In Search of Belonging
by Lawrence A. Englander
Deck: Reform Judaism’s four historical stages pivot on a common theme: how we
have confronted two opposing tendencies in our quest to feel accepted within the
general culture.
The first Reform temple opened its doors 200 years ago in the town of Seesen, Germany.
At the inaugural ceremony on July 17, 1810, a parade of rabbis, Christian ministers, and
political dignitaries passed under a chiming bell-tower and entered the sanctuary, while
an adult choir, accompanied by a pipe organ, sang hymns in German and Hebrew. The
businessman and philanthropist who had founded this temple, Mr. Israel Jacobson
(1768–1828), delivered the sermon while draped in a black clerical robe. Standing
behind a pulpit at the front of the sanctuary, the man who had also established an
egalitarian, religiously pluralistic boarding school for 40 Jewish and 20 Christian
children told the august assembly: “On all sides enlightenment opens up new areas for
religious development. Why should we Jews be left behind?”
Jacobson’s call struck a responsive chord. In the decades that followed, Reform Judaism
spread through Europe and then across the ocean to North America.
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Reform Judaism has now reached its 200th anniversary. Looking back, I believe it is
possible to identify three stages through which our Movement has evolved and to see
the beginnings of a fourth. These stages pivot on a common theme: how our
predecessors confronted two opposing tendencies in their search to feel a sense of
belonging within the general culture. The universalist tendency stressed the common
values and behaviors they shared with their non-Jewish neighbors. The particularist
tendency stressed the more introspective features of Jewish identity that made them
unique among the peoples of the world. The interplay between these two factors
underlies each stage of our Movement’s evolution.
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Stage One: The Emancipation to the Creation of the Jewish State
Even before the Seesen synagogue came to be, setting Reform Judaism in motion, Jews
had entered modernity. Decades earlier, Napoleon had thrown open the doors of
medieval ghettos. As the Jews freely mingled with their fellow Europeans, they were
exposed to the cosmopolitan bustle of cities, the sophistication of theaters and opera
houses, the rational inquiry of universities.
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Eager to participate and demonstrate to their neighbors what loyal and productive
citizens they could be, modern Jews had to jettison kashrut and other traditional laws
and practices which prohibited them from eating at the homes of their gentile friends or
attending social gatherings at cafés. They were embarrassed, too, should neighbors
accustomed to the decorum of the Protestant or Catholic church visit the synagogue and
witness an embarrassing spectacle: men wrapped in strange prayer shawls noisily
davening a repetitive liturgy while children tore up and down the aisles.
Determined to bring Jewish life into the modern age, the early German-Jewish
reformers of the mid-19th century emphasized the universalist ethical teachings of
biblical prophets. They no longer viewed ritual observance as ordained by God and
inviolate, but as a means to reinforce the prophetic ideals of justice, freedom, and peace.
In synagogue worship, they began to pray in unison and introduced a professional
choir and organ to render their hymns. The rabbi led services covered in ministerial
robes as bareheaded worshipers listened in solemn silence. Later in the century, when
Reform Judaism spread to North America, the main Shabbat service shifted to Friday
night, allowing Jews to pursue their occupations on Saturdays, in concert with many of
their gentile compatriots.
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Thus, in this first stage of Reform Judaism’s development—a period of adaptation to the
wider gentile community—Reform Jews abandoned the codes of diet, dress, and ritual
practices which set them apart from their fellow citizens.
These changes in Jewish practice were accompanied by a new theology, which also led
to amendments to Reform prayer books. Traditionally, Jews had prayed for the coming
of the Messiah, who would usher in a universal age of peace, resurrect the dead, and
lead all Jews back to the restored Kingdom of Israel, where the Temple would be rebuilt
and sacrifices once again offered upon its altars. The early reformers changed the focus
of this national restoration to what they called the “Mission of Israel”: the Jews’ historic
task to bring social justice to the world from within the lands where they lived. Now
that the Jews of Europe or America had finally become prosperous, they had little
desire to leave their “new homeland” for an uncivilized, swamp-ridden land halfway
around the globe. They taught instead that “the Messianic Age,” rather than the
Messiah, would come to all enlightened nations—and, better still, it was just around the
corner.
Reform Jews were now able to express their particularism on their own terms and to
connect with growing numbers of like-minded compatriots. The resulting adaptations
to modern culture, however, entailed sacrificing a Jewish identity that had defined the
Jewish people for generations. When freed from the yoke of halachah (religious law),
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Judaism was recast from an all-encompassing way of life to simply a religion. Just as
Christians worshipped in a church, Jews worshiped in a synagogue, but in all other
respects Jews were just as European or American as their non-Jewish neighbors next
door.
This optimistic, universalist attitude was severely shaken by the Holocaust. In the 1930s
and ‘40s Jews came to the grim realization that, despite their having blended into the
general culture, they were still regarded as other. As a result, the Reform pendulum
swung away from universalism toward particularism. Reform Jews began to reconsider
their opposition to Zionism, the movement calling for the creation of a Jewish state.
