The Pluralism Diaries by Rav Goni

The Hon. Moshe Katzav, President of the State of Israel, is the focus of a small storm. He confided to an interviewer that he could not call a Reform rabbi by the title "rabbi." He reserves this title for Orthodox clergy exclusively.

When Rabbi Eric Yoffie, head of the Union for Reform Judaism, was told of Pres. Katzav's policy he finally realized that in all his previous - and cordial - meetings with him, President Katzav had, indeed, always managed to work around addressing him directly as "rabbi." He determined to take a stand to defend his position and the dignity of over a million Jews who accept him as their rabbinic leader. So he declared that he would not meet with Pres. Katzav until the President changed his policy.

Demonstrations have taken place in front of the president's residence, calling on him to act in a manner befitting his office, which is supposed to serve as a unifying force for all Jewry. President Katzav has defended himself by saying that he is merely following State policy and that Israel does not recognize the Reform and Conservative movements as legitimate versions of Judaism. This is a half-truth. While non-Orthodox branches of Judaism are disenfranchised in the one country that is supposed to be the homeland for all Jews, both Reform and Conservative rabbis have been officially referred to with their rabbinic titles in various documents and in various contexts.

There are a number of ironies attached to this episode. It has been pointed out that even Orthodox rabbis in America have recently been dismissed by Israeli authorities. The Chief Rabbinate recently decided that most Orthodox rabbis in the US are not to be trusted with regard to the conversions they perform. One reporter sees these phenomena as indicative of the growing chasm developing between Israel and thr Diaspora (- see "Snubbed by Zion," by Benjamin Balint, WSJ, June 9, 2006). In this view Israel is increasingly sure of itself and dismissive of any Jewish legitimacy outside its borders (whatever they may be).

While this may be partly true, I think there is another aspect to this problem. The real root of the problem is the inability of Israelis to fully appreciate a pluralistic approach to Jewish life. This can be seen from two examples: With regard to the Katzav/Yoffie conflict it is surely noteworthy that Rabbi Zvi Hersh Weinreb, Executive Director of the Union of Orthodox Congregations - not someone who is soft on Reform Judaism - has openly rejected Pres. Katzav's position. He has stated clearly that Rabbi Yoffie should be shown the respect of being addressed as "rabbi." Rabbi Weinreb is no less committed to Orthodoxy than Pres. Katzav. The difference is that Rabbi Weinreb has learned to work within a pluralistic Jewish society. Pres. Katzav has not. (Of course, the Orthodox monopoly in Israel, which repeatedly defeats and prevents any pluralistic efforts, also allows the Orthodox camp to exert tremendous political pressure on the society to maintain this situation, pressure to which even the President of Israel is not immune.)

Another indicator of the limited nature of the Israeli religious imagination is reported in the Israeli paper, Haaretz ("In a Sea of Possibilities, the Secular Find an Anchor in the Halakhah," Yair Ettinger, June 23, 2006). The article describes the rise of interest among secular Israelis in finding directives for their lives through traditional Jewish law (halakhah). The point of the article is that in a post-modern world of infinite possibilities some people have gone beyond the vague notions of spiritual renewal to seek definitive answers that will direct their lives.

One of the popular addresses to which these Israelis turn is the writer Adam Barukh, a long-time figure on the Israeli cultural scene who now writes a weekly column of "responsa" - halakhic answers to real-life questions - for the paper Ma`ariv. When asked why so many turn to him for his advice, he answers, "This says something very serious about the Orthodox rabbis."

But if Israelis don't feel comfortable with the Orthodox, why don't they turn to the other streams? Adam Barukh notes, "Many of those who send a question live in emotional terror because of some taboo or fear, and they desire peace of mind (soul). They don't want the leniencies of a Reform rabbi because he is not an authority for them."

Apparently, in the monochromatic religious landscape of Israel, everyone - secular and Orthodox - all agree that a Reform rabbi is not a rabbi.

