying analysis. The analy-ses provide background material ofHasidic history and doctrines, informa-tion about the personalities behind thetexts, and parallels or alternate versionsfrom other Hasidic works. The latterare particularly helpful as Winemantraces the development of a motif orsimply the range of uses that a particu-lar parable can serve. The author’s styleis accessible to a broad audience andhe is often quite successful at makingthese largely unfamiliar texts compre-hensible and meaningful to a modernaudience.


Keys and Locks

One of Wineman’s most intriguingofferings is the following parable andaccompanying analysis:

prayer, kavanot (intentions), developedby the 16th-century kabbalists. Thetrend of mystical prayer from the 16ththrough much of the 18th century wasto employ highly complex and de-manding technical kavanot, before orduring the recital of each unit of theprayer service, often for each word.

For the spiritual elite, and for thosewho could afford to do so, praying withthese kavanot could take hours.

While recent research has demon-strated that the founder of Hasidism,the Baal Shem Tov, himself used theseintricate techniques,2 his students andhis students’ students, in a populisticand anti-scholastic turn, endorsed at-tention to the simple meaning of thewords and to the holiness that is latentin each word. To these Hasidim, thewords of the Torah and the words ofthe prayers bore holy light, and the onewho devoted himself could attaindevekut (union) with Divinity withinthose very words.3

The focus here is inward, on theopening of one’s consciousness to fusewith the godliness underlying all real-ity. The teaching offers a critique of theartificial keys of kavanot, opting insteadfor the less erudite, but more broadlyavailable, sincerity of the heart.

Breaking the Door

In another version of the same par-able, force is regarded not as an idealbut rather as a measure of final resort:

Every lock has a key that opensand fits that particular lock, butthere are also thieves who opendoors and locks without usingany key at all but rather by simplybreaking the lock. Similarly, everyhidden matter has a key, namelythe kavanah, the specific contem-plation appropriate to that mat-ter. But the ideal key is to do asthe thief does and break down ev-erything, namely break one’s ownheart with submission, thusbreaking the barrier separatingman from God, which serves asthe lock keeping man out (159).

In this parable, we find unusual ad-vocacy of learning the tricks of thiev-ery. When access is denied to the wordsof prayer, any means can be used togain entry. Here the surprise of the par-able rests on two separate twists: First,one would have thought that highlyrefined tools would be superior tobrute force, whereas here the latter ispreferred; secondly, the assault is notwaged upon an external object, suchas the gates of prayer, but rather in-wardly, to the psychological impedi-ments to spiritual engagement.

Techniques of Kavanah

The parable’s references are to theliturgical and spiritual implements of

It sometimes happens that peopleopen a lock with a key, but thereis also the case of a person who has


no key and who needs to breakthe door and the lock with somestrong object capable of breakingiron. So it is that the earlier gen-erations, after the destruction ofthe Temple, would open all thelocked gates with keys, namely,the kavanot. The later genera-tions, however, lack the power ofthe kavanot and consequently wemust break all the locks withoutkeys, employing instead simplythe shattering of our own evilhearts (159-60).

knowing what he is holding in it.And he deceives people and askseach person, “What am I hold-ing in my hand?” To each personit seems as though he is holdingwhatever that particular personhappens to desire. And so every-one runs after him thinking what-ever he desires is in that runner’shand. But afterward, the personrunning opens his hand and it isempty.

Similarly, the yetzer ha-ra de-ceives the whole world; everyonepursues it as it deceives each andevery person into thinking thatwhatever he desires is in its hand,each person according to his fool-ishness and his lusts and desires.And afterward, in the end, itopens its hand and there is noth-ing in it, for no one can satisfyhis desires through it . . . (33).

Here, the thief ’s model is not theideal, but rather the last resort of a gen-eration that has lost the power of thekavanot; this latter model deprives theparable of its surprise, rationalisticallyaffirming the conventional condemna-tion of the thief. But, in doing so, thisversion offers a more pessimistic assess-ment of the quality of contemporaryJewish spirituality. (A pessimistic andascetic current is one of the streams thatruns through the course of Jewish mys-ticism, and is not alien to the Hasidictradition).

