The Struggle to Apply Jewish Ethics to Contemporary Family Issues

When the Rabbis of the Talmud expanded on Jewish ethics, and the responsibility of Jews everywhere to live according to those ethics, they could not have envisioned the world in which we live today. A world where abortions, contraception and non-marital sex are commonplace.  A world where the internet has changed the face of communication between people, and terrorism has forever altered the laws of privacy.  Elliot N. Dorff explores these issues in his book Love Your Neighbor and Yourself(PA:JPS,2003.), and discusses how rabbinic teachings apply to these and other modern day concerns. 

    

As Dorff notes in his book, many contemporary issues are difficult to abide using Talmudic teachings. One of the most difficult has to be the issues facing today’s contemporary family. From conception to old age, Jewish ethical issues are not as clear cut for families as they once may have been. The ethical responsibilities of not only having children, but taking care of those children, and conversely, for those children to eventually take care of their parents may have been more easily applied centuries ago.  Today’s complicated family life can make it very difficult to discern how this same code of ethics is applied.

 

Ethical dilemmas can begin for potential parents before a child is even born. Some couples may not want to have children. Others may want to wait awhile, and choose to prevent pregnancy. Still others may decide to have children, but run into infertility problems. Dorff looks at all these issues, and the ethical directives that apply.

 

Dorff writes that married couples are not only encouraged, but required to have children according to the directive of Genesis 1 – that of course to be fruitful and multiply for the good of humanity. For the young married couple that does not want children at all then, there is no ethical provision around the Genesis directive. If they are physically able, Jewish couples must have children.

 

Dorff acknowledges however, that some people want to wait awhile before having children and need to use contraception. Interestingly enough, couples can prevent pregnancy without violating the ethos of propagation. Why? As Dorff explains, only the man is technically obligated to be fruitful and multiply. (Although how he can do this without a woman is still a mystery to me.) For this reason, it is perfectly acceptable for the woman to use contraception.  Dorff writes, “Even though the Rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud knew that both men and women have indispensable roles in procreation and childrearing, they maintain that it is only the man who is legally liable for procreation – the stated reason is a specific interpretation of a verse in the Torah.” Dorff also explains that a man has not fulfilled this obligation until he has at least two children (unless of course there are infertility problems.)

 

With regards to contraception for women, the Rabbis not only allowed it, but also spoke to what methods the woman should use. Dorff writes, “Jewish sources from as early as the second century describe methods of contraception. A rabbinic ruling from that time prescribes the use of birth control devices when pregnancy would endanger either the woman or the infant she is nursing.”  Dorff continues by discussing more modern mandates on contraception. “From the point of view of Jewish law, the most favored form of contraception is the diaphragm, for it prevents conception and has little, if any, impact on the woman’s health.  If the pill or implant is not contraindicated…those are usually the next most favored forms of contraception. Jewish authorities recommend them because their success rate minimizes the possibility that the couple will later consider an abortion as a form of retroactive birth control.” 

 

Of course there are those couples who want children, but have infertility problems. Dorff explains that the mandate for procreation does not apply in situations of infertility. He writes, “…the Jewish teachings about the importance of having and raising children should not generate guilt or shame in infertile couples. The Jewish tradition should not add to their frustration by holding up an ideal that is impossible for them to fulfill, for Judaism can never be legitimately interpreted to expect the impossible.” Dorff goes on to say that Jewish law permits couples to attempt medical intervention but that they are not at all required to do so. He also says that adoption is encouraged by Jewish law, but this same law also mandates that the child be converted to Judaism no matter the race or age.

 

 I found the comments on adoption very thought provoking, because I had never thought of the “be fruitful and multiply” commandment in terms of one people.  I had always viewed it as a command for all humanity – and perhaps that is how it was originally intended. Dorff however, indicates it is a missive for Jews to continue the population of their people throughout the world. He writes, “Those who can produce or adopt children should see it as a mitzvah of the highest order to have more than the minimal number of two, for nothing less than the future of the Jewish community and of Judaism depends on that. The Jewish community after all, lost a third of its members in the Holocaust…and contemporary Jews are not producing enough children to maintain their present numbers. Add to these factors the high rate of intermarriage and assimilation among Jews today, and it becomes clear that we Jews are in serious demographic trouble as a people…propagation or adoption is literally a matter of life and death for us not only as individuals and as families but also as a people.” His argument is not only compelling, it is heartbreaking.

 

Once couples have their children, Jewish law mandates they take care of those children. For most people this mandate is easy – a parent is always responsible to take care of their child and help their child. Dorff writes, “Just as children have duties toward their parents, so too do parents have obligations toward their children. The classic Talmudic text delineating those duties is this – Rabbis taught a man is responsible to circumcise his son, to redeem him, to teach him Torah, to marry him off to a woman, and to teach him a trade, and there are those who say that he must also teach him to swim.” (Clearly modern times would expand education to include girls, and allow for young people to find their own spouses.)

 

In Talmudic times, children lived with their parents until they were married – which was often at a fairly young age.  It was then incumbent upon those children to go out and earn their own living and take care of their own family. Sons may still have worked with their fathers after marriage (the father was responsible for teaching their sons a trade as noted above), but they had to earn their keep and tend to their own.  Through the centuries, this has still been the norm in most cases.  However, there are nuances that have made the situation more complicated.

 

 For example, men and women are not getting married young anymore.  Many will graduate high school and then go to college – usually on their parents’ dime and technically still under their parents’ roof.  Whereas in the time of the ancient Jews, parents provided a roof over their family’s head and food for the table, modern times dictate a significant financial contribution, and a longer duration of care.  Dowries were once paid for a daughter’s hand in marriage – now it is the parents who usually pay when the daughter marries (with regards to the wedding itself.)

 

 Although the commitment on the part of the parents has increased tenfold, most parents are still more than happy to take this on. There are situations however, where this commitment is not so easy – and ethical issues can get very murky.  Specifically, I’m talking about situations that were not prevalent in ancient times – such as teens and young adults who have substance abuse issues. If such a child is living on the streets or spending all their time doing drugs, how can a parent fulfill their obligation to educate, teach a trade, or marry off? To what point is a parent obligated to care at all for that child??

    

A friend of mine has a son who is a recovering drug addict. This addiction started early in high schoo and had taken complete control of him by his junior year.  She believed he was using heroin most of the time, but could never really be sure.  For over a year, she and her husband took numerous trips to the ER. They got their son admitted to several rehab programs, but he always ended up using drugs again shortly after release.  He also had continual run-ins with the police.

    

By the time he was 17, his addiction was running the lives of everyone in the family.  His 14 year old brother was witness to the many battles between his parents and him. His parents who both have full time jobs, would come home to find he had either passed out, or had left the house altogether. He never showed up for school anymore. He had severe mood swings that frightened my friend (who is a petite woman.) She was afraid her son might hurt her in a drug induced rage. I remember talking to her on the phone one night while she was locked in her room afraid to come out. I could hear him pounding on her door and urged her to call the police. He eventually gave up, and left the house a few minutes later.

Finally, in the best interest of their younger son, (and to protect themselves,) they kicked him out of the house. They knew he’d wind up on the streets of New Haven – or hopefully on a buddy’s couch now and then – but they couldn’t allow him to stay in the house anymore.  He could call them if he was in trouble, but he couldn’t come back until he was clean.

    

Based on Talmudic teaching, this decision would have severe ethical implications. Kicking him out of the house before he was educated, or trained, or married is in direct conflict with Talmudic mandate.  The Rabbis however, could not possibly have foreseen a situation such as this. During the time of Moses, families were not torn apart by drug addiction. One could argue that my friend really was tending to her son by making that hard choice. (Her son eventually got clean, and has been sober for several years.) And yet, if she had been a devout woman of Jewish faith, the code of ethics may have stopped her from making that choice. Although I do believe that the Jewish code of ethics is right in its mandate that parents take care of their children, modern day situations may necessitate violation of those ethics.

    

Eventually the tide turns, and it is the children who are taking care of their parents.  Dorff discusses this at length – both in the general command to take care of one’s parents, and the even more difficult task of caring for the very elderly.  He explains, “It is important to understand that the duty to be with one’s aged parents is not only to be able to take care of their physical needs, a task that presumably could be done by a person hired for the job, but also for the psychological reason that they need company – especially from those who can most directly give them a sense of warmth and continuity…Even God, according to the Midrash, exemplifies this value by bidding us to build a sanctuary so that God can dwell among us…Thus although the major medieval codes do not directly require that children reside with parents, they undoubtedly assume it.”

