Being Jewish is not a competition, and yet so many Jews behave as if it is. In addition to our most prevalent attitudes about death, this competitiveness is the least appealing aspect of Judaism. In fact, it's ugly and vicious.
Once, at a seder, someone began sharing an insight about the giving of Torah. Someone else interrupted and dismissed him by proclaiming that Shavuot, not Pesach, is about the giving of Torah and so Pesach was not the time to discuss the giving of Torah. While the second person was right about the focus of the holidays, redemption and covenant go hand in hand. A potentially good teaching was silenced because of another man's angst and need to draw attention to himself and his supposedly greater knowledge.
Perhaps childish one-upmanship occurs in every religious group, but knowledge is highly valued among Jews, so trying to appear more knowledgeable is always a temptation. Part of our ability to survive among other nations has been our dedication to remaining "separate" and "distinct." So we focus on who is Jewish, who is more Jewish, who is most Jewish, and then naturally, on who we should exclude.
It results in unnecessary divisiveness. Take two different lessons of Chanukah:
- let's not dismiss the assimilated Jews, after all we couldn't have defeated the Greeks without them
- let's not glorify zealots, after all they became the immoral rulers whose thirst for power handed the Land over to Rome and ultimately caused our exile
For some, the first one seems so obvious that only a fool would need to say it. For others, the second would be deeply offensive.
But neither is truly the lesson of Chanukah! We belong to our people and our Land.
To many Orthodox Jews, it is axiomatic that only a person born to a Jewish mother is a Jew. But when you see an adult
gleefully telling a young child that he's not Jewish, you have to wonder if that adult has a heart. What benefit does he (or the Jewish people) accrue for making that child cry? Are adults who do that trying to squash their own insecurity?
The angst about "who is a Jew" annuls people's good sense. I knew an observant Jew who worried that she might not be Jewish enough to find a husband because her father was an Orthodox convert—even though her mother had undeniably been a Jew and both parents had raised her as a Jew. Why such insecurity?
Last month, a stranger commented on a photo I posted to Facebook of my chanukiah. "Isn't that lit backwards?" I explained that it had been lit "forwards" and then turned in the window to observe the mitzvah of publicizing the miracle. Many other Jews would have gone on to abuse him for not knowing the laws of Chanukah. It was enough for me to indicate that I wasn't going to be demeaned by him—but why did I need to respond at all?
Because we are a people and each of us wants to belong to our people.
Sometimes it's an Orthodox Jew and sometimes it's a secular Jew, but eventually you'll hear someone go on a tirade about Reform Judaism being inauthentic. Even a man I considered a mensch, and who should have known better, once told me that it was hard to keep himself from giggling when he heard Reform prayers. Reform is a 700 year old tradition of European Jews trying to find a balance between being free citizens of the societies in which they live and retaining their ancestral traditions. Reform Judaism may, in the long course of Jewish history be as ephemeral as the Hellenistic Judaism practiced by Philo of Alexandria, but it
is Jewish and its members are
Jews.
Meanwhile, every group of Orthodox Jews in Jerusalem believes it is better than all the others.
We are one people. The first time I stood in Ben Gurion, watching the line of "holders of Israeli" passports, my eyes teared up, seeing faces from every part of the world. Despite centuries of separation, we are, ideally, one people.
None of us can be a Jew alone. While each of us prefers our own small group of Jews, it took all of us to defeat the Greeks, all of us to create the modern state of Israel.
Today, I unintentionally triggered someone's Jewish insecurity. When he responded angrily, I was triggered, too, but avoided trying to one-up him with by pointing out that Jews did, in the past, convert people forcibly (see Idumeans and King Herod) because it was beside the point. His frustration was still so great that he posted, "You are obviously not a Jew."
I cried.
I am certain he knew that his statement would hurt me. And I am certain that it made him feel good about himself.
We are one people. And often, we are really nasty to each other.
Sir, may you have a year of blessings. You are my fellow Jew.