The Evil Inclination

Another parable, this one by RabbiNahman of Bratslav, the great-grand-son of the Baal Shem Tov, highlightsthe difficulties of maintaining disci-pline in one’s spiritual path:

The yetzer ha-ra [evil inclination]can be likened to one who goesrunning among people . . . hishand . . . closed shut, no one

This parable speaks to the insatiableand empty nature of our desires. Withthis fleeting image, desire allures us andwe are tricked. In the first of the HarryPotter volumes, the Mirror of Erisedserves a similar purpose. When onegazes upon it, one sees whatever onewants; Harry is warned about the dan-ger of excessive gazing, for it can leadto an immersion in one’s desires.

The extension of this parable in oursocio-cultural context is the lessonabout our consumerist culture, whosemultisensory assault not only suggeststhat new products will satisfy our de-sires, but first creates the need and thenoffers to satisfy it.


Quest for Wholeheartedness

In one of the most startling of theparables, we read the following:

penchant for emphasizing sincerityover seeking any kind of pecuniary orsocial benefits. He then proceeds toindicate Maimonides as an importantliterary source for privileging serviceout of love (avodah me-ahavah), i.e.,sincerity, over service out of fear (avo-dah me-yirah), i.e., fear of punishmentor hope for personal utility.

Spontaneity in Prayer

Emphasizing the need for spontane-ity and transparency in prayer, RabbiNahman of Bratslav recounts the fol-lowing tale:

A parable told about two broth-ers, one of whom was wealthy, theother poor. The poor brother askedhis rich brother, “What accountsfor your wealth?” And he answeredhim, “It is because I do evil deeds.”The poor brother then went andforsook the Lord and did as hisbrother, but his evil actions boreno fruit. He returned to inquire,“See, I have done as you do, andwhy hasn’t success come my way?”This time, the rich brother an-swered him, “It is because you havedone evil only in expectation ofwealth and not for the sake of theevil deeds themselves” (20).

This parable, offered in slightly dif-ferent versions by Ephraim of Sedlikov,the grandson of the Baal Shem Tov, andby Yaakov Yosef of Polonnoye, anotherleading disciple, champions the valueof wholeheartedness even over righteous-ness. The reader delights in the appar-ently subversive switch, winking alongwith the text, knowing that the parable’strue intent is not to undermine traditionalmorality but rather to expand the pan-theon of values, placing genuineness andintegrity in its upper echelons.

In his analysis, Wineman indicatesthe context for this parable, a homilybased on the rewards and punishmentsfor following God’s will, as prescribedin Leviticus 26-27. The author takesthe opportunity to explain the Hasidic

On a well-traveled road, knownto all, murderers and highwaymen act at will because they knowin advance the route on whichpeople will travel. But whenpeople journey instead along anew path that is not commonlyknown, the thieves are unable tolie in wait to ambush them (65).

Wineman describes Rabbi Nahman’spervasive concern with the dangers ofrote performance in prayer. The mys-tical mindset animated the dangers ofperfunctory prayer in the guise of de-monic agents, seeking to waylay thosewho lack appropriate fervor. For RabbiNahman, the road to mindfulness andsincerity came through a practice ofhitbodedut, solitary interaction withGod. While for earlier kabbalists andother Hasidim, hitbodedut signified acontemplative practice, for RabbiNahman, it pointed to a pouring outof one’s soul (hishtapkhut ha-nefesh),


preferably in an isolated location whereone could truly cry out to God. Thisinnovative practice set a high standardfor his disciples, but reflected Nah-man’s general critique of the increas-ing institutionalization of Hasidic ide-als that threatened to encrust them withthe same tiredness that potentially plaguesany orthopraxy.

Distraction at Prayer

How to manage distracting thoughtsduring prayer was a perennial problemfor normative Judaism. Hasidism in-novated a practice for dealing with thesemahshavot zarot, strange thoughts, thatcalled for tracing them back from theirprofane expression to their divine ori-gins. Ephraim of Sedlikov offers a taleto describe this tool.

requests of that person having anaudience with the king to havehim in his thoughts and removethe servant’s sackcloth, clothinghim instead in respectable andbeautiful garments so that he, too,may be able to come before theking . . .(88).