    

Taking care of parents can be costly and emotionally draining. Where people did not live as long in Talmudic times, extensive medical care helps keep them with us much longer. This often requires the child to be a full time caregiver, or to place the parent in a convalescent facility – leading to much guilt for the child and unhappiness for the parent. Dorff writes, “Jews and others often construe the command to honor parents…as chiefly applying to young children and their parents.  Although young children should certainly be taught to honor their parents, until children reach the age of bar or bat mitzvah, they cannot be held legally responsible for anything. Thus the Rabbis understood the commandment as primarily governing the interactions of adult children of elderly parents.  That makes the commandment even more critical for adults nowadays than it was for our ancestors, for with many people living into their eighties, nineties, and beyond, and with families commonly scattered throughout the country or even the world, adult Jews need clear and wise guidance about what they need to do for their parents.”

    

Those of us who love our parents are more than willing to go to extreme lengths to care for them.  But what about the parents who aren’t loved? Some parents may have been abusive, or absent.  A strong sense of Jewish ethics might compel someone toward caring for an aging parent, but a dislike for that parent might override that sense of obligation.  Dorff notes, “One other important principle in regard to honor and respect of parents emerges from the sources-namely, that the parents should not make unreasonable demands of their children or punish their children in a way that will lead the child to rebel against them and dishonor them.”

    

My mother’s feelings about her parents exemplify both ends of the spectrum of love and hate.  Her father was an extremely abusive husband and parent. He was an alcoholic who often came home drunk and violent.  Once when my mother was 7, she and my grandmother heard him come in late at night with a stranger.  The two men were drunk of course, but my mother and grandmother heard enough of the conversation to know that her father had drunkenly hired the man to come home and kill them both.  Thankfully, the man backed out at the last minute and left. But it was enough to convince my grandmother to get a divorce. 

    

Mom’s father stayed in touch with her until she was about 9.  The last contact was a postcard she received, and she never heard from him again.  Eventually, he was dead to her.  I didn’t even know until I was in high school that he hadn’t really died when she was young.  Even when my brother found information years later that he had died of Parkinson’s when in his 70s, my mom was not the least bit interested. It wasn’t disinterest for self-protection – she truly was ambivalent.

 

 My mom is a very compassionate person. However, this man was so abusive in her early childhood, that my mom could not fathom trying to get him help or taking care of him had she even known he was sick.  Even if he had cleaned up his act (which apparently he had), my mother had nothing but feelings of hatred toward him and a stack of bad memories. This is why when reading the Jewish ethics on caring for our parents, my first thoughts were of my mom and her father. 

    

It should be noted that my mother is also a very religious person – a devout Catholic.  And I wondered if as a devout Jew she would put aside her personal feelings and somehow arrange care for this man.  As Dorff points out, “Although one must honor and revere parents, one important strain in the tradition asserts that a child is not obligated to love them.” Dorff further explains that although some of the ancient Rabbis (such as Rabbi Shelomo Yizhaki) said that children are under a legal obligation to love their parents, Maimonides thought differently. Dorff quotes Maimonides “Know that the Torah has placed us under a heavy obligation in regard to the proselyte.  For we were commanded to honor and revere our parents, and to obey the prophets…Now it is possible for a man to honor and revere and obey those whom he does not love.”  Dorff concludes, “Clearly, it is best to honor one’s parents out of love and to love them while fulfilling the duties of honoring them, but that is not always how a child feels. The law demands honor and respect for parents, but, at least according to Maimonides, it does not demand love of them.”  

    

My mother is a perfect example of how it can be such a struggle – or even an impossibility – to fulfill this obligation for so many people.  To care for a parent in today’s world is difficult enough. It can take a lot of time and money.  It’s hard enough to do when you love the person.  But when you despise them? When they’ve abused you?  It’s a lot to stomach for many people. I know it would be too much for my mom with regards to her father.

    

On the flip side, my mom did take her mother in 30 years ago. My grandmother still had a job as a salesclerk, but not enough to pay for rent and food.  My parents convinced her to move in, after her apartment was no longer affordable.  The ethical decision of taking in my grandmother was easy for my mom.  She loved her and wanted to help her.  My parents gave (and my mom continues to give her) a home, food, even money.  My parents have always lived on a very thin shoestring. My father certainly didn’t relish having my grandmother there – she is known as a “nudge” by the whole family.  They both felt however, that it was the right thing to do.

    

The challenge of the ethic here has been trying to continue to honor her while she’s lived there.  I have love for my grandmother, but she has the maturity of an 8 year old. She throws tantrums, complains constantly, and is extremely self-centered.  She is sharp as a tack, so it is not an elderly affliction.  She has been this way since she moved in. She just decided a long time ago to let my mom assume the role of responsible adult. When she doesn’t get her way, she somehow brings the conversation to how hard it was for her as a single parent. She talks of how my mom’s having mononucleosis at age 11 really set her back financially – an extremely manipulative tactic.  The irony is that my mom had a full time job at 18, and married my dad at 20. My mom has been taking care of my grandmother much longer than my grandmother took care of her.

      

I know it has been very difficult over the years for them to deal with her, but my parents have been as patient as they could be and always kind – sometimes to a fault.  When my dad died, we all joked that he could finally rest in peace. Sometimes I think God rewarded him for being so ethical…   Even now when my grandmother yells at my mom to stop crying about missing my dad, my mom will stand up for herself or walk away – but she is never cruel to my grandmother. To me, this exemplifies the missive of honoring and respecting a parent.  

    

What’s interesting to me – particularly in regards to taking care of one’s parents – is when the Talmudic laws are in conflict.  On the one hand, my parents should care for my grandmother under the Talmudic assumption mentioned before of inviting one’s parents – particularly when not infirm – to live with them.  On the other hand, the Talmud also prescribes that the parent not put unnecessary burden on their children. Dorff writes that, according to Maimonides and Joseph Karo, “If he finds that he cannot endure the situation because of [the parent’s] extreme madness, he may leave and go away, appointing others to care for them properly.” Dorff then explains, “Jewish sources specifically demand that a parent not make overly burdensome or provocative demands on a child so that the child is tempted to dishonor or disrespect the parent…because in making a demand that evokes the response, the parent would thereby transgress the biblical command of not putting a stumbling block before the blind.”

    

It is clear that today’s challenges make it difficult to adhere to the ethical mandates set forth by the ancient Rabbis.  It would be a stretch though to say that these ethics don’t apply anymore.  They were set forth as a guide for living life as God would want his people to live, and so will always be relevant.  The challenge is adhering to the spirit of the teachings, when modern situations may not always allow for following direct missives. The Jewish people have struggled with worse however, and will continue to face these challenges – individually and as a people. 

 

Jews keep holy days holy – why can’t Christians?

Everywhere you look at Christmastime, there are blinking tree lights, big blow up Santas, and green neon “happy holidays” signs.  I do pass the occasional nativity scene – but that is usually on the front lawn of a church. Christmas – one of the holiest days on the Christian calendar – seems to be lacking in Christ.  Unfortunately, Christmas isn’t the only time this happens.  Easter is now about a bunny and candy and coloring eggs.  

           

The “big two” Christian holidays have become extremely secularized – and I don’t mean the secularization that comes with political correctness and inclusiveness.  I’m referring to those aspects of the holidays that focus on mythical characters, elaborate decorations, and of course, spending A LOT of money – with little or no focus on why the holidays exist in the first place.    I am not an overly religious person, but I still have several nativities in my house at Christmas.  I also have a “Happy Birthday Jesus” cake every year for my children.  We sing Happy Birthday to Jesus as a reminder of what the celebration is all about.

 

 Jewish holidays are not so secularized.  The only decoration one sees during Hanukkah is the menorah in the window of a Jewish home.  That menorah however, represents exactly what the celebration is about.  8 days of light provided by a minimum amount of oil – represented by 8 candles in the menorah.  Gifts can be given each day, but department stores aren’t overloaded with blue and white decorations,   There is no fictional character associated with Hanukkah (save for Saturday Night Live’s annual repeat of a skit called “Hanukkah Harry”,  in which a Jewish friend takes over for a sick Santa, and delivers warm socks to all the children!)   The less secularized the holiday, the more it retains its holiness and sacred meaning for the celebrants. Christmas and Hanukkah are celebrated in the same season.  For Jews it is a celebration of a miracle over 8 nights.  For most Christians, it is a month of shopping frenzy, decorating, and writing out cards – except for one hour each week during Advent when the events leading up to Jesus’ birth are celebrated in church.  

 

 As I mentioned before, the same is true of Easter.  Easter and Passover are also during the same season.    Passover is a very special time for the Jewish people, celebrated with a traditional Seder.  The Seder is the time to revisit the most important time in Jewish history – the exodus from Egypt.  This was the turning point in Jewish history, and is celebrated in a sacred, prayerful way.  It is such a sacred meal, that it is believed to be why Jesus and his disciples had gathered the night before his crucifixion.  . This “last supper.” is reenacted in Christian churches when they celebrate the Eucharist.   What most fail to realize, is that they are reenacting the last traditional Jewish celebration of Jesus’ life.   Passover was then, and is now a sacred holy day.

