WHAT IF BEING a Jew required a commitment to Judaism as a religion?
Demanding religious beliefs and observance in order to be a member of a religious community is hardly a radical idea.1 A priest would scoff at the notion that an atheist who never set foot in church qualified as a Catholic simply because his mother was Catholic. The same would be true among Muslims. Yet in the Jewish world a totally nonobservant atheist would be considered a Jew by all Orthodox rabbis simply because his mother was Jewish. This has often baffled gentile friends of mine. One friend said to me, “I thought Judaism was a religion. How can a religion require so little?”
Judaism is a religion, but not in the same sense as the other two monotheistic religions. First, it has no catechism of agreed-upon tenets of faith. Second, the major Jewish denominations don’t agree on the standards for observance. Finally, the matrilineal rule requires neither faith nor observance. On average, we American Jews are not very observant and include a surprisingly large number of agnostics and atheists. Most of us, myself included, would flunk any religious standard that was at all demanding.
When interviewed on NPR about his religious background, David Javerbaum, the writer of the hit Broadway show An Act of God, briefly stunned the host. “Judaism is a thoroughly, totally ironic religion,” he said. “It is the first religion that no longer believes in God.”2
That was an overstatement, but the role of faith in Judaism is hardly straightforward. Unlike Christianity and Islam, Judaism is not a confessional religion where members must formally assent to certain shared doctrines. Catholics, Anglicans, and Lutherans all have a catechism.3 To be a Muslim, one must affirm a belief in God and a belief that Mohammed was his prophet.4 In Judaism there are no required beliefs.
Jewish scholars in the Middle Ages tried and failed to develop such a creed.5 The most famous and influential of these efforts was the “Thirteen Principles of the Jewish Faith” by Moses Maimonides, the great thirteenth-century Jewish philosopher, who expressed them as follows:
1. Belief in the existence of the Creator, who is perfect in every manner of existence and is the Primary Cause of all that exists.
2. The belief in God’s absolute and unparalleled unity.
3. The belief in God’s non-corporeality, nor that He will be affected by any physical occurrences, such as movement, or rest, or dwelling.
4. The belief in God’s eternity.
5. The imperative to worship God exclusively and no foreign false gods.
6. The belief that God communicates with man through prophecy.
7. The belief in the primacy of the prophecy of Moses our teacher.
8. The belief in the divine origin of the Torah.
9. The belief in the immutability of the Torah.
10. The belief in God’s omniscience and providence.
11. The belief in divine reward and retribution.
12. The belief in the arrival of the Messiah and the messianic era.
13. The belief in the resurrection of the dead.6
It’s not a bad list. To this day, in morning prayers, some Orthodox congregations recite a more poetic version of his thirteen principles, beginning with the words Ani Maamin—I believe.7 But today many religious Jews, especially the non-Orthodox, would have a difficult time accepting some of Maimonides’s principles, particularly those relating to an afterlife, divine reward and retribution, and the eventual arrival of a Messiah. If I were to distill my own list of the fundamental tenets of Judaism, it would include belief in four elements, only two of which were recognized by Maimonides: one God, the divine origin of the Torah, the covenant between God and the Jewish people, and the special bond between the people and the land of Israel.8
The point is that Maimonides failed in his theological project, which was to make acceptance of all thirteen principles a condition of being Jewish. He argued that his principles were the “fundamental truths of our religion and the very foundations” of Judaism and that one had to accept these principles to be a member of the “community of Israel.”9 He failed because other medieval Jewish scholars disagreed with him on one or more of these tenets.10 Given the Jewish propensity for argument, this is hardly surprising. Indeed, some modern Jewish theologians and scholars go so far as to claim, “Religious dogma is anathema to Judaism.”11 That may be an overstatement, but Judaism has no pope or any other centralized institution for enforcing consensus, and none has ever developed around Maimonides’s principles or those of anyone else.
