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We must decide whether to hand over power to Begin or to order him to cease his separate activities. If he does not do so, we will open fire! Otherwise, we must decide to disperse our own army.

Ben-Gurion ordered Yigael Yadin (acting Chief of Staff) to concentrate large forces on the Tel Aviv beach and to take the ship by force.

Heavy guns were transferred to the area and at four in the afternoon, Ben-Gurion ordered the shelling of the Altalena.

One of the shells hit the ship, which began to burn. There was danger that the fire would spread to the holds which contained explosives, and the captain ordered all aboard to abandon ship. People jumped into the water, whilst their comrades on shore set out to meet them on rafts.

Although the captain flew the white flag of surrender, automatic fire continued to be directed at the unarmed survivors. Begin, who was on deck, agreed to leave the ship only after the last of the wounded had been evacuated.

Ten Irgun fighters were killed on Tel Aviv beach, and one IDF soldier. After the shelling of the Altalena, more than 200 Irgun fighters were arrested on Ben-Gurion’s orders.

The idea that only 3 years after the Holocaust, while fighting against the Arabs, a Jew might fire upon another Jew, left a scar on the entire nation.

Back to the session…

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I went to a wonderfully inspiring religious service on Friday night at Romemu congregation on the Upper West Side. Beautiful singing – much of it in Hebrew -, an inspiring sermon, a warm and welcoming community atmosphere. In some ways, it was a snap shot of all that is dynamic and valuable about North American Jewry. And at the same time a snap shot of how sustainable Israel engagement is in real trouble.

A snap shot of all that is dynamic and valuable about North American Jewry. And at the same time a snap shot of how sustainable Israel engagement is in real trouble.

Three things I noticed in this snap shot:

The first is such an obvious, prosaic point it is almost not worth noting, but let’s say it anyway. The Kabbalat Shabbat service was almost unrecognizable to the vast majority of Israeli Jews. Original tunes, guitar and drums, Rabbi wearing a “Madonna” mike, and lots of only-half-spontaneous clapping and dancing around the hall, people being drawn in to the hora like sober guests at the office-party conga. As a British newcomer murmured to me, half in disdain half in wonder: “It’s like Simchat Torah every week.”

To be clear: I view this kind of renewal service as one of the most creative and enjoyable aspects of North American Judaism. I’m no halachic stickler, and I love harmonizing before a meal. But you’d be hard-pushed to find even 5% of the Israeli Jewish population that would feel anything other than culture shock in that service. If we were only examining the pluralistic nature of Jewish practice, this wouldn’t be an issue. But I was looking for common ground between US Jews and Israelis, and when religious ritual isn’t on the map, this is cause for concern.

The sermon was delivered passionately and intelligently by a charismatic and highly-learned Rabbi teaching us about compassion.

Second, the message was ecumenical, universal, and ever-so-slightly Christian. The sermon was delivered passionately and intelligently by a charismatic and highly-learned Rabbi teaching us about compassion. There was a blind man in a subway, there was reaching out, and there was a conceit about seeing and blindness.

The message was deep-felt and deeply sourced in Talmudic and Chasidic thinking. Its message of doing good in the world was both universal and individual. Doing good in the world was not a collective taking of power, nor a communal drive, but rather an individual’s response to a social ill for which he or she had no direct responsibility to change, only to ameliorate. It was, in the end, a message for a people without a collective identity, a people without a State, living in a Christian world.

Again, as a message to the world, one could do far worse. It may even be exactly the right message, calibrated perfectly, for life on the Upper West side of Manhattan. But it shares so very little with the thinking that underlies Zionism and the raison d’etre of Israel. The idea of collectivity, the idea of responsibility for an entire nation, the possibility of uniquely Jewish aspects of our moral mission on earth – these were nowhere to be found.

I don’t suggest that the individual/universal is bad and the collective/specific is good. Just that – again – the common ground is terribly sparse.

Finally it was clear that this Friday night service was the Jewish highlight of people’s week. There was spiritual uplift and harmony. It was a beautifully constructed evening that was complete in and of itself. In a packed week of work and family, people turned to Romemu for the comfort of their Jewish island. For some it might have been their only encounter with their Jewish identity that week. For others, if not their only encounter, certainly their most inspiring.

Yet there was no room for contemporary Israel in this service. How could there be? How can Middle Eastern discord be allowed in amongst the harmonies? What space is there for Israeli doubt, fear, and fury, in a service so full of comfort and consensus?

It would be wrong, or wrong-headed to ever expect that Israeli current affairs should gain anything more than a mention of the local Yom Ha’atzmaut celebrations. Yet if one believes, as I do, that Israel is one of the most important missions of the Jewish People, then a Jewish service that is perfect without mention of this mission, is cause for concern.

A beautiful expression of how Jewish life can feel itself complete and vibrant without being in any way connected to Israel.

I do not judge this service on its own merits – it was not lacking, it was not empty, it was neither dumbed-down nor patronizing. It was a beautiful expression of how Jewish life can feel itself complete and vibrant without being in any way connected to Israel.

Was this a mis-leading snap-shot? Or was it another sign of the dying of the light between Israel and the Diaspora? 

