Kol Nidrei: To Be Or Not To Be… A Jew?
(This sermon has been modified from its original version — it has been optimized for written form.)
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them.
Hamlet’s immortal question remains one worthy of consideration and one that we could apply not only to life, but to Judaism. In his recently published book “The Triumph of Life” Rabbi Yitz Greenberg begins his introduction by saying,
“All Jews alive today are essentially Jews-by-choice. Very few Jews live in lands of oppression or where social pressure forces them to stay in their communities. On the contrary, diaspora Jews are typically successful and prosperous; their lifestyles vary little from many of those around them, who in turn see them as part of the general culture and society. Any person who opts to be identified as a Jew, regardless of the level of commitment to Jewish life, is choosing to be a Jew.”
For some of us, like myself, being Jewish was a choice from the start. But in our world, being Jewish has become a choice for all of us. Even if we were born into Judaism, staying Jewish and living a Jewish life are not forced upon us. You could, although I hope you won’t, leave at any time.
So why stay or why choose — to be or not to be a Jew? Is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of antisemitism, that one might dwell in the presence of the Most High? What is it about being a part of the Chosen People that makes us want to choose?
Our people have debated the benefits of being chosen for as long as we have had the distinguishing epithet of “chosen.” We might in our age have difficulty with the term, perhaps seeing it as religiously or morally arrogant to say that we alone are chosen by the Divine to be… something different. However, this “election” is given in the Torah. Deuteronomy 7:6 states,
“For you are a holy people, consecrated to Ado-nai your G-d, and you are chosen by Ado-nai your G-d to be His treasured people out of all the peoples upon the earth.”
Faced with this statement, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the responsibility and apparent Divine favoritism that this verse imparts to us. Of course, how we approach revelation theologically will affect how we read this verse from the Torah. If we believe that Moshe was a stenographer who copied exactly the words of the Torah in perfect fashion and they are unchanged these past three millennia, then the verse speaks for itself — HaShem has chosen us and that’s that.
If we take a more nuanced and complex stance of revelation, and see Torah as a work in process, developing continually in partnership between HaShem and Israel, a Divine-human chevruta who grow together in mutual self-revelation, then we have to take a harder and more complicated approach to our chosen status as well.
In the Conservative Movement, this issue has been discussed for many years. In the 1988 official statement of principles, Emet ve-Emunah, the movement’s position sheds light on how we might approach our chosenness today,
“Even those who do not accept the belief in “the Chosen People” literally can appreciate its assertion that the Jews, unlike other nations, emerged on the stage of history to be a people dedicated to the service of God. The “election of Israel,” then, is the consciousness of that calling, while loyalty to the covenant suggests that its fulfillment is vital not only for Israel’s continued existence, but for the well-being of all humankind.”
We might look at “the election of Israel” as more of a self-nomination. We, Israel, recognize that there is a calling for humanity to dedicate itself to the service of HaShem rather than the idolatry that comes with self-interest, oppression, greed, and exploitation of people and resources. Perhaps the ancient people of Israel saw that, to paraphrase a Mishnah, “there was no one around to step up” so they stepped up. In doing so, they accepted the covenant and we have remained loyal, for the most part, ever since.
Now, we are not so much chosen by HaShem as we are choosing to be in covenant with HaShem. In the early days of the people Israel, there was a personal experience of the Divine, which we relate to in the story of Avraham — a man who had a close personal experience of HaShem and, in a familiar sense, falls in love with HaShem. Rabbi Greenberg sums up beautifully the transition from Avraham’s personal connection to Israel’s covenant, saying,
“The moment of covenanting is like the moment when two lovers decide they want to have children and raise a family. This calls for the more sold basis of marriage: a covenant that reinforces relationship and love… Commitment is a statement of dependability: you can count on me and on this relationship, no matter what. And this is what a covenant is: a partnership composed of, and sustained by, committed love.”
In the Torah, this moment is represented by the Sinai experience. The accepting of the covenant becomes the commitment that transcends the emotional and fluctuating nature of initial passion to become a true partnership. Any partnership has conditions that make it possible and beneficial for both parties to participate. Rabbi Greenberg explains,
“Giving the Torah to the people, the Infinite Unknowable Elo-him asked the Israelites to enter into a caring covenantal relationship with a loving God, and to express this by being kind to each other, looking out for and helping the needy, dealing justly in business relationships, paying assessments in torts, accepting restraints in dealing with people in servitude. These are not easy requests, but they are doable. ”
In HaShem’s offer and Israel’s acceptance, the covenant is almost established, it is only missing one thing — community.