Reform support for Zionism—which the Central Conference of American Rabbis had
endorsed in the Columbus Platform of 1937 by only a single vote—continued to gain
momentum in the post-Holocaust years.
When the State of Israel was born in 1948, Reform Jews around the world celebrated its
creation and rejoiced in its achievements. Still, for the first two decades of Israel’s
existence, the Jewish State was a world away from the daily life of Reform Jews in
Manhattan or Montreal. It would take an extraordinary event to bring Israel closer to
home.
The Second Stage: The Six-Day War to Saving Soviet Jewry
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In the 1960s, ethnic pride was on the rise throughout North America. AfricanAmericans were asserting a proud identity with the slogan “Black is beautiful.” In
Canada, French-Canadian nationalism gained momentum as the Québecois sought to
become “maîtres chez nous” (“masters in our own house,” promoting French language
and culture). Then, suddenly, Israel’s lightning victory in the Six-Day War of June 1967
sparked a similar pride among Jews. The muscular, confident sabra erased the lingering
stereotype of the spineless ghetto Jew. Hebrew school students learned Israeli pop
songs along with the traditional z’mirot (songs). People who had never affiliated with
the Jewish community suddenly joined synagogues and Jewish community centers.
Jewish students flocked to newly-established Jewish studies courses on university
campuses. Jewish summer camps flourished. Young adults began sporting colorful knit
kipot on their heads and/or chai pendants around their necks. Jewish charitable
organizations received record contributions. In short, Reform’s second stage was
characterized by a rebirth of particularism manifested in a pride in Jewish peoplehood.
Belonging to the Jewish people enhanced one’s personal ethnic identity.
At the same time, Jews participated actively in universal causes of social action. North
American Jewish youth joined the Civil Rights Movement at home and protested
against the war in Indo-China. Many of the same activists, aroused by the mitzvah to
redeem captives, organized campaigns to free their fellow Jews in the Soviet Union, and
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later in Ethiopia. Jews were now comfortable enough in their own skin to take the
universal ideal of freedom and advocate it for their own people.
In the religious sphere, Jewish ethnicity sparked a trend “back to tradition.” The Jewish
Catalog, which taught its readers how to tie their own tzitzit and write a scroll for a
homemade mezuzah, became a bestseller. Both children and adults were receiving a
higher quality Jewish education because of the increasing professionalism of the field.
As congregants became more ritually sophisticated, many Reform synagogues included
more Hebrew in services.
It felt good to be Jewish—and to share one’s Jewish pride with others.
The Third Stage: Innovation and Interfaith
By the 1980s, Jews were interacting confidently as equals with their non-Jewish friends,
while at the same time spending more time and energy in Jewish pursuits. In this and
other ways, Reform’s third stage manifested a complementary interplay between both
universalism and particularism, like two weights swaying on a scale and eventually
finding equilibrium.
On the universalist side of the scale, Reform congregations sought to share common
principles with their neighbors by becoming increasingly active in interfaith dialogue.
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Jewish and Christian clergy exchanged pulpits and congregants arranged visits to each
other’s houses of worship. People of many faiths worked side by side in soup kitchens
and food banks, and supported aid projects overseas. The feminist revolution brought
more women onto the bimah as rabbis and cantors, and as lay leaders around the temple
board table.
On the particularist side, Reform Jews brought fresh creativity to ritual. Recognizing the
growing diversity of their membership, they widened the circle of belonging by
introducing new lifecycle events, including brit (covenantal naming) ceremonies for
newborn girls, rituals for adopting children and Mi Shebeirach blessings for healing. As
new definitions of family developed, Reform synagogues opened their doors—and their
arms—to single parents as well as gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered Jews. To
accommodate those who were not born Jewish or had not been educated in Jewish
tradition, experimental prayerbooks in the 1980s added transliteration to the Hebrew
liturgy.
To address the increasing number of Reform Jews who married outside the faith, in the
late 1970s the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (now Union for Reform
Judaism) launched an ambitious and successful Outreach program. Interfaith families
were welcomed to join Reform congregations and non-Jewish spouses were encouraged
to consider attending courses on conversion. In cases where the female partner decided
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not to choose Judaism, the 1983 CCAR resolution on Patrilineal Descent acknowledged
Jewish identity through the father if the child was Judaically educated and identified as
a Jew.
Musically, cantorial solos were gradually replaced with songs everyone could sing,
many of the new compositions infused with a distinctly North American motif. Debbie
Friedman’s “Not By Might” became an anthem for youth, and songs by the Kol B’Seder
duo Cantor Jeff Klepper and Rabbi Daniel Freelander such as “Shalom Rav” spread to
synagogues and camps throughout the continent. This new music strengthened the
sense of belonging to the Reform Movement: whether you worshiped at your own
temple or far away from home, you could sing the same melodies.
As services became more accessible, congregants began to explore inner, spiritual
quests. More time was devoted to silent prayer. New services incorporated Eastern
meditation techniques; others focused upon text study as a form of prayer. In this third
stage, Judaism not only clothed Reform Jews with a distinct ethnic identity; it also
became more personally meaningful for many.