But what about this belief in God? Judaism was the first monotheistic religion, so a belief in God would seem to be a required minimum. The biblical stories suggest that each Jew is expected to work out his own relationship to God, which is not one of simple obedience. Instead, a religious Jew is free—and even encouraged—to argue, negotiate, and struggle with God. Abraham bargained with—or, according to some interpretations, challenged—God on behalf of the righteous people of Sodom and Gomorrah. Jacob, after wrestling with an angel, was renamed “Israel,” which literally means “to struggle with God.”12
Through the ages Jewish scholars have struggled not only with God but also with the meaning of God. Must a Jew Believe Anything? is the provocative title of a superb book by Menachem Kellner, retired professor of Jewish thought at the University of Haifa and an observant Orthodox Jew. Kellner claims that the Old Testament does not require Jews to “believe in” God, in the sense of having a conviction that God exists, but rather demands “primarily trust in God expressed in concrete behaviour”—namely, obedience to God’s commandments found in the Torah and Jewish law.13 “Loyal behaviour, not systematic theology, is what is expected and demanded.”14
Liberal rabbis and Jewish thinkers go further than Kellner. Rabbi Harold Schulweis has suggested that the theological emphasis of Judaism should be shifted from God to godliness.15 Once again, the emphasis is on behavior, not beliefs. Reform Rabbi Eugene Borowitz insists that a belief in God is “fundamental to being a good Jew,” but he is completely open-minded about what “God” means.16 In his book Liberal Judaism he writes, “‘My’ good Jew believes in God but not necessarily in my view of God. We have numerous differing interpretations of what God might mean to a contemporary Jew.” In other words, Borowitz says, Judaism remains a theistic religion but is “not… very dogmatic about it.”17 Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, founder of the Reconstructionist movement, rejected the notion of a personal God who intervenes in human affairs in favor of a definition of God as a force within nature.18
Furthest out on the progressive end of the spectrum is a small movement known as Humanistic Judaism, a completely nontheistic form of Judaism that fits Javerbaum’s hyperbolic claim. There is no mention of God in its liturgy, even when observing Jewish holidays or life-cycle events such as bar and bat mitzvahs, weddings, and funerals.19 Instead, the movement celebrates Jewish history and culture, the Jewish people, and humanistic values that are seen as consistent with liberal Jewish ideals.20
This nontheistic approach intrigues me because I’m an agnostic, and I like the fact that it sparked lively debate within the Reform movement. In 1994 a Humanistic congregation (Beth Adam of Cincinnati) applied to join the national organization for Reform congregations, thereby forcing the Reform movement to grapple with the issue of theism. Beth Adam’s rabbi, who had been ordained by the Reform movement, argued quite correctly that Judaism does not require a belief in God and that many Reform congregants are either agnostic or atheist. His logic posed a serious dilemma for the Reform movement—and, indeed, his application was welcomed by the Reform association’s president, who knew it would generate debate and test the theological limits of the Reform movement.21 It was true that many Reform Jews were not believers. But embracing a congregation that eliminated the idea of God was beyond the pale. After extensive debate the Reform association ruled that it would not accept congregations that denied God’s existence altogether.22
So the debate continues. I love this open, elastic quality of Judaism, which encourages every Jew to define his or her spiritual beliefs for him- or herself. I love the fact that the religious tradition encourages Jews to grapple intellectually and spiritually with God and with each other.
Perhaps not surprisingly, a large proportion of American Jews don’t believe in God—at least, not in a traditional God who intervenes in human affairs in response to prayer. A 2011 study found that half of all American Jews have doubts about the existence of God, compared to 10 to 15 percent of other American religious groups.23
In 2013 the Pew Report found that only about one-third of American Jews are “absolutely certain” about their belief in “God or a universal spirit.”24 Nearly a quarter of the Jewish respondents do not believe in God.25 Another 38 percent fall in the middle, saying they “believe but [are] less certain.”26 Perhaps most relevant to Jewish identity, about two-thirds of all Jews “see no conflict between being Jewish and not believing in God.”27
BELIEF IN GOD (percentage)
Absolutely certain: 34
Believe but less certain: 38
Do not believe: 23
Other: 5
Source: Pew Research Center, “A Portrait of Jewish Americans,” 2013 Pew Report, 74.