The Sages noticed that when the Torah describes the journey of the Israelites toward Mount Sinai it employs verbs in the plural form - "va-yis`u-and they traveled" or "va-yahanu-and they encamped." But when the Torah describes the final encampment of the Israelites at Mount Sinai, in preparation for receiving the Torah, it employs the singular form - "va-yihan sham Yisra'el neged ha-har-and Israel encamped [-sing.] across from the mountain." (Ex. 19:2) They remarked: "Every place that the Torah says "they traveled" or "they encamped" in the plural form it means that they traveled amidst controversy and they encamped amidst controversy. But here they set their hearts together as one. Therefore it says 'va-yihan.'"(Mekhilta, Ba-Hodesh 1)

A similar experience was enjoyed at the Alma all-night Tikkun Leil Shavuot that took place simultaneously at the Manhattan JCC and the 92nd Street Y, from 10 PM last Thursday night to 5 AM Friday morning, on the first night of the Shavuot holiday. Hundreds of people of all ages, backgrounds and outlooks gathered for a rich array of cultural and social events as well as for serious Torah study. There were activities to suit every taste and ideology. It was possible to listen to live music or go swimming, or, to avoid doing these things if one wasn't in the mood or if one was religiously opposed to such doing activities on a religious holiday. So everyone could go their separate ways and make their own choices, all under one (or two) roofs. But more impressively, the Torah study sessions succeeded in attracting a varied group of visitors who, instead of going their separate ways, were comfortable being with each other. Thus, in one class that I observed, for example, self-identified Orthodox adults exchanged perspectives with younger secular Israelis, and some participants were avidly listening and taking notes.

This means that each participant in such a session was, consciously or unconsciously, deciding to engage with other people, people with unfamiliar or unacceptable views or lifestyle choices. Some may have done this with a degree of discomfort, fear or hesitation. But those who were there had clearly moved beyond those feelings. After the Tikkun ended everyone went their separate ways. But for that Shavuot evening we re-enacted the encampment at Sinai, as one.

Meanwhile, across the sea, in the Holy Land, a different scenario played out recently. The Jerusalem Post ("Riskin Skips Conservative Agunot Parley," by Matthew Wagner, May 29, 2006) reports that an Orthodox rabbi withdrew at the last moment from a conference organized by the Masorti (Conservative) Movement after first accepting an invitation to participate. The conference was called to discuss various approaches to solving a problem of marriage inequities in Jewish law in which women are prevented from extricating themselves from a failed marriage (- the agunah problem). The Masorti movement had just issued a book that sought to catalogue the different approaches that have been advocated in traditional circles to solve this problem. The conference was convened at the prestigious Van Leer Institute in Jerusalem, in an effort to find a location that would not be identified as "Masorti," and thus be unacceptable to the Orthodox. Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, Chief Rabbi of Efrat, himself an advocate of a controversial solution to the agunah problem, had originally accepted an invitation to present his views.

Why did he withdraw? Rabbi Riskin explained: "Being singled out as the only Orthodox rabbi to speak at the conference would risk having my suggested solutions to the agunot problem disqualified by the rabbinic establishment."

Rabbi Riskin was the only scheduled Orthodox participant not because he was "singled out" as the only Orthodox rabbi invited. Rather, he was the only Orthodox rabbi who would accept the invitation. In other words, the rabbi was not personally opposed to sharing his thoughts with a religiously concerned audience that was not necessarily Orthodox. What, then, was the reason for his withdrawal? In fact, or in effect, he was pressured by forces in the Orthodox community who threatened him. They told him that his views - no matter what their merits - would not be given a hearing if he dared to appear before such an audience.

Rabbi Riskin made the following calculation: His own effectiveness in the Orthodox community is dependent on the Orthodox community's willingness to discuss his proposal regarding a religious problem affecting the suffering of innocent human beings. Rabbi Riskin feels that he has a persuasive and valid way to lessen and prevent such suffering. Such a discussion would be the highest fulfillment of the Torah. But doing away with this suffering - by engaging in such a fulfillment of the Torah - is less important to the Orthodox community than maintaining its success in preventing any participation in religious discussion with non-Orthodox rabbis! So, for the sake of retaining his hope that the Orthodox rabbinic establishment might still listen to his proposal, Rabbi Riskin had no choice but to avoid conversing with the non-Orthodox.

Thus, a powerful segment of traditional Jewry is willing to betray the Torah out of fear of pluralistic engagement. Such a fear must be awesome, indeed.