 

Easter however, which is considered THE most important holy day of the Christian calendar, is completely commercial outside of church.  On Good Friday, Christians attend very solemn services commemorating the death of their Lord and savior Jesus Christ – then they go home to color eggs.  Sunday morning, the joyous day of celebration that the Lord is raised, begins with a frenzy of children searching for eggs, and tearing into candy jammed baskets.  Everyone puts on their Sunday finest, goes to church for an hour to celebrate Jesus, and then likely spends the day with relatives.  A prayer may be said over dinner, but there are no traditional (meaningful) foods (such as the unleavened bread for the Jewish Passover), and no specific prayers.  The celebration of Jesus’ rising often stops at the church door.

 I don’t know why Christian holidays have become so secularized.  And while I enjoy watching my kids’ excitement about Santa and the Easter bunny, I am disturbed by the fact that the “reason for the season” is often glaringly absent.   The Jewish people have kept their holy days holy – why has it been so difficult for Christians to do the same?

Is it better to be righteous in a different faith? Or Lax in Your own?

Out of all our readings on Jewish Ethics, one passage from the Telushkin book really stood out in my mind.  When discussing the Noahide laws he writes, “Because Jewish law makes fewer demands on non-Jews, historically many rabbis have been hesitant to convert non-Jews to the more rigorous system of the Torah, believing that it is better that a person be a righteous non-Jew than a nonobservant Jew. “   What struck me about this passage was its contrast to Catholicism – the faith of my childhood.   While the Rabbis felt it was better to be righteous in a different faith than be non-observant in their own, Catholic tradition seems to favor being a non-observant Catholic, rather than a righteous Protestant or Jew. 

            I remember as a child, we were not allowed to visit Protestant churches or synagogues. It was considered a sin against the Church, and it certainly didn’t “count” as the weekly obligation to attend mass.  I would ask my parents why attending other Christian churches was a bad thing.  Wasn’t following Christ the important issue?  But my parents would simply say (with sincere belief) that the Catholic Church was the one true church. 

            As I grew older, I was still held to this standard.  My former priest, upon hearing that I had become a member of a UCC church, angrily chastised me at my aunt’s funeral.  I replied (sincerely), “Well, we are all Christians.” I still remember him sticking his face 2 inches in front of mine, and saying,  “How could you do that?” and “How can you be part of a church that has no doctrine, and no sacraments?” That I was still a practicing Christian was of no consequence to him.   My parents were also upset that I’d “turned” Protestant. (My mother cried through my son’s entire baptism because it wasn’t a Catholic church. She felt so ashamed in front of all our other Catholic relatives, (and made that day so miserable for me), that I only had immediate family at my daughter’s baptism.  My parents were more upset when I joined the UCC, than they had been during the 5 year stretch when I didn’t attend ANY church.

            It finally became clear to me that my parents – who have VERY close friends that are Protestant, Jewish, even agnostic – could not accept their daughter as a practicing Protestant. They would have had an easier time accepting me as a non-practicing Catholic (especially if I had at least baptized my children Catholic.)    I would still be part of the “fold” even if I wasn’t attending church, and that would have been the lesser of two evils.   My mom refers to it as being  “a Catholic not in good standing.”   Good heavens – at least that’s not Protestant!

            This is why this one line written by Telushkin affected me so deeply.  I truly sat and wondered how it would be if my family were Jewish.  Would living my life justly and righteously – with a great deal of compassion and generosity toward other human beings – be first and foremost in my family’s eyes?   If I was non-observant, would my parents at least take comfort in this righteous living? Would they ever approve my converting to another religion rather than be a non-observant Jew, (as per the Rabbis)?   Yes, the Rabbis would prefer Jews be observant and faithful to Jewish teachings and practices.  Unlike the Catholic Church however, the lesser of two evils for the Rabbis is being a righteous non-Jew rather than a non-observant Jew.  It was a comforting notion.  Surely my parents would see it differently if we were Jewish.

            But, then I remembered that Jesus’ teachings were similar to the Rabbis.  Love one another, act justly and righteously.   He was devout, and yet he rejected much of the rigidity surrounding Judaism in his time.    I follow his teachings, but I am still “not in good standing”.  Would it really be any different if we were Jewish?    I still haven’t determined if my family fears for my soul, or if they are just upset with my rejection of a deep rooted family faith tradition.  I can’t find the term “Jew not in good standing” anywhere, but somehow I think it would find its way to me…

The Beauty of the Jewish Sabbath

MT Winter was discussing the notion of Sabbath in one of my classes.  She remarked that every Friday, she looks at her “good friend Yehezkel” mentally and spiritually preparing for the Sabbath – and she is envious.  She said he is faithful to setting aside that time for spiritual renewal and closeness to God, and there is a definite peace about him.  She expressed that she wished it was something she too could experience.

 

 As I’ve been reading the many writings on Sabbath – particularly the Heschel book, I keep returning to that comment MT made, and remembering how it struck me that night.  I understood how she felt!   I’ve been in what I can only call a spiritual void for the last two years – so the idea of one day a week set aside for spiritual renewal in one’s self and one’s family is so appealing.  I long for that kind of weekly connection with both my spiritual self and my Creator. 

 

Unfortunately however, the notion of Sabbath – in the true sense of the word – is so foreign to the experience with which I’ve grown up.  My parents’ tradition – the Catholic tradition – is that you devote one hour a week to God in church.  A daily rosary is also encouraged, (which my father did faithfully everyday of his life – a small daily does of Sabbath for him, maybe), but 24 hours was unheard of.   Yes, we’d have “Sunday” dinner after church, and spend some time as a family – but there was also yard work to be done, housework, social obligations, etc.  And of course once the law changed to allow stores to open on Sunday, that last notion of Sunday family time vanished.  It was one more day to get things done.

           

I have to believe that unless you are brought up in the tradition – or marry into a family that practices the tradition, it would be difficult – if not impossible – to adjust one’s lifestyle to be faithful to the Sabbath.  For my family, there is a constant bombardment of all those same chores my parents did on weekends – PLUS – a slew of sport and club activities for my children.  They are only enrolled in one or two activities at a given time, BUT sports dominates weekend time.  Practices on Friday nights, games on Saturdays or Sundays or both.  On top of that are the scouting activities, the birthday parties, etc. What about holidays?  What if Halloween was on Friday?  The phone calls going back and forth between parents trying to organize; the running around doing last minute decorating and the shopping for candy.  What about other obligations – like going to my mom’s on Saturday to help her?  In a world where I try to squeeze 9 days worth of “stuff” into 7 days each week, I can’t imagine squeezing it further down to 6. 

           

So now, I’ve reached a new guilt-ridden phase of “where are your priorities?” I wonder not only where spiritual renewal time for my family comes in – but where any room is made for God at all.  In truth, it just isn’t.  Yes prayers are said, but in general, everyday life seems to just push my family’s relationship with God to the back burner. And of course, we’ve allowed that to happen.   The irony, is that my husband and I constantly drill into our children the importance of honoring commitments.  You don’t skip a team practice or a game. If you say you’re attending a function, you must honor that commitment.   I find it interesting now – shameful actually – that we never make that commitment to God.  And then I wonder – if we did make that commitment, could we stick to it?  How often would we say, “This practice is important”, or “I have to drive the kids to a party?”  I’m fairly certain we’d say, “God won’t mind.”

 

All this brings me back to my main point about MT’s comment.  I too envy that deep seeded notion of Sabbath.  I envy that commitment to keep the Sabbath holy, and somehow shut out the distractions and noise of the world for 24 hours.  And I wish with all my heart that this notion of Sabbath was part of our family.  With all the fullness in our lives, my exposure to the true meaning and power of Sabbath, makes me realize just how much is really missing.

Thoughts on Jewish Marriage (by a non-traditional Christian!)

After reading so many of the traditions and customs of the Jewish people, the one that stood out most in my mind was the attention given to marriage – particularly the nurturing and support of the marital relationship from the moment the couple are wed.   

            In the Christian tradition – particularly Catholicism which was the religion of my youth – much thought is given to the time before marriage.  We are taught from childhood that the main purpose of sex is procreation and that pre-marital sex is a sin. There is encouragement to be fruitful and multiply after marriage, yet it seems the church would still prefer to avoid the issue of sex.   Paul taught that abstinence was a holy experience – one that spouses should strive for!  

            As far as Christian marriage, there are preparatory classes to ensure the couple is ready to wed.  The ceremony is planned out in great detail, and church weddings are a must.  The couple must make their vows before God in order for the marriage to be “recognized” as legitimate by the church.  After the wedding however, the couple is on their own.  Little attention is given to the state of the marriage – and there is no tradition or custom to encourage a strong union.  Speaking as someone who has been married 20 years, a religion which helps keep a couple focused on one another is very appealing.

