On The Fringes of Jewish Life
Rabbi Lewis John Eron, Ph.D.
March 8, 2006
Unlike most congregational rabbis but like many or most of my rabbinic colleagues who work in the chaplaincy - civilian or military, I spend most of my time with people on the fringes of Jewish life. My Jews are the old, the poor, the sick, the dying, the inter-married, the lost, the confused, the disabled, the addicted, the alienated, the bruised, the socially inept, and the unemployed. My Jews, my "congregation", are those live on the borders of Jewish life.
I do not go out looking for marginal Jews but I meet them every day. I encounter them in the course of visits to hospitals, nursing homes, and other institutional settings. I meet them at times of crisis and need. I meet them at times that call for of spiritual exploration. I meet them at times when they are aware of their marginality.
They are searching. They ask questions, but I have few answers. At best, I can listen to their stories and help them in their search. Many want return to their Jewish home, but they lost their way. I may be the first “official” Jew to care about their life journey in a very long time.
I know that a good part of my credibility as a Jewish chaplain is that I represent the Jewish heartland. I work for and represent the Jewish community. I am a member of a synagogue and many Jewish organizations. I am a rabbi and knowledgeable about the Jewish tradition. I am a symbol of much of what they cherished about Jewish life and much of what they disliked. I represent a community; a tradition, a people-hood, and a faith that in some way still has a small pull on their souls. Here are some stories and some observations about those at the edge of Jewish life, and how, perhaps, we can help them find their way home.
The “Used to Be” Jew
More often than not the people I meet identify themselves as “Used to Be” Jews, as in, “Rabbi, we used to be Orthodox” or Rabbi, we used to be members of . . .” or “Rabbi, we used to be active, until . . ..” Often these answers reflect fond memories of growing up in the old neighborhood, of children and their bar and bat mitzvahs, of a time before retirement and moving away, of a simpler life and a happier time.
They also contain sadder memories; memories of a rabbi who was unresponsive in a time of need, recollections of a time when a congregational membership seemed impossible, burdens of a personal crisis to which the Jewish community did not have the resources which to respond, scars of a tragedy which broke their childhood faith, the damage due to anti-Semitism, the rigidity of Jewish law, practice and custom, the sterility of Jewish worship.
I know that there is always more to the story than what they tell me, but that matters little. The truth that interests me is not what happened to them, but what happened within them. I am interested in how they came to live on the margins of Jewish life, how we can bring them back, and how we can help others from being lost.
“The Rabbi Who Bite Me”
I was at a Bar Mitzvah and during the cocktail hour a friend of the hosts came up to me and confessed that he did not attend the service. He told me that it was too painful for him to be in the synagogue. He was just too angry with rabbis and cantors.
When I reminded him that I was a rabbi, he told me that he felt comfortable with me because I was not a real rabbi. I guess it was because as a chaplain, I did not fit into his idea of what a “real rabbi” should be. So I thanked him and put down my plate.
He told me his story. In Hebrew school, he was not a good student. He found learning Hebrew difficult. He was loud, unruly, and disrespectful. But he did want to celebrate his Bar Mitzvah like the other Jewish young people.
One day, however, when he was behaving rather well, there was a disturbance in the class. The rabbi came in and signaled him out as the troublemaker. The rabbi grabbed him by the shoulders, held him tight, and said that this was the last straw. The rabbi said that unless he behaved like a mensch, a real human being, he did not want to see him in shul ever again. So the boy walked out and after twenty-five years had not returned.
Now the man is asking me what should he do with his children now that they are coming close to the age of Bar and Bat Mitzvah. After twenty-five years he still wonders if he has become a mensch.
An Almost Thirty, Single, Jewish Professional
Annie K. lives in a senior housing facility. Her granddaughter Amy is coming from Chicago to visit her. Annie is worried because Amy is a successful attorney in her late twenties, who cannot seem to find a nice Jewish man. When she was younger Amy was active in the Jewish community. She celebrated her Bat Mitzvah and stayed through Confirmation. In college, she participated in Hillel but lost contact with organized Jewish life in law school. After law school, a large firm hired Amy and she has been on the tack to make partner as soon as possible. Amy is politically active and interested in the environment. Her calendar is full but Annie thinks that her life is empty.