When a person is standing in thepresence of the king and speak-ing with him, it would certainlybe improper and impudent forany of the king’s servants to callout to that person and to chatwith him, interrupting that per-son’s meeting with the king formatters lacking any import. . . .And should one of the king’s ser-vants call to a person and conversewith him, it stands to reason thathe is acting in accordance witha directive from the king him-self.

[Or] it may be that the servantis announcing that he, too, is inneed of the king but is unable toapproach the king while in hisgarment of sackcloth, and so he

The Hasidim taught that when anextraneous thought comes to mindduring prayer, the person should notcease or interrupt his praying. His con-tinuing to pray at such a time affirmsthat the “strange thought” came to himfor the specific purpose that he repairthat thought so that it might be able toascend to its real Root in the holy (89).

Everything stems from holiness andso, if one is thinking of a beautiful womanduring one’s prayer, the most commonexample provided in the Hasidic texts,one should find its root (we might say“reframe the thought”) and see that theunderlying desire is for intimacy withGod. Erotic energies are thus intention-ally, and in consonance with mystical tra-ditions cross-culturally, sublimated to-ward God. Wineman notes that, increas-ingly, this doctrine was relegated to anelite, the dangers of focusing on distract-ing thoughts such as these being too greatto trust to the common folk.

Divine Dialectics

Meshullam Feibush Heller teachesa lesson about the dialectics of relation-ship with God.

A very young child pursues some


very childish thing and his thoughtsturn away from his father. But af-terward, upon seeing his father, hecasts everything aside out of hisdesire for him and thinks only ofhim, running to him, all becausehe is made of the very substanceof his father (97).

Heller teaches here, as Wineman ex-plains, about the two contradictoryimpulses within human beings. On theone hand, the individual needs to sepa-rate from the Divinity, and requires thefreedom to explore even if it leads todistance from one’s holy source. Thesuccessive impulse is that of return,overcoming the distance from holiness,having established one’s own existence.

This is an interesting precursor toFreud’s tale of his grandson’s playingFo and Da with a ball attached to astring. Freud interpreted this as an en-actment of the separation from themother, the process of individuationrequired for all individuals, first estab-lishing independence, then internaliz-ing the security that the home-baseoriginally provides.

Normative Praxis

Many of the parables cited abovevalidate the sincerity of worship thatcharacterized early Hasidism, ratherthan the piety of practice that is char-acteristic of present day ultra-Ortho-doxy. The following parable sacrificesnone of the former preference, but, inhistorical context, fuels the devoutcommitment to normative praxis:

A parable of a king who gives sub-stantial wages to his servant thathe might carry out his wisheswhenever the king might requirehis service . . . . And the servanttakes those wages and goes insteadto carry out the wishes of anotherking who is hostile to the servant’sown king and employer. Now,could there be a greater act of re-bellion and disloyalty than this?Indeed, he would deserve death atthe hands of his king. And thenimshal: This is what happenswhen one takes the divine lifeforce that belongs to the King ofKings, the Holy One, blessed beHe, the sole purpose of which isto enable a person to do the Di-vine Will, and rebels, using it in-stead to do the will of the SitraAhra [the Other Side] and thekelipah [shell] that the King ofKings, the Holy One, blessed beHe, detests (101).4

Wineman explains as follows:

Hasidic teaching emphasizes thatapart from hiyyut (the divine lifeforce activating all that [exists]), . . .nothing whatsoever could exist.And it is that same life force —divine in origin and nature — thataccounts for whatever capacitieswe have, including the ability tosee and hear, speak and think, etc.The concept of hiyyut implies alsothat our perceptions of multiplic-ity, along with . . . [that] of sepa-rate identity, are ultimately inac-curate. The hiyyut, which partici-

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pates in any person and any exist-ing entity, is also the same soledivine life force that enables the ex-istence of all that is (101-2).

egory of sin, redeeming it from the dis-comfort that people often have withconventional understandings of sin.