When we speak about covenant, chosenness, or Jewish ritual, religious life, or spirituality, we always speak of the people of Israel, a plural grouping—a community. Judaism does not seek to create hermits or isolated spiritually practitioners, rather, the core of Jewish practice is done in community. But, Rabbi Greenberg warns,
“Being together in one place does not make a community. A community comprises of a group of people who have come together *for a purpose* and are *united in common cause.*”
We are here tonight, to engage in ritual, to seek Hashem and to present ourselves to the Creator in partial fulfillment of the covenant terms we have accepted. We choose to be here, and in doing so have been elected as Chosen.
Part of this election and being in community is sharing in ritual and in the common language of being Jewish that we share and create together. Being together without purpose makes us just a bunch people sitting in a room; having a common goal and common way of expressing that purpose is what gives meaning to the project.
Dr. Rabbi Neil Gillman explained this as the
“…tight nexus between ritual and community. Ritual is a language… Language creates community. It unites those who share the language but it also excludes those who do not. By definition, communities also include and exclude; some people are in and others are out. Languages and communities are inherently separatist.”
We feel the tension of “in-group/out-group” all the time. Even within our community, the more “Jewish” we try to make it feel—by doing things in Hebrew, by expecting people to know when to stand or sit, or respond, etc. etc.—we increase the feeling of belonging for those who know, and decrease it for those who do not. Counter-intuitively, the more willing a person is to feel out of the group and participate anyway, the faster they acclimate and become “in-group.”
A person who says, “I don’t come to shul because I don’t know what is going on and I don’t like feeling that way” will never be comfortable in shul. On the contrary, a person who chooses to embrace discomfort will quickly become very comfortable as they learn the ritual language and behavior and become fluent “speakers.”
Society at large sends constant messages about how we are supposed to act, what we are supposed to be, to do, to look like… Do we listen to the world of others, or to the community of Israel, the wisdom of our ancestors and the Divine spark infused in it?
Do we chose the covenant of Hashem and try to make the world a better place? What is there to lose if we do, and what if we don’t? To choose a Jewish life is to commit to a life of Jewish authenticity and that takes vulnerability, it takes being uncomfortable sometimes, as Brené Brown teaches,
“Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we actually are. Choosing authenticity means cultivating the courage to be imperfect, to set boundaries, and to be vulnerable.”
HaShem through our tradition is not calling us to be perfect Jews, but to be authentic. To commit to trying, failing, and trying again and thereby making a partnership that is built on love and mutual growth. HaShem needs us to assist in the project of creation, of tikkun olam — making the world meet its potential. Within the bounds of the covenant, we have the opportunity to rise to great heights of morality, of recognizing human dignity, of liberation in all aspects and demographics of society. We express our dedication to these lofty ideals and to HaShem by being vulnerable and authentic in our Judaism, which means also being part of the community and doing mitzvot.
How do we learn to “speak” Judaism? The halachic system acts as a dictionary to the language of Jewish ritual and helps us communicate our commitment to each other and to HaShem. Recall in my analogy on Rosh haShanah of God as chicken keeper, that like a hen laying a egg, a mitzvah cannot be forced, nor would it be meaningful for HaShem to receive a mitzvah that was forced.
I can’t, and wouldn’t if I could, force you to wake up tomorrow and chose to live an authentic Jewish life. In fact, at some level I don’t need to — you are here, and that in and of itself is proof that you are choosing to engage in Judaism. Perhaps you are inspired though, to commit to the covenant in a more meaningful and engaged way, but are afraid of what you believe that means, or afraid of the unknown.
Choosing authenticity is scary and if you try to start doing more mitzvot, you will inevitably do some incorrectly — you will make mistakes. You’ll read the Torah incorrectly, you’ll mix meat and dairy, you’ll forget to say a bracha, you’ll mispronounce a Hebrew word or greeting. You’ll try to be morally correct or ethically sound and you’ll be wrong sometimes. You’ll try to be kind and come off as cruel, You will try to comfort and you will hurt. That is ok. That might even be the point. Rabbi Greenberg reminds us:
“The essence of the covenantal approach is to do the best possible, since in many cases the ideal behavior is not doable right now.”
We are not called to perfection — we are called to partnership. I hope that this year you will choose Judaism as a priority and accept the covenant that HaShem offered to our ancestors as a meaningful relationship fulfilled through action. I hope that you will be part of the human endeavor of discovering and sharing sparks of Divinity in the world through Tefillah, Teshuva, and Tzadakah and through being an active part of our TBA community.
