Tag Archives: jesus

Open Letter to My Students 85: And What About the Evangelicals?

In my last Letter, I advocated resetting the traditional alliance between the Jewish community and the African American one. I know, of course, that there are lots of black Jews, who straddle both communities. But my focus was on reaffirming the old alliance between Blacks (who are mostly not Jews) and Jews (who are mostly not black). Now I turn to a new alliance that ought to be pursued: between Jews and Evangelicals (who are mostly white). 

Commentary magazine too has recently argued for such an alliance,[i] but on the grounds that we should join evangelicals in their fight against rampant secularism; more specifically, we should welcome the weakening of the “secular-Jewish alliances built on principles that elites would wield against whites, Christians, and men.” 

I regret that analysis of the problem for a whole host of reasons, but it didn’t take Commentary to convince me of the need to reexamine our relationship with white evangelicals. I’ve been saying that for some time.

In my last letter, I decried the tendency of official communal institutions (both African American and Jewish) to oversimplify, and even demonize, one another, as if all Blacks and all Jews are any one single thing. The same institutional tendency is evident when we assume, for example, that all Evangelicals are white Christian nationalists; or bent only on converting us. 

Of course there are differences between us. We cannot ask evangelicals to give up the essence of their Christianity, which insists on salvation only through Christ; nor their commitment to those ethical stands that differ from ours (abortion, for example). But the whole point of an alliance across boundaries is the willingness to bypass some differences in order to accentuate those commonalities that might lead to the betterment of both parties, and, for that matter (since we are religions, after all) the betterment of the world. 

To be sure, the gap between us Jews and some Evangelicals may be more like an unbreachable ravine. Evangelicals may say that about some Jews as well. But the operative word is “some,” not “all.”

Henry Kissinger is often quoted as saying that countries “have no permanent friends, only interests.” But some eminently quotable quotes are oversimplifications. Neither interests nor friends are necessarily forever, after all; and friendships sometimes survive even when interests differ. I have friends who oppose abortion; or who question the severity of Israel’s war in Gaza. Because we are friends, however, we can discuss these matters respectfully; they hear me out on Israel, and even modify their opposition, or at least question it – even as I hear them out about abortion and concede at least the moral complexity of the issue. 

What we need, then, is personal friendships across religious lines, friendships founded on mutual regard and even fondness for one another. The alternative (for both of us) is to hunker down among “our own kind,” taking refuge in gated communities of the mind where anyone substantially different is labeled “Dangerous.”

Friendships, however, require a common language, and evangelicals use theological language – precisely the language that the liberal Jewish tradition finds difficult. But there is nothing un-Jewish about discussing ultimates like God, Jewish Peoplehood, and the like. Indeed, the doctrinaire avoidance of such conversation is a failing that we ought to correct for our own sake as well. How, then, might we reintroduce ourselves theologically to serious Christians? 

To begin with, we might highlight theological parallels between us. Christians herald the gospel’s “good news.” The Rabbis also believed in “good news,” for which they even provided a blessing (“Blessed is God who is good and does good”), by which they meant not just receiving a nice Hanukah gift but the eventual inheritance of a world to come, actual life after death. We differ on whether the “good news” is realized through Torah or through Jesus of Nazareth. But at least we ought to see the functional equivalence of Torah for Jews and Christ for Christians. We share, as well, an affirmation of human sin and the need for repentance and pardon. The rabbis even believed in grace – witness our prayer Avinu Malkenu with its request choneinu — not just a plea that God “act graciously” (the usual translation) but that God “show grace” to us.” 

We might go even farther and invent a new theological metaphor. Are we Jews and Christians simply accidents of history, two communities who arose side by side and who then, by chance, moved through history together? 

Not necessarily.  

Perhaps our two communities are a theological double helix, making our corner of human history a working-out of some double-stranded spiritual DNA — the unfolding not just of historical events on the ground but of God’s will as well. Historically, after all, we seem indeed to have been slated to circle each other perpetually, and in close proximity, neither separating completely nor becoming one another, but circling, ever circling, so that we might someday act together for a greater good that we call Divine. 

Here is a metaphor that accounts for our common history and that also leads us further (and higher) in our own distinctive callings. To be sure, much of our historical path has not been trod as equals. But the age of blood libels has passed, and here we both remain, graced with the chance to embrace a common commitment to a fateful and faithful partnership, the next step in our 2000-year-old history together.

As I said above, Jews fear that Evangelical Christians harbor proselytizing purposes. But Jews have often treated Evangelicals with intellectual contempt. Hence the importance of this moment, when (to speak theologically again) both of us become Abraham, hearing God’s invitation to “a land that God will show us.” We may not yet know the path to get there, but the world has changed enough for us to suspect that we are unlikely to get there alone. If we always think the way we always thought, we will always get what we always got; and it is time to “get” something new. 