            I loved reading about the tradition of yikhud after a wedding ceremony.  The bride and groom are locked in a room together to finalize their commitment to each other – body as well as soul.  In all the Christian weddings I’ve been involved in, the couple leaves the church and immediately starts taking pictures and goes to the reception.  I found it very touching that yikhud is such an important part of the Jewish wedding custom.  I would have loved to have that time alone with my husband after we said our vows, rather than be whisked off to the party and picture-taking.  To be close to one another, talk and think about what we just entered into together – and celebrate it alone – that is something I would have cherished.

            I was also very intrigued by the Ketuba, and the laws designed not only to protect the wife, but to encourage continued support and love between the couple.  It appears a great deal of thought was given to ensure the couple has marital relations.  And I was fascinated to note that relations between husband and wife are such an integral part of Sabbath observance.  It is a beautiful notion to me that the physical expression of love between husband and wife is part of the Sabbath observance honoring God.  Again, this is quite the contrast with many Christian teachings where abstinence is a way to honor God – even in marriage.

            Finally, I was struck by the laws of purity and how they relate to marriage.   I find the idea of a woman in menses being deemed “impure” completely misogynistic, (although I understand it’s part translation problems and part ancient practice.)  Yet, I was touched by the more modern notion of the days of menses being a time for spouses to long for one another.  Rabbi Joseph Telushkin writes, “…the prohibition of sexual relations for 12 successive days each month leaves a couple hungering for each other, even after many years of marriage.” He adds, “The Talmud recognized the rejuvenating effect the laws of separation can have on marriage.”  Telushkin, (quoting Niddah 31b) writes, “The husband becomes over-familiar with his wife and tires of her.  Thus the Torah prohibited her to him for certain days each month so that she may remain as beloved to him as she was on her wedding day.”   The fact that Jewish law addresses   a husband and wife staying as beloved to one another as the day they were married (let alone in such detail), is a clear indication that Jewish custom encourages and supports the marriage bond.  This is more than any Christian/Catholic doctrine has ever addressed.  I know that not all Jewish marriages endure forever, but perhaps more Christian marriages would last longer if concern extended beyond the wedding.  I love this part of the Jewish tradition!

The devotion of Orthodox Jews to noahide adherence

Several weeks ago, we were told the following in a class lecture: “Jewish sensibility would favor action over belief.  The practice of constant prayer brings one to greater understanding.  Taking on the discipline makes you a disciple, and to observant Jews belief is secondary. “At the time of the lecture, I understood that notion to an extent.  After doing the readings on Jewish holy days and rituals, I have a deeper understanding of what that means.      

            If one truly observes the requirements and rituals set forth under Judaic law, one could not help but become fully immersed in the religion.  I was amazed at the number of holidays I did not know about.  The daily rituals we discussed in class (such as the infamous prayer upon exiting the bathroom.)  The weekly rituals upon entering Shabbat and re-entering the week ahead.  The 613 laws.   613 laws!  How could anyone who practices some time type of devotion every hour of their life not be religious?   The more I read, the more convinced I was that it is in the practice – not the belief – where you grow closer to God.

            As a Catholic growing up, we had the weekly tradition of mass.  During Lent, there was the increased practice of fasting.  Holy week meant mass three times that week – including the reenactment of Jesus entrance into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.   Of course at Christmas, there is the traditional Christmas Eve mass and the placing of the baby Jesus into the nativity.  More traditional Catholics (like my parents) do a daily rosary.  These are all important, beautiful practices/rituals.  But they are for a short period of time.  The practices associated with Judaism – especially Orthodox Judaism – are constant, hour to hour, and minute to minute.  I often wonder if I had been raised in an environment of continual practice, whether I would have stuck with it, or faded off as I have from Catholicism.  Without practice, one can get apathetic.  Turn your head long enough – and you lose interest.  Traditional, orthodox Jews do not let this happen – and for this reason, they are true disciples of God.  

Searching for God – Yossi Halevi’s journey rings true to me…

The road to peace begins with understanding, and no one knows that better than Yossi Halevi.  In his stunningly beautiful book, At the Entrance to the Garden of Eden, Halevi writes about his remarkable two-year journey toward “religious empathy”.  As a fellow seeker of religious understanding, I envied his journey, and found myself comparing many of my own interfaith encounters with his. Although clearly the two journeys cannot be compared in scope, there are several emotional similarities that I could not help but notice.

First, there is that deep need to search for something larger than not only yourself, but also the religious microcosm to which you’ve become accustomed. Second, there is the pain and confusion that often accompanies such a journey (including the uneasy feeling at times of betraying not only your chosen faith, but the friends and family who are a part of your inner circle.) Finally, there are the deep feelings of both joy and sadness when dialoguing with other faith groups. Joy at moments of unity and inclusion, and sadness at times of suspicion and prejudice. It can make for quite an emotional experience. 

 

People who have never taken up a truly spiritual search for answers, cannot understand the desperation and pain of looking for something that may not exist. I felt this desperation in my continual quest to find a new church.   Halevi discovered this need not only in himself as an Israeli Jew, but also in many Christian clerics who he met on his journey.

For example, on his talks with Germa – an Ethiopian Monastic, Halevi writes, “He longed for the company of saints, but they were no longer accessible, and those remaining in the monasteries, he insisted, were either charlatans or fanatics or well-meaning but ordinary men.  He carried the sadness of someone who had not only seen the end of an era but had himself participated in its destruction; the very nature of his job, after all, was to help the monks adapt to modernity. Yet the outside world, oblivious to the possibility of holiness couldn’t be fully home for Germa either. More than his physical exile, this was the real source of his dislocation: He craved a holiness he feared he could never possess.”

 

Halevi then speaks to an Armenian priest about his own search. “I told Father Enza that I was on a search for holiness among the Christians, and he laughed. ‘I’m no holy man and I don’t know any holy men in the Armenian Church.’  As if to say: Why do you expect to find among us any greater miracle than survival?”
    

Frustrated in not being able to find answers from these Monastics, his friend Yehezkel Landau suggested he see someone special. “ ‘Go to Lavara Natofa’” said Landau. It’s run by Father Yaakov Willebrands. He’s one of the few Christians living here who manages to keep his heart open to both Arabs and Jews without taking sides. And he’s got this wonderful church in a grotto he dug out himself. It’s a great place to meditate.’ ‘Besides,’ added Yehezkel, ‘he may be a saint.’” 

 

 Indeed, Father Willebrands was one of those rare souls who acknowledged and appreciated the diverse faith groups in the holy land.  Halevi asks Father Willebrands many questions – including the controversial assertion in the Christian gospels that Jesus is the only path to God. Speaking personally, this is the most troubling passage for me in the Christian bible. I can’t imagine a God who would create a whole world of people, and yet only allow a small group of them into his kingdom. So I was glad when the Monastic answered Halevi’s question.

 

 Father Willebrand said, “There are Muslims in the village. I can tell them to become Christian and they would.  But, what then?  They would become totally cut off from their families and their villages, and in Arab society, that means you are lost.  Is God to just abandon them? And can Jews accept Christ after all that has happened in history?  Are they not to be admitted to the kingdom?  The God of love doesn’t work that way. So he creates other ways to approach the kingdom.”

 

Father Willebrand was right on target as to religion potentially cutting one off from family and friends.  As I mentioned in my introduction, there is still a lot of pain and guilt associated with spending so much time with people of other faiths. For every person who supports the notion of peace and understanding between religious cultures, there are many more who fear or loathe the idea. Other people’s negative reactions to interfaith relations – be they of one’s same faith or different faiths, cannot only be puzzling, but painful. Strikingly, although people of different faiths clearly regard each other with suspicion, it is often the brothers and sisters of one’s own faith who seem most threatened.  Perhaps there is a fear that by reaching out and sharing with other faith communities, you are betraying your own faith community. You may be viewed as vulnerable to recruitment or conversion.  Such feelings of betrayal can be very damaging and lead to a great deal of guilt. 

 

This idea of betraying one’s heritage often starts at home. It is from our parents that many of us receive our faith, and it can be very difficult to break out of that mold without a sense of guilt. Halevi first addresses this notion of parental influence in his book.  He writes, “My upbringing hardly prepared me for the interfaith encounter. I was raised in the heartland of Jewish Isolationism, a Brooklyn neighborhood called Borough Park, populated mostly by orthodox Holocaust Survivors. My father, a survivor from Hungary, taught me that the non-Jewish world was divided between those who actively wanted to kill the Jews, and those who were indifferent to our fate.  My father reserved a special rage for Christianity which he blamed for preparing the ground of the Holocaust by demonizing the Jews…Religious custom forbid Jews from entering a church.”  I have no doubt that during some of those times he spent with Christians and Muslims, Halevi found his thoughts wander back to his father and wonder about that betrayal.

