Chapter 16

Jewish Buddhists and Other Challenges of the New Age

In This Chapter

America and the threat of assimilation

Why so many Jews are Buddhist meditators

The new Jewish spirituality

Conflicts between Jew and Jew

The last 60 years have brought an overwhelming and often-confusing array of opportunities for Jews and Judaism. What some people considered blissful liberation, others considered an avalanche of options. The ways in which Jews reacted to these choices have forever changed the face of Judaism, resulting in deep challenges for the future.

In the Shadow of the Holocaust

The Holocaust (or Shoah, as many Jews prefer to call it; see Chapter 15) destroyed at least a third of the world’s Jews. This blow not only affected the future of Judaism but also had a deep emotional impact on every surviving Jew, whether or not she or he was directly touched by the destruction. For at least a full generation following World War II, the Holocaust formed one of the firmest foundations of Jewish identity.

The birth of Israel in 1948 also had a profound effect on Jews everywhere. Suddenly, after so many countries had turned them away, there was a haven, a refuge in which Jews would always be welcomed. To this day, Jews on their first visit to Israel remark with astonishment at seeing Jewish soldiers, Jewish bus drivers, Jewish tour guides, and so on. Just knowing Israel existed gave the Jews a sense of strength and reassurance, and Jews around the world (especially in America) made it a point of pride to send money to plant trees, drain swamps, and generally support the developing nation.

The Mixed Blessing of America

Jews had settled in the Americas even before there was a United States, and they fought in the Revolutionary War and on both sides of the Civil War. The United States of America — which tends to value the abilities of individuals over race or belief — has offered an astonishing amount of freedom for Jews at times when they were restricted in most places on the planet. Nonetheless, some anti-Jewish attitudes existed in America. For many years, some universities limited the number of Jews who could enroll, and even today some private social clubs won’t accept Jews. But on the whole, America has been a wonderful place to live if you’re Jewish.

At the same time, it has also been fertile ground for those who want to assimilate, convert, or ignore their Jewish heritage. The result is a country that offers unparalleled opportunities to celebrate and honor being Jewish while also offering possibilities for losing Jewish identity.

You will be assimilated

Of course, America has long been home to a small group of religious Jews, but on the whole, American Judaism has never been particularly traditional or observant. The largest branch of Judaism in America, the Reform Movement, focused for many years on social justice and social action rather than ritual observance. For example, when Ted was at the Reform rabbinical school, he learned how to apply traditional texts to current social conditions, but wearing a kippah was frowned upon.

From the 1930s through the early 1960s, American culture as a whole encouraged assimilation rather than ethnic diversity, and many Jews whose names hadn’t been changed when they (or their ancestors) immigrated changed them then.

Ted’s father’s family was furious when he changed “Falcovich” to “Falcon,” though within the next ten years, every cousin had switched to “Falk,” “Falkner,” or “Falcon.” In the entertainment business — the zenith of American culture — Bernie Schwartz, Issur Danielovich Demsky, and Robert Zimmerman became Tony Curtis, Kirk Douglas, and Bob Dylan (respectively).

Jews became Americans first and foremost, often discarding their Jewish heritage, or at least tabling it while they climbed the ladders of success. After all, Jewish composer Irving Berlin not only wrote “White Christmas” but also “God Bless America.”

By the 1950s, the senselessness of the Holocaust had caused many people to declare that “God is dead,” further removing them from any religious conviction. And the secular bent of the new state of Israel sent a clear message to Jews in America: We’re a people, not necessarily a religion.

Through the 1950s and 1960s, many American Jews’ connection to Judaism revealed itself primarily in synagogue membership (paying dues even if they didn’t attend most of the year) and support of Israel (again, most often with their checkbooks). But the turbulent 1960s announced a change that rippled throughout America, a change that resonated deeply for many Jews.

The choosing people

In America, Judaism increasingly became a matter of choice rather than a matter of necessity; Jews became a “choosing” people rather than simply a chosen people, and many experts felt that American Judaism would simply die out. Certainly the rebellious nature of the 1960s and early 1970s was cause for many younger Jews to reject their parents’ attitudes.

