Because he knew he was thinking, Descartes proved his own existence. I, by contrast, know I exist, and want to make sure I think.
More precisely, given the kind of person I am, I think in a certain sort of way about certain sorts of things — a truism, nowadays, in this Age of Anxious Identity. Tell me who you are and I will know something of what and how you think.
I like, therefore, to engage synagogue leaders in questions of who they are (and how, therefore, they think). Because I do most of my presenting in Reform congregations, I take special interest in their members’ Reform identity and what the Reform label means to them.
Most recently, I asked the question of some focus groups assembled by the URJ (the Union for Reform Judaism) to help me think about the script that I agreed to write for 150th anniversary of Reform Judaism in North America. The participants (who included rabbis and lay leaders) had this to say:
- Representatives of the younger generation, mostly millennials, often found it hard to say what Reform even is. Some of them went farther and thought Reform as a category largely irrelevant. The future, they said, would feature Orthodoxy on one hand and everyone else on the other.
- By contrast, members of the older generations, Gen X and Baby Boomers, believed Reform had once been a persuasive descriptive category but bemoaned its disappearance nowadays. Their advice in writing the anniversary script was to “Go deep”: to provide the intellectual, moral, and historical depth that Reform identity once had but now seems lacking.
I was saddened by the millennials’ response, but not surprised, because sociologists regularly describe millennial resistance to being pigeonholed by organizational labels. But that is the problem: “Reform” has become an organizational label, not (as it used to be) a visionary one descriptive of a proud and committed way of being in the world.
The older informants put their finger on the problem: our Reform movement lacks gravitas. Our institutions are no longer respected as having much to say to the world. Many people say, privately, that they have largely stopped trying.
But lumping Jews together as either “Orthodox” or “other” is a gross oversimplification of both. Our Age of Anxious Identity is equally an Age of Identity Choices. If increasing numbers of people choose “just Jewish,” it is certainly not because they identify equally as everything, from the ultra-Orthodox Haredim to ethnic secularists; it is because (at least for Reform) there is no currently-compelling visionary content to what we say we are.
Historically, however, each denomination has presented its own authentic alternative to being Jewish. Modern Orthodoxy devised a halachic life style in geographically dense communities where people walk to shul together. Conservative Judaism excelled at Jewish education, an historical approach to halachah and traditional davening for people who may not be all that traditional otherwise. Reconstructionism, which saw Judaism as a civilization, emphasized community formation — and small-group Havurah communities at that. Reform Judaism (which I know most about, so can say most about) gave us religion through the lens of reason; continuous revelation beyond Sinai; social justice and prophetic Judaism; courage to make cutting-edge moral judgements, like admitting clergy who are women or LGBTQ+; intentionally joyous worship; a new kind of cantor; and emphasis on spirituality.
Some of these movement identities remain healthy, clear, and viable. Judging from my focus groups, Reform is not among them. We have lost our way.
The denominational identities I want safeguarded are not organizational – not, that is, just parallel bureaucracies that thrive on generating committees, holding meetings, and protecting turf. They are visionary: entire Jewish philosophies of being, alternative traditions of Jewish artistry, that should be elaborated, not eradicated. To be sure, people can be “served” in organizational settings that are “just Jewish,” with no particular philosophy whatever: they all have religious schools, High Holiday services, rabbis on call, and the like. But synagogues that become service centers are a poor caricature of what Jewish life should be. Serving is not the issue. Identity is. And passionate identity is harder to come by in a synagogue that flounders in inchoate generalities.
Visionary denominational identities do not erect boundaries to keep people out. Think of them as diverse photographic slices of the Jewish landscape through time. We properly learn from one another’s pictures, either borrowing or rejecting bits and pieces of the perspective that they capture — but always with respect, and always to enhance our own perception of the Jewish life we seek. Only the shallowest view of Judaism allows us to be every kind of Jew imaginable. Serious Judaism demands choices, choices of this denominational vision rather than that one, each of them constituting a doorway, not a fence; a doorway to a specific Jewish life style, in which we are invited not just to be served but to root ourselves and to grow.
If denominational Judaism is suspect, it is not because denominationalism is bad – quite the contrary. It is because denominational bodies (some more than others) suffer hardening of their visionary arteries. At worst, they construct visions that only the inner circle of the denominational professionals find compelling, or forget they even have a vision altogether. At best, they let their visions petrify, collapsing them into sterile cardboard cutouts of reality, static repetition of two-dimensional photos rather than a kaleidoscopic vision that is always in process, always offering newly insightful ways to rekindle our passion.
I am, therefore I think: I am a Reform Jew; so this is what I think about.
You will now understand the script I wrote for the Reform 150th. I sought to provide an historical overview in poetic/liturgical form that at least suggested the depth of the Reform Jewish vision through time. It was a celebration of Reform as the intellectual and aesthetic artistry that it once was and still can be.
The streamed version is supposed to be available eventually on the URJ website, complete with visual backdrops, changes in lighting, historical reminiscences, video clips, two exceptional narrators (Dana Bash and David Gregory), a cantorial choir, congregational singing, and more.
In the meantime, I am going to post the script for you to read, in stages, as my next set of Open Letters. Stay tuned.
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