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A few comments:

1. There’s a time and a place for everything… Israel doesn’t only represent the contemporary/modern state and political discord, but it also represents spiritual life/ history/ yearning, all of which can easily be incorporated into a Romemu service. The Rabbi might share something about the Jews of Safed searching for the Shabbat bride as the sun sets over Mount Meron (or something uplifting that is fitting for a religious experience like Friday night services.)  I think that Romemu would probably be very happy to highlight programs and people in Israel who are working to make it a better place (as are many other synagogues like BJ).
2. If we were to consider methods of Israel Engagement on a spectrum – in which trips to Israel represent the “thickest” arena – then life cycle events and even religious services would represent the thinnest method… If one were searching for an “Israel Input” in life cycle and event religious services, one might include poetry/ prose /songs that are distinctly Israeli or written by Israelis that would resonate with the prayer service.
3. It might be a tad reductionist to say that Israel is all about the collective, and the Diaspora is all about the individual.  There is individuality/ creative re-reading of songs from our traditions in Israel too (isn’t Makom’s celebration of the work of Kobi Oz a case in point?) just as there are original jewish songs created here.
4. Universal/Particular – it is sometimes hard in these services to talk about the “Jewish mission” because there are so many intermarried families… Language of exclusion is often off-putting.  Language that reflects the depth of Jewish life and commitment (by linking sources about chesed to Jewish sources from the Talmud) and focuses on the universal messages of Jewish life makes Judaism more engaging for a lot of these families (and other congregants at Romemu who might otherwise be drawn to Buddhism or other spiritual paths.) 

I do agree that overall Israel engagement (with “political” Israel at least) is hard for some folks living outside of Israel, especially at times when they are looking to Jewish life for spiritual nourishment and inspiration.

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I do have a few questions for you, and would be glad to hear your responses:

1. Would you have felt differently about the sermon if it had happened to be on Israel? I would think that even in Israel, rabbis choose from many different topics when they give sermons and drashot. Does every service you attend in Israel always include a reference to domestic politics?

2. Did the service really feel all that different than it would have been had you gone to a Jewish Renewal service in Israel (for example, at Jerusalem’s Nava Tehila)? Should you argue, Jewish Renewal is a North American import to Israel, I might ask in response, are you suggesting that there is some intrinsically domestic form of worship currently practiced in Israel, uninfluenced by immigration?

3. On that same point, should you argue, Renewal (and really, any type of worship that incorporates a language other than Hebrew, instrumentation, meditation, and other “progressive” innovations) doesn’t represent the majority of Israeli shul-goers, I would ask in response, could it be that the privileging of certain forms of Jewish expression through the orthodox and ultra-orthodox rabbinate has hampered the growth of progressive Judaism in Israel? Maybe a larger number of Israeli Jews would find a way to God and spirituality if the government weren’t illegitimating the kinds of worship practiced by the majority of Jews in the States.

4. Finally, although it sounds like your experience at Romemu didn’t particularly resonate for you as an Israeli, I would ask: (a) doesn’t that say more about you than about the service? There are quite a few Israelis who visit American synagogues and discover a form of worship that speaks to them in a way they’ve never experienced before, not to mention that Romemu has a fair number of Israeli worshippers. And (b) who cares? Why should a Jewish worship experience in the USA have to matter to an Israeli?

One last point: I love your writing generally (your “wrestling/hugging” metaphor is classic) and you as a person. Still, this piece came across less as provocative than deliberately confrontational. If your interest is in building common ground between North America and Israel through worship, why not start with orthodox or Chasidic congregation, where worshippers do indeed flow seamlessly between our two beloved homelands.

With best wishes

Saul 

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As a rabbi working to inspire attachment and imagination regarding the Jewish past, present and future, there is no doubt that the relationship with Israel is at the heart of the challenge, but it is not the only challenge.

It is true that there is a gap between Israel and the Diaspora, one that is being written about and discussed by the American Jewish community a great deal (in Peter Beinart’s book The Crisis of Zionism, in Rabbi Sid Schwarz’s new book Jewish Megatrends – to name two recent publications.) The gap is political, social, and definitely religious. The image just this week of Israeli police in full riot gear needing to protect women who wish to pray at the Kotel is a painful example of such a gap.

But to decry a spiritual community in New York that is one of the inspiring examples of how Jewish life can be relevant and compelling is not useful, and most certainly is not an example of the “dying of the light.”

As a Reconstructionist rabbi I see Israel as the “radiating center” of the Diaspora that Mordecai Kaplan identified. Like many rabbis, I bring Israel into my services and my work through the liturgy, English readings that stimulate my community to think about Israel engagement, through discussions about current events, by programs about Israel, and by helping congregants grapple with their Jewish identity in relationship to Israel.

But to hold our spiritual practice up against the part of Israel that simultaneously champions secularity and says that traditional, Orthodox or ortho-prax services are the only authentic expression of Jewish practice is a reflection of that gap.

Admittedly, my concern each week is not how to make 95% of Israeli Jews avoid culture shock should they come to my community. My chief concern is encouraging 95% of my congregation to recognize the meaning to be made from living life as a Jew in the 21st century.

I believe it is my job as a leader and teacher to make connections to and with Israel and I’d like to believe that my Israeli counterparts feel the same way about Jewish life in the Diaspora. Israel is one of the “most important missions of the Jewish people” but the strength of that mission includes the recognition by Israeli Jews that the American Jewish attachment to spiritual practice, moral courage, and meaningful communities where we live is also part of that mission. 

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The 3 Cs framework presents 3 different gateways through which we each personally feel connected to the Jewish People.

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