 

Clearly my own family’s background can’t be compared to those of Holocaust survivors. However, the sideways glances toward other religious institutions other than the Catholic Church was very prominent in my upbringing. As Catholics, we were not allowed to attend worship services at Protestant churches (or that of any other denomination.)  Receiving communion in non-Catholic churches would also be considered a sin. Eventually, the rules on visiting other churches were relaxed somewhat by the Vatican, but these churches were still not viewed the same as “the one true church”. Often, non-Catholic churches were viewed as blasphemous and possibly corruptive. 

 I was 20 years old when I first attended a Protestant service. And, like Halevi, I attended the church to accompany my future spouse.  Ironically, my husband – a Southern Baptist, was brought up to believe that Catholicism was almost cult-like. His parents were no more thrilled about his being in Catholic churches, than were mine at “straying” from the Catholic Church.

 

This concern for betraying one’s faith circle extends beyond family though. It encompasses friends, neighbors and colleagues.  In one particularly poignant part of his book, Halevi confides these fears to a nun he’s been spending time with: “‘Gabrielle’, I said, ‘I’m afraid’.  We were sitting, as usual, in the Beatitude’s library. ‘Can you imagine the reaction,’ I continued, ‘when my friends and relatives in the Orthodox community find out I’ve been going to monasteries? Do you know how that’s going to play in my old Brooklyn neighborhood? A Jew entering churches to experience Christmas and Easter.  There’s nothing worse than that. I’m about to become a Jewish traitor.’  Gabrielle said quietly, ‘I’m afraid too.’ ‘You’, I said, unable to hide my surprise.  The nun who prayed in Hasidic synagogues, who offered herself as a sacrifice to reconciliation? ‘I’m afraid of being considered too different,’ she confessed. ‘Even within my own community. Of course people there share my love for the Jewish people, but I worry that they’ll see me as an obsessive.’”

 

I know all too well the price one pays for going out on a limb when speaking of faith. When I first entered Seminary, I was talking to a very close friend about the Muslim view on Jesus being a great prophet, and how they don’t believe he was crucified. I told her I wasn’t even sure anymore if Jesus was the Son of God.  Her reaction? She never spoke to me again.

 

Halevi was not just being paranoid. From the very beginning of his journey, he too encountered resistance from both Israeli friends and Christian friends.  His Israeli friends, (even those who are active in promoting dialogue with Palestinians), said he was wasting time.  A Christian friend also dissuaded him, saying, “Maybe you should concentrate on Christian-Jewish relations. There is so much that we have to do together, why confuse it by bringing in another religion.”

 

Interestingly enough, there is more to this comment than appears on its surface. It is representative of another fascinating aspect of Halevi’s journey – the concern by others to not only keep him grounded to one faith community, but rather to keep him away from other specific faith communities. There were times throughout his adventure (as indicated above,) that religious figures/clerics would attempt to closely ally with him, by pointing out the shortcomings of other religions.  For example, Halevi writes about his visit with a Muslim Sheykh for whom he had great respect. In their discussions, the Sheykh said, “Jews and Muslims are closer to each other than to Christians.  We both have religious laws; the Christians don’t. We have fast days; they don’t. We forbid the use of images; they pray to images.  We believe in one God; they have three Gods.” 

To his credit, Halevi attempted to clarify some of these claims about his Christian brothers and sisters. He explained to the Sheykh that Christian images are used to “encourage devotion”, and although Trinitarian, Christians are indeed monotheistic.  But Halevi also admitted that he was pleased at the Sheykh’s “linkage” of Judaism and Islam, even if Christianity was excluded.

 

In a more disturbing passage (disturbing for me because the offender was a Catholic nun), disparaging remarks are made about Muslims in front of Halevi. It is a Christian crowd that includes Halevi, but the remark was made offhand – as if everyone would naturally agree.

He writes, “We walked the steep hills toward Manger Square…the muezzin sounded with the first light, rousing the day.  Gabrielle said, ‘He’s especially loud now. He wants to remind us on Christmas who really controls Bethlehem.’  She was probably right. Muslim extremists often used to the call to prayer to intimidate Christians and Jews, just as Muslims had built minaret that deliberately towered over Jewish and Christian holy places.” Halevi acknowledges that there may be something to the notion of reminding ‘people of the book’ that the ‘people of the final revelation’ are all around.  Another nun goes too far however, and Halevi is stunned. He writes, “ ‘I wouldn’t want to be Muslim,’ added a nun. ‘To have someone shouting at me in my sleep.’ Her friends laughed.  ‘It’s Ramadan I said. The first call to prayer is also a signal to begin the day’s fast.’ ‘They eat at night’, the nun replied shrugging, ‘I’m sure there are those who do it sincerely…’ But if so, she clearly implied, they were wasting their devotions in a false, even absurd faith. 

 

So just as the Muslim Sheykh had tried to bolster a Jewish/Muslim alliance at the expense of Christians, the Sister was now trying to promote a Jewish/Christian alliance through the exclusion/aspersion of Muslims. This point was not lost on Halevi.  “Listening to the nun disparage Islam, I realized why I couldn’t fully accept Gabrielle’s offer of a Christian-Jewish alliance of messianic expectation. That would allow Jews and Christians to pretend to evade the hubris of chosenness: If neither of us could be chosen alone, we would be chosen together.  The two biblical faiths, exalted above all others: the Muslims with their distorted scripture, the Hindus with too many gods, the Buddhists with no god at all. Jews and Christians would learn to deal with each other through love rather than theology as Grabielle had beautifully put it during one of our sessions.  But that wouldn’t apply to our relations with other faiths.”

 

The Nuns however, were not immune to the same kind of disparagement.  Halevi tells of the Christians being shunned by many Jews – particularly during times of remembrance for Holocaust victims.  Then came another instance of allying two religious groups against one – only this time it was the Christians who fell short. Halevi writes, “ Johanna was upset.  She’d just read a commentary by a French rabbi about the biblical concept of the place of ‘strangers’ in the land of Israel.  For non-Jews to be worthy of living in the Holy Land, wrote the rabbi, they must observe the seven Noahide laws, the basic biblical moral code. Muslims he continued, fully adhere to the Noahide laws because, he pointedly noted, they don’t place statues – idols-in their houses of worship.  Clearly, he was excluding Christians from the category of Noahide observers. ‘We defile the land’ Johanna said bitterly.”  Halevi explained to Johanna that the thought process came from a time when Jews had been persecuted by Christians. He said that there were Rabbis throughout history who disagreed with that thinking, but those rabbinic voices were a minority.

 

It can be even more difficult for those steeped in two faith traditions. Instead of being admired by both faith communities, there is often mistrust and rejection.  Halevi’s friend Eliyahu encountered this first hand. Eliyahu converted to Islam but then became a practicing Jew who lived in an Arab village and worked to bring Jewish and Arab youth together. “But outraged fundamentalists forced him to leave the village. He had accepted an invitation from local Muslims and joined a parade celebrating Id el Fitr the end of Ramadan.  Participating in a Muslim feast by an Orthodox Jew was not seen as respect, but as subversion.”

 

Finally, because of the dynamics of Palestinian Christians, Palestinian Muslims, and Jews all living in the land of Israel, some people don’t fit easily into any category.

“Sister Miriam said, ‘We don’t fit in anywhere. For Jews, we’re missionaries; for Muslims, we’re Zionists. A Palestinian Christian accused me of not being sensitive to his people’s suffering.  I know I should be open to everyone in equal measure, but I can’t do it.  I stand with the Jewish people. Sometimes I say to God, ‘why do you expect me to be an instrument of peace?’ And the answer I sense is ‘your suffering over your failures is what I need.’’”

 

For me as an American Christian, I know that my perspective on the three Abrahamic faiths is far removed from that of Christians in the Middle East. I am not in the religious minority here (although my particular thoughts on who Jesus was and what it is that makes me a Christian probably puts me very much in the minority.) I do not fear Jews or Muslims or feel that I need to take a side in their disputes.  I believe the Israelis have a right to hold on to their state, but I also believe the Palestinians are living in horrid conditions, and should be allowed their own state to co-exist with Israel.

 

Halevi has his own perspective on Christianity in Israel “In the Holy Land, Christian love was often selective.  Foreign Christians living here tended to embrace either the Jewish or the Palestinian narrative.  Each appealed to a different facet of the Christian soul: the prophetic fulfillment of Jewish homecoming, the Palestinian struggle for justice in the land of Jesus.  Well-meaning but one-dimensional outsiders became either Christian Zionists who despised the Palestinians and tended to see Islam as a satanic opponent of God’s plan for Israel, or else Christian liberationists whose “anti-Zionism merely updated the old theological contempt for Jews as enemies of the good. It was perhaps inevitable for Jews and Arabs to turn their life and death struggle into a passion play; for spectators similarly to trivialize on of the world’s most morally ambiguous conflicts meant squandering an opportunity for a neutral loving presence.”