Judaism has always emphasized behavior over belief. As one rabbi told a congregant, “God doesn’t care whether you believe in him or not. All that he cares is that you do the right thing.”28
What is the right thing? With respect to broad ethical obligations, various American Jewish denominations are in essential agreement. Hillel, the great sage of the first century BCE, characterized the essence of Judaism by saying, “That which is hateful to you do not do to another.”29 A century or so later Rabbi Akiva located the essence of the entire Torah in Leviticus 19:18: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”30 Acts of loving kindness, compassion, and the pursuit of justice are all emphasized.
Where the major denominations differ is in their attitude toward Jewish law (halacha). Halacha is a comprehensive legal system derived from the Torah (the five Books of Moses) and the Oral Law (a set of oral traditions said to be codified in the Mishnah, the Talmud, and other postbiblical texts). The denominations differ in three respects: (1) whether halacha has divine origins, (2) whether it should control the details of religious observance, and (3) the degree to which it can be flexibly interpreted to accommodate social change.
For the Orthodox—about 10 percent of American Jews—halacha is sacred and cannot be changed, only interpreted. Observing the law consumes nearly every waking moment, much as it did centuries ago. The Ten Commandments are just the tip of the iceberg. The Torah is said to contain 613 commandments, or mitzvot,31 and the Oral Law adds many more. This elaborate legal regime covers not only ethical behavior but also food, Sabbath observance, prayer, marital sex, and a vast number of other subjects.
Although the Orthodox community is quite diverse32 and its subgroups observe halacha in different ways, all forms of Orthodoxy require tremendous discipline. Orthodox life is hard. It’s inconvenient. And it’s meant to be. For readers who are unfamiliar with this way of life, I offer a few examples.
The dietary laws (kashrut) dictate not only what you eat but also how you prepare food and how animals are killed. Pork and shellfish are forbidden. You may eat any animal that has cloven hooves and chews its cud, but it must be slaughtered under rabbinic supervision, according to rules designed to minimize pain to the animal. Foods containing milk and meat cannot be eaten at the same meal or even off the same plates; a kosher household typically has at least two sets of pots, pans, dishes, and utensils—one for meat and one for dairy. The two sets are not supposed to touch. For people who don’t own a double set of ovens, microwaves, and dishwashers, rabbis offer work-arounds to avoid contamination. Although many non-Orthodox assume that the dietary laws were created for health reasons, there is no evidence for this, and the Torah itself doesn’t provide a reason.33 Some scholars believe that the primary purpose of kashrut was to minimize social contact between the Jews and their Persian and Roman conquerors.34
The Sabbath, the day of rest, is meant to be a joyous release from work of all kinds. The Friday night meal is a special family occasion that includes ritual blessings over bread and wine. From sundown Friday to sundown Saturday, one is forbidden to do “work” of any sort, including writing, handling money, or carrying objects. One can’t engage with machinery or electronics. That means no driving or riding in cars or other vehicles, using the phone, watching TV, or turning lights on or off. Food must be prepared in advance; you can’t light a fire or push a button on the oven. But again, there are work-arounds. Automatic timers for lights and appliances are permitted if set in advance;35 many modern ovens have a “Sabbath mode” for this purpose. Another taboo, pushing the button of an elevator, creates a major headache for those who live in high-rise buildings. To ease the burden of climbing the stairs, a few apartment buildings and hospitals have installed elevators that, from Friday to Saturday evenings, are programmed to stop automatically at every floor.36
The food and Sabbath rules, among others, are strong anchors that keep the Orthodox tied to their communities. You can’t observe the Sabbath unless you live within walking distance of a synagogue. Without access to a kosher butcher, finding meat that has been appropriately slaughtered is difficult. Although not all Orthodox observe every rule, it’s very hard to be observant at this level without community support.
Consistent with halacha, Orthodox men and women have sharply differentiated gender roles. Only men can be rabbis or read the Torah to the congregation. Religious services are conducted almost entirely in Hebrew, and the seating of men and women in the synagogue is strictly segregated: the women are often seated in the synagogue’s upper level, the men downstairs. Jewish law imposes both affirmative and negative obligations on men, only prohibitions for women. For example, only men are affirmatively obligated to pray every day. Women are not. Both sexes are prohibited from engaging in adultery or lies. Endogamy is strictly enforced, and no Orthodox rabbi will officiate at a wedding unless both members of the couple are Jewish by halachic standards.