But something interesting happened: People started hungering for a deeper spiritual connection. The Human Potential Movement — mixed with newly imported Eastern philosophies (Buddhism, Hinduism, and so on) and the influx of consciousness-expanding drugs — started turning people on to the idea that there was more to this world than met the eye. This awakening emerged in (at least) three ways in the American Jewish community: Some Jews found what they longed for in other spiritual traditions, some grew more excited about their cultural heritage, and many American Jews discovered the deep spiritual aspects of their own roots.

Jews as Spiritual Teachers of Other Traditions

Rabbi Rami Shapiro once told us of a world religions conference that he attended. At one point during the meeting, a curious fact emerged: Every presenter — Hindu, Buddhist, Sufi, and even Christian — was Jewish by birth. Amazingly, a glance through any bookstore confirms that many (perhaps most) of the non-Asian meditation teachers were born Jewish, including Jack Kornfield, Ram Dass, Sylvia Boorstein, Surya Das, Stephen Levine, Sharon Salzberg, Joan Borysenko, and Thubten Chodren.

Many Jews feel a pull toward the esoteric — the hidden, the deeper truths. Some people believe that there is something innate in Jewish consciousness that urges Jews to seek that which is deeper and of greater meaning, even if they have to look outside Judaism to find it.

I didn’t know Jews did that!

Astonishingly, when Ted was in seminary, the topic of spirituality never came up. Sure, teachers would say a few words every now and again, but the idea of an inner path toward the One (or however else you want to define spirituality) just didn’t seem that important. Conservative, Reconstructionist, and Orthodox teachers also tend to buy into the idea that Judaism is based on what you do — whether it’s following the mitzvot (see Chapter 4) or engaging in social action — and that the bigger spiritual picture just isn’t that important.

Many years later, and in a deep crisis of faith, Ted discovered (with some relief) that Judaism held a number of secrets — from meditative practices to ecstatic teachings, and above all, a wondrous spirituality. But if even rabbis were largely unaware of Judaism’s spiritual component, then what about the rest of the Jewish community?

From the 1950s through the 1980s, Judaism had often become a child-centered religion, watering down its teachings so that people without much understanding of Hebrew or Jewish traditions could understand them. Because most American Jews of the time stopped their Jewish education after their Bar or Bat Mitzvah (see Chapter 8) — or at best after graduating from high school — they never achieved an adult appreciation for some of the greater depths possible in Jewish teaching.

And so generations of Jews grew up with only superficial understandings of their own traditions. In an age when spirituality was blossoming, most Jews saw nothing within their own traditions that responded to the spiritual yearnings they were experiencing. The result? They dropped Jewish practices (if they had been observant at all) and embraced different traditions. Today, according to some reports, over a quarter of non-Asian-American Buddhists were born Jewish. Jewish Buddhists have become so common that they have their own nickname: JuBu (jew-boo).

Finding parallels

Many practices and beliefs that people ascribe to Buddhism or Hinduism — like meditation, working with gurus, contemplation in nature, even reincarnation — actually were taught in Judaism for hundreds or thousands of years and only later fell out of favor (see Chapter 5). In the past 40 years, Jews have rediscovered these ideas, and many Jews who previously had no interest in observing their Jewishness, are now returning, seeking out congregations that share their interests (see The New Jewish Spirituality, later in this chapter).

Of course, many Jews are still turned off by what seems like a dark sense of guilt and suffering associated with Judaism. The idea that “we’ve got to keep Judaism alive at all costs,” along with the stark vision of a benevolent-but-vengeful God, has caused thousands of Jews to retreat to philosophies that don’t carry such a heavy burden. On the other hand, we find it ironic that so many Jews became interested in pagan, Hindu, or Buddhist rituals with a sense that the ideas are so much fresher than the “old and stifling” ways of Judaism. (Okay, so Buddhism is only 2,500 years old instead of 4,000. It’s still no spring chicken!)