Annie is concerned that her granddaughter is working too much, that she never has fun, that she never goes out and that she has trouble being in a relationship. Annie asks me if I know any single Jewish men or a synagogue Amy could go to.
Later that day, Amy arrives. She is well dressed but haggard. She asks me the same questions as her grandmother.
Two Jews at a Funeral
I received a call from a non-Jewish funeral home about the possibility of officiating at a funeral of an elderly Jewish man, Morrie P. Morrie married an Irish Catholic woman and together they raised their children as Catholics, but he never hid being Jewish. When his wife died five years ago, he moved in with his granddaughter, Mary, and her family and lived with them until his death.
Mary, now a non-practicing Catholic, wants to give her Morrie a “good Jewish funeral” because he loved being Jewish so very much. Mary tells me that Morrie was the last surviving member of his immediate family and she did not expect any of his second cousins to come since Morrie had been estranged from his family for decades.
I was afraid that Morrie and I will be the only two Jews at the funeral until Mary asks me if she can be counted as Jewish because of her grandfather. She had already read a number of books and even learned how to read the kaddish in transliteration. She wanted to know which synagogue would be the best for her to go to so that she could say prayers for Morrie. She was also looking for a good nursery school for her three-year-old twins.
Pay to Pray
I met Carolyn T. in a local hospital. She was recovering from cancer surgery and waiting for her teenage children to come up and visit her. In the course of our conversation she told me that she missed having a synagogue to go to like she did when she was a child. “The synagogues around here,” she told me, “are not like the shuls in the city. Here they are for the wealthy. You can tell. Just look at how fancy they are. Look at the cars in the parking lots – everyone drives a Lexus, Mercedes, or a BMW.
“We’re not rich,” she said. “My husband, Bob, is in sales and I work for the state. We can’t afford the dues. When the kids were young and Bob was out of work, I wanted to enroll the children in religious school. They would not let me unless we joined the shul. We could not afford what they told us to pay. So we sent the children to this independent Hebrew school. They did a good job but when we wanted to have a Bar Mitzvah, the synagogue would not let us because the children did not go to their Hebrew school. We had the Bar Mitzvahs in a restaurant, with a rent-a-rabbi from Philadelphia. She was sweet. I still send her a Rosh Hashanah card every year.
“I don’t care much anymore. We spend the Holidays with my brother and his family in North Jersey. He can afford the extra tickets. My sister makes Seder. I did Thanksgiving. It works out.
“By the way, Rabbi, do you know anything about Jewish healing services.
My Daughter-in-Law isn’t Jewish
Nathan and Harriet live in a high-rise apartment building that has many Jewish seniors. This is the second marriage for both of them. Nathan is recovering from a stroke and they invited me for coffee and cake. I asked them about their family and Harriet said that between the two of them they have four daughters-in-law. The three Jewish ones are all right but the fourth, Crystal, Sean’s wife, the non-Jewish girl, is a saint.
Harriet told me of all four only Crystal makes sure that Nathan and she have a place to go for all the holidays. “It’s strange, we are at Crystal’s house for Christmas and Seder. You should taste her matzah balls. They are like my mother’s.”
“They should be,” Nathan, adds, “You gave her the recipe.”
Harriet continues, “Crystal always wants to know more. She’s always asking questions. But I’m afraid that her children are confused. They say that this cousin is “a Christmas” and this cousin is a “Chanukah” but that they are both. The middle one, Taylor, told me that he likes his “Chanukah” half better because Santa Claus does not exist and that Judah Maccabee is cool.”
Nathan then asks, “I wonder where those kids will end up. Cyrstal’s family is not religious but her brother and his wife just became one of those “Born Agains.”
And There Are Other Jews. . .
So many other Jews find themselves on the borders of our communities and cannot figure out how to come back in. Some don’t feel good enough to be part of the community.