A less well-known area of law governs sexual relations between men and women. Premarital sex is forbidden, as is homosexual conduct.37 The sex drive is seen as natural but needing structure to channel it within marriage. Within marriage sex is seen as sacred, and sexual intimacy is considered a woman’s right. The primary purpose of sex is not procreation but to “reinforce the loving marital bond between husband and wife.”38 Birth control is permitted. However, sex is forbidden for at least twelve days a month—during the wife’s menstrual period and for seven days afterward. Before sexual relations are resumed, a woman should visit the mikva (ritual bath) and immerse herself. The Torah does not indicate the reason for this rule of separation, but its benefits have been widely noted: it gives the couple a rest from each other, heightens the pleasures of reunion, and is conducive to conception.39
Reform Judaism takes a radically different approach to halacha. Reform rabbis view Jewish law not as God given or sacred but as rabbinical adaptations to historical conditions and, therefore, open to change. To the extent that the law is inconsistent today with scientific knowledge or the needs of contemporary life, it can be ignored. Modern religious observance should honor the best of Jewish heritage but not be bound by outmoded rules.
The Reform movement first appeared in America in the mid-nineteenth century, only slightly later than its appearance in Germany. It flourished in America as a modern option for Jews who sought a way of remaining Jewish while becoming part of the social and economic fabric of American life. Indeed, the early Reform rabbis thought they were saving Judaism from oblivion, fearing that if they didn’t modernize the religion, American Jews might abandon it altogether. The rabbis’ chief goal was to make it possible for Jews to be both Jewish and American. By many measures they succeeded: Reform today is the largest denomination, constituting about 35 percent of American Jews.
The Reform have maintained what they see as the essential core of Judaism: the celebration of holidays and life-cycle events, the focus on the Torah, and an emphasis on ethical behavior, especially tikkun olam, the doctrine of “repairing the world.”40
What they’ve eliminated are most of the traditional rules regulating the details of daily life. In the Reform synagogue men and women participate in religious services on an equal basis, and there are now many women rabbis. The services have been modernized to include more English and contemporary commentary that is seen as relevant or inspirational. In the home Reform Judaism imposes no dietary restrictions. I know of no Reform Jew who keeps kosher. A few may avoid pork; many more follow a gluten-free diet or are vegetarians. Most enjoy lobster, scallops, and bacon.
One ongoing challenge for Reform Judaism is to define the limits of adaptation. As we’ll explore later in this book, the movement’s attitude toward intermarriage has evolved in just the last thirty years. Not only has the movement abandoned the matrilineal principle, but about half of Reform rabbis are now willing to officiate at a wedding where the non-Jewish spouse has not converted. Homosexuality is fully accepted, and same-sex marriages are regularly performed.
The Conservative movement, founded around 1900, was created by American Jews who wanted to modernize the religion but thought the Reform movement had gone too far. In their eyes Reform synagogues looked and felt too much like Protestant churches, with their organs and choirs, prayers in English instead of Hebrew, and worshippers who didn’t wear yarmulkes or prayer shawls. Orthodoxy, however, didn’t seem flexible enough.
In an attempt to balance tradition with change, Conservatives took the somewhat paradoxical view that halacha is binding but can be adapted when necessary. Even today the liturgy in Conservative synagogues remains similar to that in Orthodox services. In other areas, however, the movement has made concessions to modern life. In 1950, as Jews moved to the suburbs, the movement allowed members to drive on the Sabbath. Few Conservative Jews feel compelled to observe the more Orthodox interpretations of the “no work on the Sabbath” rule; I suspect nearly all will handle money and turn on lights. The Conservative attitude toward gender roles is much more like Reform: synagogue seating is mixed, women fully participate in the services, and there are now female rabbis. Conservative rabbis even have the discretion to officiate at same-sex weddings—as long as both spouses are Jewish, of course—and many do.