 

I don’t know that Halevi found everything he was searching for. In fact, I’m sure he didn’t. But as I mentioned earlier, peace comes through understanding. Through his remarkable courage, empathy and beautiful sense of spirit, he was able to transport himself in and out of the depths of the Abrahamic religions, and then put his experiences into words for those of us still engaged in that desperate search for answers. I will never be able to live those experiences as he did, but I can learn from them, try to understand them, and hopefully become a real instrument for God’s peace.

 

In everything that Halevi wrote, one thing he wrote about Judaism – his own religion – was so poignant to me, that it literally changed my outlook on Christianity, and whether or not I should stay with the only religion I have ever known.  He said, “My eventual decision to return to Jewish observance wasn’t inspired by any sudden realization that Judaism was the “true” faith after all; Judaism simply was my language of intimacy with God.” 

Thanks to Halevi, I no longer feel conflicted about being a pluralist and a Christian – I can be both, (and still continue my search.) In the meantime, I’ve come to learn that Christianity is no longer the religion that dictates my belief system, but rather is MY language of intimacy with God.  What a beautiful sentiment.

Forgiveness

 

            Forgiveness.  Throughout many of my seminary readings – particularly Muller-Fahrenholz’s The Art of Forgiveness, this was the dominant theme.  Confession, reconciliation, and “re-membering” – all tools used to foster forgiveness. Avoiding the “spiral of revenge”, admitting our guilt, and seeking mediation – also critical in achieving forgiveness.  As I read through all of these wonderful ideas, took notes and pondered the issues of healing and peace in Israel, I kept thinking, “why can’t they just move forward?”  “Why can’t the Israelis and Palestinians agree to co-exist?”  “Instead of all the killing and anger and vitriol, use the tools and get the help and mediation. It’s been so long!” Over and over as I read of the struggles, I thought, “Why don’t they just make peace? Why can’t they forgive? I just don’t get it.”  Then I thought about Rick.

            Rick was the Pastor at the church we attended for eight years.  He was our pastor, our friend and confidante. Our families were friends and we all spent a good deal of time together over the years.  Rick was an inspiration – a man who could preach the word of God like none I had heard before. I knew I could learn from him – even though he was four years younger. How wonderful to be friends with someone who could teach me all the things I didn’t understand about God.  I absolutely loved him – as pastor and friend.

            I got very involved in church committees and worked hard. I enjoyed working with Rick and helping the ministry of the church. My husband too was involved and we were happy there.  All was well – until the day I challenged Rick.  He came back at me with such anger and condescension that I was floored. I couldn’t go to church for months. Finally I called him and we met for coffee and talked it through. We empathized with one another, “re-membered”, and expressed joy in reconciliation.  All was well – until I challenged him again. Or disagreed with him. Sometimes I would placate him to maintain a good relationship. Other times we’d battle. Each time I would be worn down and worried about our friendship.  At times the struggle was about whatever issue was at hand – other times it was just about the battle itself.  I couldn’t take it anymore. He suggested we get a mutual minister friend to mediate our differences. Looking back, I can’t believe how far it had gone.

            Our mediation session went so well. It had such an air of honesty. There was confession, clarification, admission of mutual guilt and even the “glow” of reconciliation and newness that we read about.  After two years, it was wonderful to be in right relationship (as Rick called it) again.  Then my Dad got sick – very sick. I went to Rick, and told him I wanted to trust him as Pastor to help me through, and that I just needed that reassurance from him that all was still going to be okay as we had “glowingly” discussed. His response was that if I had any question as to his pastoral ability, that I should report him to the Regional UCC Association.  I was stunned and devastated. I was also done trying.  The next day, my husband told Rick we were leaving the church, that he needed help as a person and pastor, and that he needed to learn to respect women. Rick was devastated and hugged my husband – crying – as my husband left. 

            I called Rick from the hospital the day of Dad’s surgery. I said I couldn’t face whatever would happen with a sense of resentment in the air. He said he had no ill will and never did. I said it was me that needed to forgive him – so that I could move forward.  As my dad lay in surgery, Rick tried to engage me in a conversation about why we were leaving the church, and how he didn’t understand.  I was done debating, and said it really wasn’t something we should get into. He then accused me of really just calling him in order to keep myself busy.  I ended the call politely. We never spoke again.

            It took me months to realize it, but I lied to Rick that day. I didn’t forgive him. I haven’t forgiven him yet. In truth, I hate him. It is a horrible, un-Godly, un-Christian, un-Seminarian, un-peacemaker (you name it), thing to say – but it is true.  For two years he used me, and my family when he needed something.  He’d asked me to lie for him, and I did. He wanted me to take on a project, I did.  He crossed every line and boundary of pastor and friend and then denied any wrongdoing. The final blow was when I found out he had violated our pastor/parishioner confidence several times to different people on several issues. The final betrayal. I step back now and I see the manipulation and I understand how some of it happened. I also accept responsibility for participating.  But I have not forgiven.

It’s been almost five years since I’ve gone to a church – I don’t know if I will ever attend one again. I cringe when I hear someone say that they are a minister.  What did Gopin say in his readings about avoiding Palestinians? I avoid pastors.   I have no confidence or trust in clergy of any kind. Admitting my guilt? Did it. Reconciliation? Did it. Loved it. Didn’t last. Mediation? Great idea. Didn’t work.  Forgiveness?  Not this time. I tried that already, and the scars are too deep.  I will never forgive Rick. 

In the beginning of this piece I talked – almost condescendingly – of how easy it would be if everyone just put aside his or her differences. Jews and Palestinians – people of other warring nations.  Then I remembered Rick and realized my hypocrisy. My little 2-year battle with my pastor is a grain of sand compared to the years of hatred, enmity, mistrust and bitterness endured by both Jews and Palestinians.  I can’t even begin to understand their pain.  I probably never will.  As to their inability – their lack of willingness even – to try and forgive?

I get it.

Conflict, Religion and Peacemaking

I was very struck by an account I read of bloodshed in Northern Ireland and how it harkens back to the ongoing battles in the Middle East.  I confess to only knowing the basic details of Ireland – Catholics vs. Protestants, IRA Provisionals and Sinn Fein vs. Orange Men, – as well as the involvement of the British government.  In reading the details laid out by Scott Appleby in his book Ambivalence of the Sacred, I couldn’t help but note the differences in the two conflicts.     

            The battle between the Palestinians and Israelis has, on the surface, always been about one main thing – land. Holy land.  Israelis fight to protect their state as well as maintain control of the holy city of Jerusalem.  Palestinians want their own separate state – under Palestinian rule – on land now occupied by Israel.  They also want control of Jerusalem, and many are still fighting for the right of return. In Northern Ireland, it was Catholic citizens fighting against control by the Protestant led government.  Political claims intertwined with religious claims.

In looking at these two struggles, one can see the power of religious differences on the face of each conflict. In the Middle East it’s the Qu’ran vs. the Torah, and the holy site of the Mosque vs. the holy site of the ancient temple.    In Northern Ireland it’s the Catholics vs. the Protestants.  And although both are Christian, they are very different in both faith practices and church doctrine.

As I continued to read Appleby’s analysis though, I finally began to see one strong similarity in the two conflicts. Both are fought in the name of religion, when in reality, they are social and economic struggles wrapped in religious rhetoric. They are wars rooted in oppression.  The Palestinians have been living in squalor for years with no hope for the future.  The Catholics in Northern Ireland were socially and economically oppressed by the political control of the Protestant government.  Oppression fuels the hatred, and religion is the flag under which the violence occurs.  The oppression and religious fervor combined make for an inevitable explosion of violence.

Thankfully there has been some progress.  The cease-fire in Ireland and the attempts to curtail oppression have greatly improved the situation.  Generations of hatred still remain, but the oppression has eased, and so hopefully will the anger.  As far as the Middle East conflict, the pullout of the Israelis from Gaza is a start in the peace process, but the oppression remains.  Without improvement in the quality of life for Palestinians, the hatred will continue to boil.  Iran has now tapped into that hatred and is calling for the destruction of Israel.   The focus must be on improving the situation for the Palestinians – not just giving back some land, or the bloodshed will continue (egged on by other countries who want to see Israel destroyed.)