By the 1990s, the Reform Movement was becoming increasingly aware that the trend
toward individualism posed a threat to the institution of the synagogue. Many young
Jews seemed to be saying: “My religion teaches values that are essentially no different
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than those held by the majority of my fellow citizens; and if the most important of those
values is to live an ethical life, then why do I need the rest of the baggage? Why be
different? Wouldn’t it be easier just to assimilate? After all, this would give me a much
wider choice for a future marriage partner. Besides, now that Judaism can be an
individual choice as well as a communal one, I can still express my ethnic Jewish
identity without it becoming a barrier in my relationship with others. By choosing
Judaism for myself—and choosing which aspects of it I wish to practice—while at the
same time allowing my partner to make his or her own choices, I can have it all!”
The Fourth Stage
Reform Jews are in a paradoxical state today. On the one hand, most of the barriers that
kept us from “fitting in” and “being like everyone else” have come down; on the other
hand, our ancestral roots still nourish us and we want to preserve our differences. As a
result, our sense of belonging is becoming simultaneously wider and narrower.
Our expression of universalism now embraces the entire world, for global culture has
become increasingly homogenized: people from Toronto to Tokyo drink Coca Cola,
listen to the same musicians, wear identical brand-name clothes, and engage in instant
technology-driven communication.
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At the same time, our understanding of particularism has shrunk from peoplehood to
self. Two hundred years ago, one’s personal identity was essentially defined through
one or two primary groups to which one belonged—usually country and religion.
Today, identity is more fractionalized and complex, determined by such factors as the
country I live in, the language I speak, my gender, my profession, my socioeconomic
status—and my religion. Each of these components make up our identity like pieces of a
pie.
For many, identifying the Jewish piece of that pie or its importance among the other
identity components has become increasingly difficult. What is the binding agent that
connects us to the Jewish people? Our personal theological beliefs are far more
divergent now than in stage one, and therefore connect us less strongly with Reform (or
any branch of) Judaism. Our ethnic ties still draw us together, but nowadays ethnicity
lacks the impetus it did in the second stage—perhaps, in part, because today’s
synagogues have many more members who were not born into Judaism and cannot
share the commonalities of cultural heritage. Loyalty to the Reform Movement may be
waning among younger generations of Jews, who tend to dislike labels and prefer more
fluid lifestyles. They seek out the Jewish community to fulfill current needs, such as a
lifecycle ceremony or the education of their children, rather than regarding synagogue
membership as a lifetime commitment.
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Even the State of Israel no longer confers the sense of belonging it once did. We no
longer respond instinctively to the “crisis mentality”—that either Israel is in danger and
we must save her, or that Diaspora Jewry is vulnerable and only Israel can save us.
Instead, our relationship with Israel has become more nuanced, as we have come to
understand that the Israeli government—just like our own—sometimes makes unwise
decisions, and that we Diaspora Jews, who hold a variety of perspectives about such
policies, are free, even duty-bound, to express them.
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How Reform Jews confront the paradoxical nature of universalism and particularism in
the fourth stage will determine the character of Reform Judaism in the next generation
and beyond.
To infuse Jews with a sense of belonging in this fourth stage, our Movement will need
to develop a more flexible type of community. Even as we draw sustenance from
members who make a lifelong commitment, it is incumbent upon us to also provide
something of value for those just passing through. Nor can we wait for everyone to
come to us; we also have to meet Jews wherever they happen to gather—restaurants,
living rooms, internet chat rooms. We also have to make better creative use of electronic
media for communication and online study.
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At the same time, if Reform Judaism is to survive in this fourth stage, we will have to go
somewhat against the stream in a society in which the only constant is change by
creating a community that stands for something timeless. As in the previous stages, our
message is twofold. The universalist Mission of Israel teaches us that our lives have
meaning beyond the immediate present, beyond the aims and ambitions that we assign
to ourselves. It reminds us that we must settle for nothing less than tikkun olam—repair
of the world—in our continuous quest to bring justice, peace, freedom, and
enlightenment to the world. The particularist side of the coin is that the Jewish people
has a unique contribution to make in this effort. Our uniqueness derives from a blend of
ethical, spiritual, educational, and cultural elements—a blend that is different for each
individual, but can be shared with fellow Jews in community.
Adapting to new conditions while maintaining ancient traditions is part and parcel of
the Jewish historical experience. In the Mishnah, at the end of Tractate Berakhot, the
rabbis quote Psalm 119:126: “It is time to act for Adonai; they have nullified Your
Torah.” While most of the rabbis interpret this to mean that Jewish tradition must be
preserved despite trends toward apostasy or assimilation, Rabbi Natan offers a different
interpretation. He reverses the two parts of the verse: “Nullify Your Torah” because “it is
time to act for Adonai.”
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In Rabbi Natan’s view, one way to preserve tradition is to transform it. This is precisely
what Reform Judaism, at its best, has been doing at every stage for the past 200 years.
Lawrence A. Englander is rabbi of Solel Congregation, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada and
former editor of the CCAR Journal.
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