It is that potential for wide applica-tion that explains the continued appealof Hasidism to the modern reader.One of the longstanding reasons forHasidism’s appeal is its emphasis on joyas an independent religious value. Oneof Rabbi Nahman’s teachings aboutdancing illustrates this well:

The core teaching here is that of bit-tul atzmi, annihilation of self, and bittulha-yesh, annihilation of reality. In or-der to attain the awareness of the mo-nistic or undifferentiated quality of re-ality, one must first shed the egoisticparts of the self that construe individu-ality as a virtue. For the Hasidim, onedestroyed the ego’s constraints on rela-tionships with others and with God;in other words, the bittul atzmi was notso much an act of destruction as oneof expanding one’s consciousness, al-lowing the holistic nature of the divinereality to prevail over the constrictionsof one’s mind.

Continued Appeal of Hasidism

In historical context, this teachingwas understood, at least partly, as a rais-ing of the stakes of deviating fromhalakhically prescribed norms. Usingone’s life energy (a discrete microcosmof the divine matrix underlying the fab-ric of reality) for something other thanits intended use was deemed a graveact of disloyalty to God. Zeev Gries,an Israeli scholar who studies the prac-tices of the early Hasidic movement,refers to the Hasidic masters as “menof halakhah” first and foremost. None-theless, a non-Orthodox reader willfind support in the parable above forimpassioned dedication to any justcause. This reading also effectivelytransvalues the crucial religious cat-

Sometimes when people are rejoic-ing and dancing in a circle, andthere is a man outside the circlewho is immersed in sadness anddepression, they will grab him andbring him into the dance againsthis will and force him to rejoicewith them.

Gladness and joy should pursueand grab sadness and sighing,which flee from the very presenceof joy, in order to bring them with-in the orbit of joy even againsttheir will. For there is that sadnessand sighing that are really the SitraAhra, and that have no desire tobe a foundation for the holy, andso they flee from the very presenceof joy. Therefore, it is necessary toforce them into the realm of theholy and its joy, against their ownwill (103).

Rabbi Nahman developed a typol-ogy of sadness with levels of broken-heartedness coming from regret and anongoing and prevailing sadness thatcould lead to depression. With both,however, he advocated not denial butrather a full engagement with the root

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cause of the depression, ultimatelyseeking to redirect those energies to-ward joy. Personifying the sadness asthe man who cannot dance, RabbiNahman gives feet to the abstract, ifpalpable, feelings that prevent emo-tional and spiritual wholeness.

Cultural Chasms

There are instances in which theauthor’s explanations do not reach asfar as one might have wished. Thoughthroughout the book Wineman is care-ful to translate and analyze in a mod-ern idiom, there are times when thecultural ethos of the Hasidim and thatof the contemporary reader are sepa-rated by such a chasm that one wisheshe would have acknowledged the dis-parity or worked harder to “translate”from one paradigm to another.

The most striking instance of thiscomes in a parable in which a kingsummons a skilled violinist to comeplay the king’s favored melody on adaily basis. For a while, the musicianperforms admirably, pleasing the king.After some time, however, the tunebecomes stale for the musician, so theking compensated by bringing in a newperson from the marketplace on a dailybasis; the new audience inspired theviolinist to play with increased vitalityand enthusiasm.

The king tired of laboring to bringin a new market-goer every day andfound a better solution: He blinded theeyes of the musician so that he couldnever discern the actual presence of anew person. The violinist always imag-ined someone new there and so never

again lacked for incentive for galva-nized playing.

As Wineman explains, the nimshalhere is that the ideal in prayer is tobattle against the fatigue and rote re-cital that can set in as a result of dailyrepetition of the same prayers. Eachday, one must marshal resources to findsomething new and illuminating in thesame, old words (29-30).

Modern Barriers

I would add to Wineman’s explana-tion that God slowly enhances one’sconcentration in prayer, eliminatingdistraction, enabling the pray-er to de-vote herself with renewed daily fervor.Unfortunately, even this modified les-son will be largely lost on the modernreader, too horrified by the idea ofblinding as a legitimate course for in-ducing animated virtuosity on the partof the musician. While the core ofHasidic teaching is indeed soulfulness,as Wineman indicates (xi), there aretimes when it sounds a sour note.