Barney’s mother always wanted him to become a professional like his cousins who became doctors and dentists. Barney, however, drives a truck, lives in a modest house in the far suburbs, and feels ashamed when he sees his “more successful” relatives and former schoolmates in synagogue, in the mall, or even at the deli.
Nancy was active in the community until her husband left her and their three kids. He is slow on the child support and she now works two jobs to make things work. Money is tight and she has no time to get her children to religious school.
Mark is gay and lives in the suburbs. He finds it hard to participate in suburban synagogue life because they are so orientated to the needs of children and families.
His next-door neighbor, Morris, a widower, and a retired High School English teacher has a similar problem. The synagogues and the Center have senior programs but he finds it hard to meet people, so he stays at home or goes to Philadelphia with a few friends from time to time to see a play.
Randi is a spiritual seeker. She finds Jewish worship too slow, too predictable, and without spirit. She went to talk to a rabbi. She forgets which one, but she was far too much “in her head” for Randi and lacked spirit. So Randi does yoga, goes to a spiritual advisor, studies Buddhism, and Western Mysticism. She went to a Kabbalah class once but the rabbi was too Jewish. Yet she wants to incorporate her spiritual discoveries into her Jewish life if someone could help her.
Jerry did drugs. He didn’t do street drugs. He’s not a criminal. He abused prescription pain pills and drank too much. He lost his job, his wife and now his children rarely speak to him. But he has been in recovery for a few years. He has been clean. He has opened himself to his Higher Power. He is working the “Steps.” Why can’t he find a place in the Jewish community?
Jenny’s daughter is a special needs child. The synagogue to which she belonged tried to be helpful but their resources were limited. She had a bad experience with the Summer Day Camp. She knows that there are new programs through the center and the temples, but it is too late. Her daughter is sixteen and does not want a Bat Mitzvah anymore. Why couldn’t the Jewish community do more?
In all these stories I hear the same messages. On the one hand there is anger, fear, disappointment, and distrust. On the other hand there is fondness, regret, longing, and desire.
I know that there is another side to all of these stories. Of course, we have programs and policies that try to address these needs. Of course all these people have chosen to step back from an active Jewish life. Naturally there is more often more under the surface than they are showing me. But the primary complaint still represents a real hurt. With so many people choosing to stand on the fringes of our community, we need to ask basic questions about the nature and structure of our communities, our leadership, and our strategies for survival and growth.
Challenges and Responses
How do we make a home in the heart of the Jewish community for those who are no living on the edge? What can we do?
Firstly, we should not despair. This is not a new problem. From the time of the Exodus and the Desert Wandering when our ancestors had to integrate the mixed multitude that followed them and their God out of bondage until today there were always Jews engaged in the rough and tumble of Jewish life and Jews who landed on the edges. Our traditions, our customs, our institutions have successfully adjusted to the new challenges of every generation. We need to remember that there is great strength and wisdom in the collective experience of our people over time and space.
Secondly, we should not panic. We have a great depth of resources – a strong institutional infrastructure, many committed participants, a large cadre of highly trained rabbis, cantors, educators, and professionals. The American Jewish community consists primarily of third, fourth, and fifth-generation Americans. In comparison to other American ethnic and racial groups we have a low level of intermarriage. We have a higher percentage of seniors, the repositories of experience and memory, than the general population. Our people have, on the whole, good educations, good jobs and a certain degree of financial stability.
Thirdly, we should look honestly at our contemporary situation and understand its uniqueness. The case studies above illustrate the issues we now face. Our world has changed whether we like it or not. The strategies that carried us so far and help form our own sense of being Jewish are losing their effectiveness. We need to rethink how we deploy our resources.
“Am I a Jew?” – It’s All About Identity
Identity formation itself has changed in general American culture. It has become far more personal and individualistic than ever before. People no longer find identity in traditional communities and ethnic neighborhoods. We live in mixed neighborhoods. Intermarriage has broken ethnic barriers and even racial barriers are fading. As Americans our individual ethnic and cultural heritage form only a part of our social/psychological wardrobe. We put on and take off many identities. Even the term community is losing its sense of neighborhood and now is a synonym for “interest group.”