Yes, there is clearly cause for concern in the Jewish community that Jews have been looking for their spiritual nourishment in other practices and faiths. However, many of these people don’t see these practices as necessarily incompatible to their own identity as Jews. We suspect that the increased interest in spirituality, even when first discovered within other traditions, has the possibility of reinvigorating modern Judaism.

The New Jewish Spirituality

One of the most unexpected shifts in modern Jewish history (especially in America) has been the increased interest in traditional Jewish practices. Perhaps this shouldn’t have come as such a surprise; after all, as some historians have noted, “What the child wants to forget, the grandchild longs to remember.” (In this case, it was often the great-grandchildren!)

A Jew who becomes more observant is called a ba’al teshuvah (“master of return”). The term refers to someone who becomes Orthodox (or even Ultra-Orthodox), in a similar way to the Christian idea of being “born again.” Of course, taking the Torah to heart and becoming observant is very different than accepting a belief in Jesus as Messiah; see Chapter 3.

While some Jews became very traditional, joining Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox communities, others embraced more liberal interpretations of Jewish observance. In the 1960s and 1970s, the Chavurah Movement — first outside of and later within organized synagogues — encouraged smaller group meetings (called chavurot, “friendship groups”) that supported creative spiritual expressions of Judaism that were largely egalitarian, family-based, liberal, and social-action-oriented. Many synagogues in the Reform Movement became more observant and at the same time began to look at the more spiritual aspects of Judaism. The Reconstructionist Movement (see Chapter 1) also mushroomed around this time, bringing its own set of interpretations and practices.

Similarly, in the last 30 years, the Jewish Renewal Movement — under the leadership of Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, with spokespersons like Arthur Waskow firmly tying Jewish spirituality to concerns of environment and social justice — has emerged as one of the growing forces in modern Judaism. Jewish Renewal is in many ways transdenominational, and it has tried hard to re-energize and re-enrich other Jewish movements without becoming a separate movement itself; nonetheless, many Renewal congregations have sprung up over the years.

One of the most exciting movements in Judaism today is the recent surge in independent minyanim (singular minyan) — lay groups unaffiliated with any particular synagogue or denomination, often with a focus on egalitarian roles for men and women. These groups may offer traditional services but are often socially liberal and appeal to many younger Jews.

Jew versus Jew versus Jew

Perhaps you know the joke about the two Jews who were stranded on a deserted island. When they were finally rescued, they invited their rescuers to take a tour of the little village they had built. Their rescuers were amazed at what they had done, but they were also confused by the existence of three different synagogues. “Oh,” explained one survivor, “One synagogue is where I go, one is where he goes, and the third is the synagogue neither of us would be caught dead in.”

True, the Jewish people have a long history of fighting with each other — the tribes fought among themselves 3,000 years ago, the Pharisees fought the Sadducees, the Karaites argued with the Talmudists, and so on. But we believe that there’s more open fighting between Jewish groups today than there has been in over 2,000 years. We see few signs of it getting better, and there are ample indications that the confrontations will get worse.

Who is a Jew

The biggest issue in Judaism today — bigger than anti-Semitism, or the Palestinian conflict, or even interfaith marriage — is the friction emerging between ultra-observant and less-observant parts of the Jewish community. The disagreements are not new; there have always been stories of the son who became Ultra-Orthodox against the wishes of his family, or a daughter who rebelled against her Orthodox parents and became increasingly secular. But today, the issues are increasingly taking place in the streets and in politics, in America, Europe, and most obviously Israel.

Sadly, some Reform and secular Jews consider the Ultra-Orthodox to be simply crazy, and many of these highly observant Jews consider their accusers to be deeply misguided and dangerous to Judaism as a whole.

On a recent trip to Israel, David and his wife hired a tour guide to take them around Jerusalem. The man, a secular Jew who was born and raised in Jerusalem, fought in the Israeli army during the War of Independence, the Six-Day War, and the Yom Kippur War. He was as committed a Jew as you could find, but when he drove near the Ultra-Orthodox community of Mea Shearim, he declared the black-hatted Jews to be “parasites,” living off welfare and giving nothing of value back. Our guide made it clear that while the Ultra-Orthodox might be Jews, he didn’t consider how they lived to be “Jewish.”