Wineman recognizes the startlingquality of the blinding, but addressesit only from within the context of theHasidic literature itself, without ques-tioning or interrogating the nature ofthat soulfulness. The author has someother inelegant and outmoded formu-lations, but on the whole, they are in-frequent and do not hamper the book’saims.

There have been many books pur-porting to be introductions to Hasid-ism; Wineman’s book, while not ex-pressly aspiring to that goal, does soadmirably. Through the translations of


these pithy bits of Hasidic lore,contextualizing them within the historyof Jewish mysticism and Hasidism,providing background informationabout the doctrines undergirding them,Wineman has succeeded in giving ahospitable entry into a foreign world.

When Martin Buber first startedtranslating Hasidic tales for Westernaudiences, he hoped that their very for-eignness would help jolt the reader intoconfronting their spiritual and moralclaims. Wineman has succeeded im-pressively in continuing Buber’s over-arching goal.

1. These interactions are not only humanencounters but with all of nature, as Buberindicates in his discussion of an I-Thouencounter with a tree. Buber’s explanationsof Hasidism came under harsh critiques by

contemporary and subsequent scholarship.See, for example, Gershom Scholem,“Martin Buber’s Interpretation of Hasid-ism” in The Messianic Idea in Judaism andOther Essays on Jewish Spirituality(Schocken Books, New York, 1971), 228-250.2. Menahem Kallus, “The Relation of theBaal Shem Tov to the Practice of LurianicKavanot in Light of his Comments on theSiddur Rashkov,” Kabbalah: Journal for theStudy of Jewish Mystical Texts 2 (1997), 151-167.3. The teachings and spiritual practices ofHasidism, like those of the entire recordedhistory of Jewish mystical practice, wereandrocentric, with little or no treatmentof women as subjects in their own right.4. In the kabbalistic tradition, the SitraAhra signifies the demonic counter-imageto the side of Holiness, the Godhead.Materiality, itself often a marker of evil,trapped the sparks of holiness in shells orhusks, hampering access and maintainingdemonic sovereignty.

.


I continue to be amazed by theexpansion of the Judaica sectionof bookstores. It has obviously be-

Rabbi Yael Ridberg serves (JRF) West End Synagogue in New York City.

REVIEWED BY YAEL RIDBERG

Journeys in JudaismThe Way Into Torah,by Norman Cohen

Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, VT: 2000, 176 pagesThe Way Into Jewish Prayer,

by Lawrence Hoffman,Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, VT: 2000, 186 pages

The Way Into Encountering God in Judaism,by Neil Gillman,

Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, VT: 2000, 205 pagesThe Way Into Jewish Mystical Tradition,

by Lawrence Kushner,Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, VT: 2000, 184 pages.

come profitable for these stores to makeroom for titles that enable a wide au-dience to find its way in the search formeaning from a Jewish perspective.There is clearly a market for suchbooks, and Jewish Lights Publishinghas been at the forefront of this growth,enabling seeking Jews (and non-Jews)from all walks of life to have meaning-ful encounters with Jewish texts andtradition.

The two-year-old Jewish Lights se-ries, The Way Into…, presents an op-portunity for readers to be exposed notonly to the major spiritual and historicpaths of Judaism, but to many of theseminal thinkers of the 21st century.In what will eventually be a 14-volumeseries, these authors present, in a clear

and accessible way, a journey throughthe sacred texts of Jewish tradition.Each volume addresses an importantJewish concept in terms of its history,vocabulary and meaning for contem-porary seekers.

Complex Metaphorical System

The intention of the series is to serveand educate the liberal Jewish commu-nity by presenting a guided tour of Jew-ish texts through the ages. Biblical,midrashic, talmudic, Hasidic and con-temporary texts are presented as evi-dence of the evolving Jewish experi-ence.