As I was reflecting on the sadness in these “far away” lands, a frightening thought occurred to me.  Isn’t our country just one or two “wrong turns” from entering the same type of struggle?  There is so much oppression here – racial, economic and social.  Underlying resentments and hatred are “ripe for the picking” by extremist groups.   We’ve already seen the continuation of “Christian” white supremacy groups, who tap into the uneducated and often poor white communities to give their young men something to rally around.  There are the Nation of Islam leaders such as Louis Farrakhan who tap into the enormous oppression of poor African Americans by spreading lies and rhetoric of the evil of whites (for instance saying that whites blew up the levees in New Orleans in order to drown blacks).  And of course there are already the internal Christian struggles.  There are the charismatic leaders who go into small town churches (and even some larger churches) and preach hatred of gays.  The hate increases, and so does the persecution of gays.  Look what’s happened in the Episcopal Church. There are those who fervently support openly gay Bishop Gene Robinson, and others who are furious that a gay man could be ordained a bishop.  There have been angry anti-gay demonstrations, and individual Episcopal churches have begun to pull out from the main body in protest. 

With all of these hate fueled groups continuing to be urged on (particularly by those in positions of religious leadership), is it that far out of the realm of possibility for someone to plant a pipe bomb or take a shot?  One would hope that in the modern day United States, such a violent conflict is unlikely.  Then again – as we’ve seen throughout history across the globe – when any type of hatred is wrapped in the blanket of religious doctrine, violence isn’t too far behind.  

Israel – Divinely Given Birthright?

 

“The Lord said to Abram, after Lot had parted from him, ‘Raise your eyes and look out from where you are, to the north and south, to the east and west. For I give all the land that you see to you and your offspring forever’.” (Torah, Genesis 13.14-15)  Generations later, the Lord honored that promise when he led Moses and the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt. “I have come down to rescue them from the Egyptians and to bring them out of the land to a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey, the region of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, Hivites and the Jesubites.” (Torah, Exodus 3.8)

     This ancient Hebrew scripture is (among others) the very foundation of Jewish claim to the land of Israel. This claim has also led to centuries of argument, struggle and tremendous bloodshed in that region of the world.  In light of that bloodshed – which continues today, it is my belief that Israel must look beyond the land itself, and find a way to incorporate other aspects of scripture into their life as a nation – in particular God’s command to love  (treat humanely) one’s neighbor. This does not disallow the right of the Jews to live in their homeland, but rather allows for the possibility for others to have a home there as well.  I do not take lightly the responsibility for peace on the part of the Palestinians, but I believe the onus is on the Israelis since they occupy the land.

     I cannot make this assertion however, without first attempting to explore the evolution of the Jewish claim to Israel – from its history, to modern interpretation, to the problems associated with the claim itself, (e.g., historical inaccuracies). I want to recognize the complexities of the issue, and touch on the catastrophic consequences that have resulted from such literal interpretation of the scripture – consequences that in and of themselves, lead me to conclude that Israel must re-evaluate its sole claim to the land if peace is to be achieved. 

     Theologians, biblical scholars, and religious leaders of all faiths have been dissecting and analyzing the holy scriptures of the Torah and Christian Old Testament for centuries.  The scripture itself clearly states that God made an everlasting covenant with Abram (later changed to Abraham). God – for his part of the covenant – promised Abraham the land occupied by the Canaanites, and directed that he and his descendants claim this land as their own. Circumcision and strict adherence to the Noahide laws were man’s part of the bargain. 

    These directives by God are visited over and over throughout Jewish scripture – from Genesis, to Exodus, through Deuteronomy and beyond. Each time, God makes clear that the Jews are to lay claim to the land – even if it means the eventual dispossession of the gentiles there. Deuteronomy 12.29 in the Torah reads, “When the Lord your God has cut down before you the nations that you are about to enter and dispossess, and you have dispossessed them and settled in their lands, beware of being lured into their ways after they have been wiped out before you.”

     But is the scripture historically accurate? Although it is true that the Torah is consistent on the notion of a covenant, the words of God with regard to that covenant and what He is trying to accomplish are not always consistent.

In her book A History of God, Karen Armstrong looks at these inconsistencies, and the possible reasons behind them. Armstrong says, “When the Israelites recounted the story of the Exodus, they were not as interested in historical accuracy as we would be today.  Instead they wanted to bring out the significance of the original event, whatever that may have been.”

     Armstrong indicates that some scholars believe the Exodus to be just a myth, although with a real peasant revolt somewhere behind it. Armstrong also looks at Deuteronomy as another possible myth – one to further the notion of chosenness or “election” of the Jewish people. This concept of chosenness in her opinion was a natural progression from the book of Exodus – where Moses and his people were sent to the Promised Land, ambivalent to the plight of the existing Canaanite population, and directed to eradicate all other religions being practiced in Canaan.  Finally, Armstrong explores the notion that the reformers rewrote history, and that later historical books (Joshua, Judges, Samuel and Kings) were written with the idea of God creating a “Holy war of extermination in Canaan.”  Through Armstrong, we see that the God of Genesis establishes a type of father/son covenant between Abraham and his scion. But as the covenant continues through Exodus, God is now an angry and violent God who tortures and kills the Egyptian people.

     Let’s look at this notion of God slaying the Egyptians for a moment – because it contradicts everything God promised to Abraham.  Let’s remember that the Egyptians are descendants of Abraham’s other son Ishmael, who was born of an Egyptian mother. Ishmael, a circumcised boy, was also deemed by God to be blessed, and a forbearer of great nations like his brother Isaac.  Genesis 17.18 of the Torah finds Abraham pleading for blessings on his son Ishmael. “O that Ishmael might live by Your favor!” God replies in Genesis 17.20, “As for Ishmael, I have heeded you. I hereby bless him. I will make him fertile and exceedingly numerous. He shall be the father of twelve chieftains, and I will make of him a great nation.” If God truly did kill the Egyptians, he reneged on his promise to Abraham. Consider further then, that the scion of Ishmael – as descendants of Abraham – might be entitled to at least share in the land.

     Returning to scripture now, we see that the violence gets worse as the books of Torah move forward from Exodus.  The God of Deuteronomy has now become director of a total “dispossession” and destruction of all peoples (other than the chosen people) living in the area of Canaan. 

The question must be asked then – is it history that is inconsistent? Or is it God?  I would tend to give God the edge in such an argument. Perhaps the focus then, should be on what people believe to be the truth – and what the implication of those perceived truths has on the state of Israel. Rabbi Joseph Teluskin in his book Jewish Literacy discusses that although Jews are sometimes uncomfortable with the notion of chosenness, it is still the Jews who have spread the word of God throughout the world. He quotes Rabbi Louis Jacobs to back up this assertion. Jacobs said, “We are not discussing a dogma incapable of verification, but the recognition of sober historical fact. The world owes to Israel the idea of one God of righteousness and holiness. This is how God became known to mankind.”

     Now clearly the Rabbis, in using the term “historical fact”, see the scriptures as absolute truths. (Again, if we are to take the Torah literally, shouldn’t the descendents of Ishmael also have a right to live on the land promised to Abraham?) But the Rabbis are not alone in the belief that Judaism spread the notion of one God. Keith Ward in his book, A Case For Religion, writes, “Ethical Monotheism can be said to have its origin with the ancient Hebrews and their conviction that God has chosen a specific people, the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to enter into an especially intimate relationship – a covenant with God.” Professor Ward also stated in a lecture at Hartford Seminary (June, 2004), that he does believe God has a covenant with the Jewish people, and that they will endure as a result of that covenant. 

It must be noted however, that Professor Ward is at the same time concerned with the problems on limiting one’s focus to Israel’s covenant. In his book God: A Guide For the Perplexed, Ward says, “Human history is an arena of judgment on sin and salvation from evil, which is to be brought about through Israel. Yet, this conception is still limited. It is centered on the destiny of Israel, and it leaves God’s choice of Israel and any greater purposes for the world largely unexplored.”

     So we’ve seen what the scripture says, and the assertions that scripture gives credence to a covenantal relationship with God. But we’ve also discussed the situation regarding Ishmael, which in and of itself reflects the problems of focusing on one promise by God and ignoring another. It greatly limits the possibilities for the rest of the world to have a relationship with God.

     History has also shown that Judaism progressed (or regressed?) from focusing on the importance of their own relationship with God, to focusing on the land to which he brought them. To be fair – and accurate – the Jewish people faced enormous hardships and tragedies, – not the least of which were the destruction of the second temple, continual dispossession themselves, and brutal enslavement and oppression by powerful empires. The weight of these hardships over time led many to search for something more. They needed something tangible to hold to. They needed Israel.

  In his book The Dimensions of Job: A Study of Selected Readings, Nahum Glatzer presents many essays on the sufferings of the Jewish people, and their need to hope for a return to Israel. An essay in Glatzer’s book by Robert Gordis, explores this concept. He says, “God has eternity at His command, and nations are long-lived. This is particularly true of Israel. In Ben Sira’s words: ‘ The life of a man is but a few days, but the life of Jeshurun days without number.’”