But the movement draws the line in two areas: intermarriage and the matrilineal principle. A Conservative rabbi is not permitted to preside at an interfaith wedding and is not even allowed to attend the ceremony. (Somewhat paradoxically, however, the movement now welcomes intermarried couples after the wedding and even allows the non-Jewish spouse to join the congregation.) The matrilineal principle is still sacrosanct. A child with a Jewish father but not a Jewish mother is not Jewish without formal religious conversion.
RELIGIOUS DENOMINATION (percentage)
Orthodox: 10
Conservative: 18
Reform: 35
Other denomination: 6
No affiliation (“just Jewish”): 30
Source: Pew Research Center, “A Portrait of Jewish Americans,” 2013 Pew Report, 177.
Compared to their Christian neighbors, American Jews on the whole are not very devoted to religious observance. Only about one-fifth (19 percent) pray weekly, compared to about half (47 percent) of other Americans.41 Only 31 percent of American Jewish families are dues-paying members of a synagogue or temple.42 Synagogue attendance is spotty. Except for the Orthodox, Jews attend religious services far less often than other Americans. Whereas about half of Americans report attending religious services at least once or twice a month, only one in five Jews (23 percent) does the same.43 Another one in five Jews (22 percent) report that they “never” attend services. The remaining half fall in between: 35 percent attend services on the High Holy Days—Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement)—and 19 percent “seldom” go to synagogue.44
Most American Jews are similarly relaxed about observing religious rituals in the home, especially those that demand daily or weekly effort. The overwhelming majority—more than three out of four—do not observe kosher dietary laws. (Only 22 percent say they keep kosher in the home.) Sabbath observance has dropped to the same low: only about 23 percent of Jewish families always or usually light candles on Friday evening. Even fewer (13 percent)—mostly the Orthodox—avoid handling money on the Sabbath.45
But the Yom Kippur fast and the Passover Seder, which take place only once a year, are still going strong; they’ve been so thoroughly absorbed into Jewish culture that even Jews with little religious commitment, myself included, often observe them. More than half (53 percent) of Jewish adults fast for all or part of Yom Kippur.46 I observe the fast for two reasons, only one of which I can defend: I like the idea of doing penance for things I’ve done that I really regret, and I’ve been a little overweight for many years and think fasting isn’t a bad idea.
Passover, which is celebrated in the home, is the most popular annual Jewish holiday in America. The Seder is an elaborate meal that celebrates the Jews’ deliverance from slavery in ancient Egypt.47 About 70 percent of all American Jews observe this ritual with family and friends, often adapting it to their own preferences.48 For example, I am very uncomfortable with much of the tribalism expressed in the traditional service, which emphasizes the wickedness of the Egyptians who oppressed the Jews, so I either use a modern Haggadah (the book that guides participants through the Seder) or go online to create my own. To me the holiday is an affirmation of freedom and a condemnation of slavery and discrimination. I’m not alone in this regard. The internet abounds with guides to customizing Seders with references to discrimination and oppression around the world. There are also guides to feminist Seders, Buddhist Seders, LGBTQ Seders, and the like.
Initially it seems appealing to say that to be Jewish, one must practice Judaism as a religion. Many Orthodox Jews, both here and in Israel, believe this is necessary in order to be a “good” Jew. But as a principle for defining the entire American Jewish community, it won’t work. As I’ve said, Judaism has no catechism of required beliefs, and the denominations don’t agree on the standards of observance. Even if you wanted to impose a religious standard for belonging, who would set the standard? The rabbis would never agree on a standard, and there is no pope or College of Cardinals who can impose consensus.
Even if the rabbis miraculously managed to agree on a religious standard, they would never try to apply it as the sole criterion for membership. It would be a disaster. Nearly half of all American Jews are either agnostics or atheists, and about a quarter report they “never” attend services in a synagogue. Requiring a religious commitment would expel from the tribe too many of us who take pride in our Jewish identity.
This poses a serious challenge, however, for sustaining our identity as Jews. Religious commitment is a powerful identity anchor. It enables you to express your Jewishness through prayer and ritual, both at home and in synagogue with other Jews. It also provides a clear path by which you can pass Judaism on to your children. For those of us who are not committed to the religion, what is the source of our Jewish identity? What exactly are we passing on? Is it just descent—or something more?