The Mixed Message of Ritual Consumption
SHMA.COM
JENNA WEISSMAN JOSELIT
uch like oil and water, religiosity and
materialism simply don’t mix, or so
we’re inclined to believe. It’s almost
as if they inhabit two entirely different universes, one given over to the cultivation of our
better, more spiritual, selves and the other
given over to the satisfaction of more earthy
and baser needs. Incongruous on its face, the
relationship between religiosity and materialism would seem to be an adversarial one, especially when it comes to Judaism.
But look again. Virtually everywhere you
turn in modern-day America, materialism — or,
more precisely still, the spirit of consumerism
— has managed to insinuate itself into the
nooks and crannies of Jewish life, transcending
denomination. Our synagogues, to take one example, are handsomely appointed, even grand,
structures. Kosher homes routinely feature multiple sinks, dishwashers, and granite-clad “islands” to accommodate the separate lives of
meat and milk products, prompting many keeneyed observers to wonder whether this phenomenon has to do with heightened religious
observance or the very latest in kitchen appliances. Orthodox women, meanwhile, fulfill the
religious obligation of covering their heads by
wearing natural-looking wigs whose hefty price
tag takes one’s breath away. And that’s just the
M
Jenna Weissman Joselit, the
Charles E. Smith Professor of
Judaic Studies and Professor
of History at George
Washington University, also
directs the university’s master’s
program in Jewish cultural arts,
which will be launched in fall
2012. She blogs at
www.fromunderthefigtree.com.
Guide
Discussion
Bringing together a myriad of voices and experiences provides Sh’ma
readers with an opportunity in a few very full pages to explore a topic
of Jewish interest from a variety of perspectives. To facilitate a fuller
discussion of these ideas, we offer the following questions:
1. What are our moral obligations as consumers? For example, in
a more globalized economy, how do we take into account the
conditions of manufacturing what we buy? Are we, as individuals,
what we own?
2. What is the changing relationship between production and
consumption? Is the Jewish community — by way of independent
minyanim and a host of other indie nonprofits — experiencing a
blurring between those who “produce” Jewish experiences,
learning, etc. and those who “consume” them?
3. What is the impact of the growing costs of “doing” or “consuming”
Jewish — from synagogue membership to day school tuition? Are
Jewish ritual practices being transformed by a consumer spirit?
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half of it. At Passover, resort hotels in Florida
and Mexico draw capacity crowds, while just
about everywhere, the lavish bar/bat mitzvah
has become the norm rather the exception.
Today’s rabbis might thunder from the
pulpit about the perils of excess and the pitfalls of a consumerist mentality, while their
congregants might cluck their tongues (or
hold them) in seeming agreement, but the ties
that bind the religious enterprise to the material world and vice versa actually go back
quite a way. In late 19th-century America,
women who attended synagogue were frequently chided for paying more attention to
their hats than to their prayers; their children,
in turn, were just as often taken to task for
transforming the sacred rite of confirmation
into an exercise in “loot-gathering.”
How to explain? A number of possibilities
come to mind. For one thing, in its sustained
attentiveness to daily life and its embrace of
this-worldly concerns such as appearance, comportment, and cuisine, Judaism lends itself to
these kinds of accommodations. Austerity and
renunciation, though by no means alien to
Judaism, do not constitute its dominant registers. On the contrary, Judaism makes a point of
sanctifying the here-and-now. When that sensibility is coupled with America’s equally deepseated valuation of possessions, the results,
inevitably, bear an all too close resemblance to
conspicuous consumption.
The entangled relationship between Judaism
and consumerism is also a consequence of affluence, the fruit of the upward mobility and economic success that a large proportion of
American Jews has attained over the past century. When seen from this perspective, the celebration of things might also be understood as an
affirmation of America’s promise.
Without knowing it, many American Jews
take their cue from Max Weber’s classic account of the relationship between capitalism
and Protestantism. In The Protestant Ethic and
the Spirit of Capitalism, the German sociologist likened material wellbeing to a state of
grace. Within Protestant circles, he argued,
prosperity was a sign of approval from on
high. The same might be said of American
Jews. Maybe, consumerism is one of the ways
we count our blessings.