     Margarete Susman in her essay God the Creator (Dimensions of Job…, Glatzer) further explores the plight of the Jews. She writes, “Since the destruction of the Temple and the journey into exile, they’ve recognized no country but the one on which the temple stood, and for the sake of the temple they’ve remained homeless.”  As Susman noted, the destruction of the 2^nd temple seems to have been the straw that broke the camel’s back for many Jews of that era. Of all the hardships faced by their people over the centuries, even dispossession itself does not seem to have had the psychological effect that the loss of the temple did. The Land of Milk and Honey may still have existed, but without the temple, their notion of being God’s chosen people had greatly faded.

    Historically, this may also have been the beginning of different factions of Judaism. There were those Jews as Susman had noted, that would see the loss of the temple as an end to their identity as a nation. Others, in their desire to persevere, altered their view of the temple as the centerpiece of their existence, and returned to their focus of God – or the Shekinah – as still holding them together as a people.  Karen Armstrong writes, “The loss of the Temple which had been the inspiration of the new Judaism was a great grief, but with hindsight it seems that the Jews of Palestine who were often more conservative than the Hellenized Jews of the Diaspora, had already prepared themselves for the catastrophe…God would live in a loving brotherhood, not in a stone temple.”

     As Armstrong has pointed out, even in the early centuries after the Temple had been destroyed, the notions of Judaism were starting to split. The Jews of the Diaspora started to focus on a return to the homeland to rebuild the Temple and thus rebuild their identity as a people. The Jews who actually lived in Palestine, were not going to limit their identity to the existence of a building.

     So how does all of this relate to modern Judaism? Surely the destruction of the Temple in 132 CE was not still the prominent focus for Jews of the last two centuries?  Indeed not. The Jews of the late 19^th century were seeing increasingly widespread anti-Semitism. This not only increased their desire to focus on the homeland, but also their hope of turning focus away from the historical notion of “chosenness” which fueled hatred toward the Jews.  Rabbi Teluskin wrote, “…it is not surprising that some Jews have wanted to do away with the belief in Jewish chosenness.  The most noted effect to do so was undertaken by Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, founder of the small but influential Reconstructionist movement. Kaplan advocated dropping chosenness for two reasons: to undercut accusations that the Chosen People idea was the model for racist ideologies, and because it went against modern thinking to see the Jews as a divinely chosen people.”  So the notion of Zionism had become a political reaction to the anti-Semitism of the time. Religion was beside the point. Although the Jews of the time still believed in God, their concern for the state of Israel was becoming their primary concern.

  Karen Armstrong writes about Franz Rosenzweig, and his concerns about what was happening. “Rosenzweig’s universal vision of religion made him suspicious of the new political Judaism that was emerging as a response to the new anti-Semitism. But Jews who fell victim to the escalating anti-Semitism did not feel they could afford the political disengagement. They could not sit back and wait for God to rescue them but redeem their people themselves.”  Armstrong writes about an influx of Jews from Eastern Europe in the late 19^th century who felt they needed a homeland as part of their identity. Zionists turned from the notion of God as savior, and turned toward the notion of Israel as destiny.

     It is clear then, that as time went on, the people whose ancestors originated worship of the one true God, were now becoming more secular in their thinking. Armstrong writes, “By working the land, which Zionists claimed had been neglected by the Arabs, the Jews would conquer it for themselves and at the same time, redeem themselves from the alienation of exile…the Zionist no longer needs God; he himself is the creator.”

     But what of those who still were deeply immersed in the religion of Judaism? Didn’t they see this new Zionism as a form of blasphemy?  While it’s true that the watering down of their religious beliefs troubled many, they didn’t see it as the end of Jewish practices.  Armstrong writes of Kabbalist Abraham Isaac Kook – the chief Rabbi for the Palestinian Jews – who was not at all horrified at the notion of Zionism. He saw it more as a “phase”, and one that could even help the Jews by bringing them closer to God (without their even knowing it). More and more Jews (like David Ben Gurion in the early 20^th century) made their way back to Israel.  Zionism was taking hold, but faith in God still lingered – even if it was an unspoken faith.

     That faith all but disappeared for many Jews with the horrors of the Holocaust.  Whereas the Jews of the 2^nd century had splintered into those who believed the idea of God was dependent on a Temple, versus others who saw a God existing outside the temple (the God of a “loving brotherhood”, as Armstrong noted), the Jews of the 20^th century further splintered off into those who still believed in God, and those who had nothing left to believe in but the land.  Throughout history, nothing seems to have shaken the faith of the Jewish people (and that of people everywhere) as the evils of the holocaust. How could a loving and powerful God allow the brutalization and extermination of 6 million of his “chosen” people? How could a loving God allow innocent children to be executed and not intervene?  For many Jews, God seems to have died along with the victims at Auschwitz.

     For these people in particular then, a belief in the land was still something to hold onto. God was beside the point now. For many, he no longer existed and maybe never did. The only truth lay in the soil of their homeland. The land of Israel. Israel represented the very core of their being, and their souls had become intertwined with the land – rather than with the God of scripture who brought them there.  Ironically, many of the same people in Israel who claimed a birthright to the land, did not even worship or believe in the God that gave them that birthright. Keith Ward in his 2004 lecture at Hartford Seminary said this is true of many if not most Israelis today (who reportedly tend to lean toward atheism).

     So we’ve seen the history of the Hebrew covenant. We’ve explored the changing face of Judaism from those who clung to the God of the Temple and those who clung to the land of the Temple. And we’ve seen the evolution of a people who clung to a nation to stay close to their God, to a people who (although certainly not all) now cling only to the nation, and can’t reconcile the notion of God based on modern day horrors.  Where does that leave the state of Israel today, and the legitimacy of the Jews’ claim of a Divinely deeded homeland?

     Even if we accept the argument that a loving God promised land to the Jews, was it truly meant to be an exclusive promise?  Did God intend this extreme exclusivity to reach a point where “the land of milk and honey” would become a land of war and death?  As the late 20^th and early 21^st centuries have demonstrated, an enormous amount of blood has been spilled by Jews and Arabs alike – in a fight not only about the land (particularly the holy city of Jerusalem), but also the rights of the Palestinian people to have a homeland of their own.

    The Jews exiled thousands of Palestinian settlers in 1948, resulting in decades of poverty and horrific living conditions for these exiles. The desperation of the Palestinian people has created extremist terrorist factions, whose only goal is to eradicate as many Israelis as they can – this because they know that the likelihood of a Palestinian state is dim.  In light of that prospect, the bloodshed is often less about the rights of the Palestinians, and more about the bloodshed itself.

      But, for the Jews who remain in modern day Israel, are these extreme measures truly based on a God-given birthright, or pure Zionism – and at what cost? Keith Ward makes the following observation in A Case For Religion. “The vast majority of Jews see the foundation of Israel as a secular state in 1948, as the restoration of the homeland they lost under Roman occupation in 132 CE. (But), the settlement of Israel at the cost of the dispossession of thousands of Palestinians is one of the most intractable political problems of the modern world. It is too simple to say that the problem is a religious cause.  The main cause is the Shoah and the promise of a homeland by the British.  The strong desire for a homeland is naturally closely bound up with religious sentiments where they exist, but those vary from extreme territorial expansionism to a desire for simple coexistence with Palestinians.”

     As I mentioned in the beginning, there has been a strong belief by Jews throughout the ages that Israel was given to them by God.  Clearly they have a case for claiming Israel – based not only on holy scripture, but on their endurance as a people through unspeakable horror and suffering. The heart and soul of the Israeli people is now intertwined with their homeland, and they will continue to fight (literally) to keep that land.  It is no coincidence that during the high holy days, Jews raise their glasses and say “next year in Jerusalem.”  Their hopes – their very futures – are tied to belief in everlasting peace and prosperity in Jerusalem.

     At the same time, we must also take into consideration the promise of God concerning Ishmael, the notion by biblical scholars (per Karen Armstrong) that certain books of the Torah could be mythical in nature, and most importantly the enormous day to day suffering of the Palestinian people.

In the final analysis, I believe that Israel must look at scripture in total, look at the history of the land (including the destruction and dispossession of other peoples going back to the time of the Canaanites), and God-willing, open their hearts and minds to the notion of sharing the land with the Palestinians. Not just for the reasons I mentioned above, but because the Jews in particular understand the notion of suffering. Ironically, it is the Jews who could probably – above all other peoples – empathize with the plight of the Palestinians.

     A Time Magazine article several years before his death, quoted Palestinian Chairman Yasser Arafat as having said, “I’m not going to surrender.”  The article also discussed “years of violence (between Jews and Palestinians) with no signs of ending.”  The Jews will fight to hold on to Israel, and the Palestinians will fight to return. If the bloodshed continues between these two peoples, “Next year in Jerusalem” may be the ominous prediction of the end of a nation, rather than the hopeful beginning of everlasting peace.