Conversely, the Israeli news is filled with stories of the Ultra-Orthodox (also called Haredi) Jews becoming increasingly intolerant of Jews who are secular or less religious. Most often their focus is on women and their place in society: Haredi radio stations censor the voices of female politicians; one newspaper actually used Photoshop to remove Hilary Clinton from an important news photograph before printing it; and the Ultra-Orthodox health minister of Israel refused to allow a female pediatrics professor to come on stage to receive an award. Worst of all, Ultra-Orthodox students have been known to spit on or throw rocks at even modestly dressed Jewish girls who walk near their neighborhoods.

While many people consider Judaism to be a spectrum — the Reform Jews on one side and the Ultra-Orthodox Jews on the other — to an observant (“frum”) Orthodox Jew, Judaism is more like a light switch: You’re either doing it right or you’re not. For example, a person in a Conservative or Reconstructionist congregation might be Jewish by birth, but many Orthodox Jews wouldn’t consider him or her to be practicing an authentic Judaism. In fact, Ultra-Orthodox rabbis have gone so far as to declare that non-Orthodox “rabbis” are heretics and to prohibit Jews from saying “Amen” after liberal rabbis recite a blessing.

Even becoming a ba’al teshuvah doesn’t mean that you’re fully accepted by the Ultra-Orthodox, who often take people’s family background and upbringing into account with friendships and marriages, and make a quiet distinction between “BTs” and “FFBs” (frum from birth).

This attitude isn’t universal, of course. Most modern Orthodox Jews are significantly more tolerant of differences in beliefs, and many secular and liberal Jews tend to respect the more-observant Orthodox lifestyle — as long as it doesn’t get in their way.

Can’t we just work it out?

The ultra-observant seek to create their own enclaves, their own communities, in which they can feel supported in their chosen lifestyle. Yet their clannishness, their dress, and their observances make life more difficult for other Jews who don’t share their level of observance and don’t want their own neighborhoods so radically changed. Each group views the other as an enemy of Jewish continuity.

The differences don’t only appear between the two extremes, of course. Topics like interfaith marriage or support for Israel cause rifts among Reform, Secular, Conservative, Renewal, and Reconstructionist Jews, too. But there’s a difference: While the rivalries between non-Orthodox groups can still support intergroup communication, the ability of the ultra-observant to share with others is far more limited. In many communities, Orthodox rabbis won’t even meet with groups that include non-Orthodox rabbis.

Of course, most Jews tend to downplay these conflicts because it’s so much easier to worry about external issues like anti-Semitism or the State of Israel. As always, it’s harder to focus on the “we” than the “us and them.”

Rabbi David Zeller once remarked on the Jewish tradition that teaches that the Messiah will come when all the Children of Israel around the planet observe a Shabbat, even just once. He taught that the Messiah — which you might think of as the awakening to a shared Universal Consciousness — will come when the Jews who observe Shabbat love those who don’t, and those who don’t keep Shabbat love those who do.

Considering the Future of Judaism

Whenever we hear someone insist that the Jewish people will disappear any year now, we think of Mark Twain’s quip after seeing his own obituary: “The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.” There is a distinct possibility that the Jewish people are, right now, in a process of change perhaps as great as the Talmudic period (see Chapter 14). And no matter how loudly some Jews exclaim that everything is going to hell in a handbasket, the new ideas and observances that are appearing may in fact ensure the survival of Judaism for future millennia.

The trend of the past 30 years is clear: The two fastest-growing religious populations (in the United States, and possibly the world) are the fundamentalists and the universalists, or the Orthodox and the Spiritual Seekers. But because Orthodox Jews strive to have large families (with five or even ten children), while non-Orthodox families often have only one or two; it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see how the two groups may balance out in a few generations.

Ultimately, the general trend toward greater spirituality is reflected in both traditional and less-traditional Jewish institutions (and, perhaps even more importantly, outside the institutions, in the people themselves). You can find deeply spiritual Jews in the most Orthodox communities and in the most secular; it may sound like a cliché, but it’s only through opening to a greater understanding of all people that humanity can really move forward into the new millennium.