The complex metaphorical systemthat supports Judaism is one that, ac-cording to Neil Gillman is pluralisticand fluid. Although speaking prima-rily about the Jewish encounter with


God, Gillman’s sentiment is one thatcan be applied to the approach of theentire series:

time when presented with texts thatshow Judaism to be "the evolving reli-gious civilization of the Jewish people."The Way Into… series is a successfuleffort to underscore that evolution. Bypresenting, in the case of these four vol-umes, prayer, Torah, mysticism and theencounter with God as journeys Jewshave traveled over time, we becomeaware of the complexity and diversityof Jewish experience, religion, and theJewish people’s quest for meaning.

This series is a great resource for rab-bis and teachers of Judaism, as well asfor those going at the learning on theirown. For rabbis, it is helpful to have avariety of texts (often in civilizationalorder) at one’s fingertips to use inclasses on prayer, Torah and spiritual-ity/theology.

I appreciated the scope and range ofperspective that was created by eachauthor, bringing me into the subjectin a holistic way. I was reminded ofthe teaching that even if one knows thewhole of the siddur by heart, to prayfrom memory doesn’t allow for thesame level of attention and intention.Something different happens when wehave a text open in front of us.

Although the concepts and many ofthe texts were familiar to me, I was ableto appreciate the author’s perspectiveand knowledge because of the struc-ture and content of each book. Evenwhen I was familiar with the conceptunder discussion, these books refreshedmy own understanding of the evolu-tion of Jewish practice and thought.

For those just beginning their jour-ney into Judaism, these books are writ-ten in a clear and accessible style,

It is pluralistic because it is com-posed of images formed by count-less human beings who, over cen-turies, experienced God’s presencein their lives in an infinite numberof ways and then translated theirexperiences into metaphors thatcaptured what they felt. It is fluidbecause as we study Judaism’s clas-sical texts, certain metaphors dis-appear, presumably because theyno longer capture our ancestor’ssense of God’s presence in theirlives; other ones are added — againpresumably because these newmetaphors more effectively captureexperiences that our ancestors didnot share; still others are trans-formed before our eyes so that thelater image, though clearly emerg-ing out of an earlier one, com-pletely subverts the original mean-ing.

Either-Or Judaism

I often meet Jews who find them-selves in what they believe to be an “ei-ther/or” approach to Judaism. EitherGod is supernatural, all knowing andall powerful, or God does not exist.Either ritual practice or prayer must bedone in their totality or not. Either theTorah is a literal deposition of God’sword and deed, or it is simply myth. Ihave often found that these same Jewscan embrace an alternate understand-ing of how Judaism has developed over


thoughtfully translating, explainingand interpreting. Each book has an in-troduction that seeks to define andexplain the approach of the author. Forexample, Lawrence Kushner organizesThe Way into Jewish Mystical Traditionaround fifty Jewish mystical ideas. Eachis presented in a classical way — by bib-lical verse, rabbinic maxim or phrase.Hebrew and/or Aramaic are used withtranslation and transliteration, andthen each idea is illustrated with sev-eral classical texts.

Essential Elements of Judaism

The Way into Torah by Rabbi Nor-man Cohen also invites readers to ex-plore the origins and development ofTorah by understanding what Torah is,the different approaches to study andunderstanding, as well as asking whyand how Torah study in general becamesuch an integral part of the Jewish ex-perience. As in the other books in theseries, we are shown the way into anessential element of Judaism, and afterinteracting with representative texts, we

are then invited to examine the largerquestions of integrating Jewish studyand practice into our modern lives.

Jewish Lights Publishing hasbrought us opportunities to increaseour interaction with Jewish tradition,and this series is no exception. Each ofthe authors makes the reader feel as ifs/he is receiving a private guided tourthrough the author’s area of expertiseand passion in Jewish textual experi-ence. Each volume points to the largerquestions — not only about what eachof these central aspects of Judaism com-prises, but how these concepts canmake a difference in the lives of thosewho engage in the study of these ideas.

These volumes will surely find aplace of primacy in the lives of thosewho open themselves to the journeyinto Judaism — and, not incidentally,will continue to find a place of promi-nence on those many shelves of Judaicain contemporary bookstores.

1. Neil Gillman, The Way into Encounter-ing God in Judaism (Vermont: JewishLights Publishing, 2000), 11.


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