[i] Tal Fortgang and Ella Fortgang,, “The New American Jews,” in Commentary (January 26, 2026). See  https://www.commentary.org/articles/tal-fortgang/new-american-jews-manifesto/?utm_source=envelope&utm_medium=website&utm_campaign=SocialSnap

Open Letter to My Students 70: In a Time of Despair

What keeps us going in times of despair; when (to cite Deuteronomy 28:67), “In the morning we say, ‘If only it were night’, and in the evening we say, ‘If only it were morning.” 

 Or as the Talmud puts it (Sotah  49a), In times of such despair,  “How does the world itself keep going?” 

 For liberals like me, the results of the 2024 election is such a time. We fear the worst. How will we keep going?

Start with brutal honesty. We Jews have reason to fear a revival of right-wing anti-Semitism, such as what occurred in Charlottesville during the first Trump administration. Then too, along with other Americans, we fear that our democracy itself is endangered; that we will devolve into a dictatorship, where even basic rights are threatened. And we worry about the poor, the climate, and the very survival of a world that is democratic and free. Vigilance, then, is the first order of the day, lest the unthinkable become not just thinkable but probable.

But even as we fear the worst, we should remember the Talmud’s caution against jumping to conclusions. For any given set of circumstances, it asks, b’ma’I k’askinan? “What are we actually dealing with?” So: What, really, are we dealing with? We may see something short of virulent anti-Semitism, something short of democracy’s demise, in which case, we survive through patience and persistence: living with what we must (patience) but doing what we can to make a bad situation better, fighting as we always have (persistence) in matters of conscience.

The commitment to honesty along with the question “What are we actually dealing with?” apply also to ourselves. We will have to admit our own foibles, question whether we have fully appreciated the other side of things — the reason, for example, that most Americans, not just the crazies, voted against us. We will need new allies if we are to move the needle on America’s newfound persona. And that will require admitting that not every Trump voter is our enemy. Not every Christian evangelical is also a racist white nationalist. People who disagree with us need not be moral reprobates. 

The “other side” in politics is not the same thing as the “other side” in Jewish mysticism – not all conservatives, that is, are evil incarnate, just as, frankly, not all liberals are the good guys. We can be principled without being doctrinaire, open-hearted but not closed-minded.

Honestypatience and persistence should be augmented by humility. We should ask not just about “them” but also about “us”:  “What are we actually dealing with,” here in our own camp?

The Talmud offers yet another answer: its own response to the question of how the world is sustained in times of dread. It survives, we are told, because of the Kaddish! Yes, the Kaddish, but not because times are so bad that we should say a mourner’s prayer in advance. In Talmudic times, the Kaddish wasn’t yet a mourning prayer at all. Why then does the Kaddish sustain the world?

Start with a fresh interpretation of the word “world,” derivable from the oft quoted Talmudic precept (Sanhedrin 37,a): “To save a single person is to save the entire world.” The entire world? Really? Surely the Talmud does not imagine that if I save someone I thereby save everyone! More likely it recognizes that individual people are each a world unto themselves, as in the English expression, “My entire world was turned upside down.”

We know how the external world (the cosmos) keeps going. The earth spins on its axis no matter who is president. It is our internal world that that prompts the question, “How does the world keep going.” How do we sustain our internal world when everything we hold dear is on life support — when things are so bad that every morning we yearn for night to fall; and every night we yearn for morning to dawn? 

In terrible times then, it is our internal world that is sustained by the Kaddish – not the Kaddish alone mind you (we also need honesty, vigilance, patience, persistence  and humility). But the Kaddish is its own antidote to despair, and this is why.

The Kaddish is above all an affirmation of hope, and not just hope for tomorrow or next week or even next year, but hope over the long haul. It is the bold contention that however much our efforts are stymied in the short run, however severe our setbacks in any given moment (or even any given lifetime), it is the long view of things that will prevail. The Kaddish images a God of history, an ultimate dominion of goodness, a momentous vision of a distant tomorrow beyond the momentary setbacks of our individual lives. 

The idea of such a “moreness” (the best word I can muster) is the very essence of religious consciousness. It seems also to be indelibly engraved on human consciousness, generally; we are a species that pictures “forever”; wonders about life after death; and recognizes, as Hamlet put it, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Religious metaphors like a messianic era, the Kingdom of God and the eschaton are attempts to capture this insistence that our life’s projects do not ignobly die when we do. So too are all those eulogies about the good we do continuing on beyond us. Why have liberals chosen instead to imagine that our every effort to ameliorate the world’s evils will succeed without setbacks? 

To be religious is to know that we belong to an order of things that is more than our earthly lives can contain; to know, or at last to suspect, that we are in league with God and part of eternity. 

How will I manage the new era that has begun? Through honesty, vigilance, perseverance, patience, and humility.

And when I tire of the effort that such struggle demands; when I run up against the powers that be; when I wonder whether I am making any sizable difference; I will take refuge in the Kaddish and its promise of moreness, making commutations back and forth from the world of the here and now to the place of forever.