Furthermore, the importance of cultural and historical factors, which cemented Jewish identity and guided the phenomenal growth of our institutions, our synagogues, community centers, federations, and national agencies in the middle of the 20th century, has faded. The seminal events of the last century, events that touched the entire Jewish community – the immigration to North America, World War II, and the Holocaust, the founding of the State of Israel and the rise of the American Jewish suburban middle and professional class – no longer define Jewish memory and identity.
Today, Jewish identity, particularly for the generations after the baby-boomers, grows out of a series of personal, not communal, experiences – family life, religious education, life-cycle celebrations, youth group, camping, day-school. These experiences take on extraordinary importance for the individual and if any are weak or one is a disaster, that individual’s Jewish identity becomes at best negative and tenuous.
In this light, no matter where we think we are, we all are close to the margins of Jewish life. If we feel comfortable in our Jewish selves and connected to the institutions and activities of Jewish life and culture, it is because of the choices we have personally made and the experiences we have had. We are the lucky ones. We all could easily be “Used to Be Jews” if we had a dysfunctional family or had a bad experience with a Jewish teacher, rabbi, or cantor, or day-school was stifling or religious school boring, or so on and so forth. It need not take much.
We all have friends, neighbors, family members, co-workers, and college buddies with backgrounds similar to our own who have made different choices. Even though we may love being Jewish and feel that our lives are incredibly enriched by our participation in all Judaism has to offer, we respect and honor their decision to step away from Jewish life. It may hurt us a bit, but we understand that identity is personal. Who are we to comment?
In addition, Jewish identity is not easy to put one. To be a Jew, to live a Jewish life, still means to be part of a minority. Judaism, no matter how one practices it, is still an alternative life cycle. Jews follow a different religious calendar. Jews, even those who do not honor the laws of kashrut, have distinctive eating preferences. Jewish culture draws from a historical and cultural tradition that parallels but is not identical to that of the majority culture. To participate in Jewish life, one needs additional training, knowledge, and experience beyond that which is necessary to succeed in the majority culture.
Finally, there are few, if any, items that one can find within Jewish life that one cannot find elsewhere. There are many places where one can go to pick-up the various aspects of one’s individualized self-identity. There are groups and organizations that offer spiritual training, ancient wisdom, social support, cultural enrichment, social action, life-cycle rituals, and so forth.
This, however, does not mean there are easy answers. As we have seen our strengths are in many cases our weaknesses. The breadth and depth of our tradition make it difficult to approach. The size and strength of our institutions are often intimidating. Our material successes hide our spiritual riches. The relative openness of American culture has eased our social acceptance and weakened traditional borders defined by oppression, hate, and fear.
For those of us who have embraced Jewish life, we know that being Jewish provides many, if not all, aspects for a full human life. We know that Jewish culture, faith, tradition, spirituality is neither exclusive nor excluding. We know that throughout our history, Jews have borrowed from and contributed to our host cultures. We see it happening today in the blossoming of Jewish art, literature, music, scholarship, spirituality, piety, and devotion. But we also know that we cannot offer the full menu of Jewish life, to those who are tentatively ordering a la carte.
If in America identity is personal, it is also fluid. We live in a society in which we can remake ourselves. We are explorers. We are works in progress. We are always looking for ways to better ourselves. We are willing to change, grow, and evolve.
This is a wonderful opening. If identity, in general, is fluid, Jewish identity is also fluid. It is not something firm and rigid. It is flexible, adaptive, and living.
A person enters the Jewish life step by step and remains involved in Jewish life experience by experience. Being Jewish is not an either/or. Being Jewish is learning how to integrate and celebrate Judaism, the heritage and vision of the Jewish people, in one’s life.
This is a challenge not only for those on the margins of Jewish life but for each and every one of else. None of us are complete Jews and no version of Jewish life is complete in itself. We are all growing, changing, and evolving. As we pass through the various stages of life, our needs change, our goals change, and our dreams change. We need a Judaism that will respond to our life changes. Since we are different, each of us needs a Judaism that responds to us as individuals. We need a vision of Judaism that allows us to draw on and contribute to those aspects of Jewish life and tradition that are significant to where we are in our lives.
We can only hope to open up Jewish life to those at the margins if we have an understanding of what it means to be Jewish that responds to the changing needs and dreams of those of us in the core.
What We Can Do:
We need more open-minded rabbis and teachers who are willing to step out of tight institutional and ideological frameworks and meet Jews wherever they are found. We need people who are not selling a Jewish brand, but willing to help those interested in living Jewish lives find a Jewish identity and a Jewish home that works for them. And we need Jewish communal institutions to support them.
Our goal cannot be to go out to make Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, or Hasidic Jews. We must help Jews build Jewish identities and then trust them to seek out like-minded others and find a synagogue and a movement in which they can thrive.
While our synagogues will continue to provide cradle to grave service, we need to expand the entry points into the Jewish life and holiday cycles. Synagogue programming, celebration, ritual, and liturgy need to reflect the physical and spiritual mobility in our society, our ever-increasing longevity, our changing family patterns, and the challenges of a fluid identity. The synagogue building can no longer be a Jewish island in an American sea but the mother-ship from which congregants and clergy go out and interact with those seeking and strengthening Jewish identities.
Our synagogues and our Jewish community centers can no longer be merely membership organizations that primarily provide services to dues-paying members. We need to rethink what it means to be associated with Jewish institutions and how to foster long-term connections to people who are distrustful of institutions, wary of commitment, and are accustomed to a fee for service lifestyle.
Our synagogues and centers need to grow into deep, living communities to replace the shallow interest group communities in which many seek meaning. They need to be real places where real people come together to do real things. On the other hand, they need to be sufficiently open and flexible enough to allow people to explore and develop their Jewish identities and place within Jewish life. We know that even though in the best Jewish communities only half the Jews are connected to organized Jewish communal life at any one time, but the vast majority of Jews were at some time in their lives part of the organized Jewish community.
We need to rethink the way we finance our institutions and pay our professionals. We cannot afford to let high fees and low salaries keep people away from joining and serving the Jewish community. We need to be able to talk about money as a spiritual resource and not just an obstacle or a tool. We need to bring together our financial expertise, our ethical insights and our sense of social responsibility to devise new ways to support our institutions and our professionals and communal workers to serve a changing and diverse Jewish clientele.
Finally, we need to understand the primary issue in outreach and retention is Jewish identity and not Jewish status. Jewish identity is the individual’s personal connection to Jewish life, the Jewish people, Jewish faith, and Jewish tradition. It is the individual’s self-understanding of him or herself as a Jew.
This is not the time to argue who is in or who is out. We need to open the doors and let people come in and have trust in our collective wisdom. Common wisdom may change, traditional standards may shift, positions will change and we will figure out what really defines an interested, involved, and active member of Am Yisrael and we will have learned how to change a “Used to Be” Jew to a “Not Yet” Jew and a “Not Yet” Jew to a “Getting There” Jew, and hopefully, a “Getting There” Jew to one who is at home again in an active, pluralistic, welcoming Jewish community. And while we are at it, we might even pick up a few who didn’t even know that they could become one of us. And that would not be so bad either.
God spoke to Joshua, Moses’ chosen successor, just as Joshua was about to led our ancestors across the Jordan River into Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Promise, and gave him a piece of advice. God said, Chazak v’Amatz, “Be Brave and Strong” as you enter into a new stage in your life and that of your people, and you will succeed.
God’s words to Joshua still carry meaning for us today. Every generation crosses into the future, an unknown, promised land. We know where we have been and where we are, but where we are going and how we are going to get there remains a mystery. We cannot go back or standstill, so we go ahead. Chazak v’Amatz! We should be strong and brave as we cross into our future. We should move forward with joy and open our arms and bring the stragglers, the wanderers and lost with us, and it will be all right.
“On the Fringes of Jewish Life – Part II in A Series ‘American Judaism at the Crossroads’”, Attitudes, A Journal of Jewish Life and Style, Jewish Federation Publications, Cherry Hill, New Jersey, Spring / Summer 2006