Acting Now For Ever

Not too long ago, a friend of mine shared with me the difference between a psychotic and a neurotic. A psychotic, he explained, believes that 2+2 = 5. A neurotic, on the other hand, knows that 2+2 = 4, but he worries about it all the time.

I kept thinking about his quip last week as I absorbed the newly-published results of the New York Jewish population study. Ostensibly, the data reported in the Jewish and non-Jewish press bodes well for the Jewish future. In the ten years since the last study, there has been a dramatic increase in the New York Jewish population from about a million to approximately one and half million Jews, a development which – if you like Jews – is good news. And yet, like the neurotic in the joke, I find myself worrying about the math. Because if you scratch beneath the surface, the narrative behind the numbers is troubling. It seems that there are more Jews for three reasons. First, because Jews, like all Americans, are living longer. So far, so good. Second, because if you define a Jewish household thinly, meaning as a home containing someone who identifies as Jewish, then there are indeed more Jewish homes. But these homes are, at best, Jewish in name only. And third, because the Haredi or Ultra-Orthodox community is booming. In other words, it is at the edges – the unaffiliated and disengaged on one end and the Ultra-Orthodox on the other end – that the Jewish community is growing. Reform, Conservative and Modern Orthodox communities – what I will call the engaged middle – are hurting, if not hemorrhaging. We may not sense it here at Park Avenue Synagogue, but I can tell you my colleagues are feeling it. On Thursday evening I attended the Garden Party at the Jewish Theological Seminary and caught up with some of my colleagues from around the New York region. They are terrific Conservative rabbis of historic communities, exemplars of what it is to be a rabbi, not a slouch among them. For each of them, the population study is not news, they have long been living the demographic story it tells. Each one of them sees the trends and is worried for the future of the American Jewish center; each one is worried about the math, as we should be.

This is not the first time we have worried for our future, not the first time we have had to think on our feet. I am reminded of a much darker time, around the year 70 CE, when Jerusalem was besieged by the Romans and Holy Temple sat in ruins. The great sage Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai sensed the imminent destruction of the Jewish people, and daringly smuggled himself out of Jerusalem in order to gain an audience with the Roman general Vespasian, who would soon become the Emperor. Granted one request, Ben Zakkai famously replied, “Give me Yavneh and its sages.” Ben Zakkai knew he could do nothing before the might of the Romans, but by moving the spiritual center of our people away from the destroyed Temple in Jerusalem to the rabbinic academy of the coastal city of Yavneh, Ben Zakkai reinvented Jewish life in a way that that would sustain the Jewish people to this very day. In acting quickly yet keeping an eye on the big picture, Ben Zakkai modeled a sort of idealistic pragmatism, taking dramatic action in the present in order to ensure a brighter though distant future.

In moments of tumult and transformation, people have a natural tendency to do one of two things, both understandable and both inadvisable. On the one hand, when faced with uncertainty, it is tempting to shift gears completely. Something is not working so we radically redirect our goals, often taking unwise risks and embarking on faddish strategies that ultimately lead to our own undoing. The second tactic is just the opposite. We dig in our heels, turning ostrich-like away from the conditions of the present, resisting the need to change. Fear, inertia, slavish loyalty to the status quo – these are the qualities of many groups that presently sit in the dustbin of history.

In a sense, this is the crux of the Israelites’ conundrum in this week’s parashah. The time is a transitional moment as the Children of Israel prepare to enter the Land. Moses sends out the spies to scout out the territory ahead. At one and the same time, the Israelites are called on to embrace their long-awaited destiny and to take the bold steps necessary to make that destiny possible. It calls for a new muscle group, because they are asked do two things at once: to reinvent themselves from a people of Exodus to a people of Conquest, all the while understanding that transformation as an expression of the long-established goal of entering the Promised Land of Israel. But the Israelites prove altogether wanting in this challenge. They are so fixated on their present fears and concerns, they lose sight of the future horizon. Neither nimble nor responsive, they miss the window of opportunity, an opportunity that would not be extended again until their children’s generation.

The take-home lesson of the failed mission of the scouts is that given the choice of thinking in the long term or thinking in the short term, true wisdom is found in knowing that this choice is not one of either/or but rather one of both/and. Jim Collins, one of the most well-read management gurus of our day, conducted a study of organizations that rose to greatness in their respective domains, consistently outperforming industry indexes. One of the many characteristics that distinguish great companies from others is what he calls a “dual lens” capacity – the ability to zoom out and zoom in rapidly and effectively. Great companies, great organizations, great people are able to “zoom out,” understanding the landscape and not wavering from a disciplined commitment to long term goals. But these individuals are also able to “zoom in,” responding effectively to changing conditions with empirical creativity. Forward-looking people possess this dual lens, able at one and the same time to steadily see things through, but also be ready to make deliberate course corrections when necessary to arrive at their goals.

While Collins doesn’t quote him, I was reminded of one of Ben Zakkai’s most famous teachings: “If you have a seedling in your hand, and you hear that the Messiah has come, first plant the tree and then go greet the Messiah.” Our faith, while ever aspirational, has always contained a healthy dose of this worldly pragmatism. We pray and hope and dream for things in the chronological or theological future; we never stop thinking about tomorrow, but we know that our moment of impact is today. We plant the seedlings in the here and now, ever mindful of our obligations to the future.

It strikes me as altogether premature to announce the death of liberal Judaism (as some have in the past few days). Deep in my heart, I believe that there exists not just a place, but a desperate need for exactly what this congregation and like-minded congregations are committed to doing: to create a dynamic expression of Jewish life that is both traditional in its orientation and modern in its inclinations. A faith that embraces a commitment to a particular people and land, but also embraces our shared humanity. A Judaism that is responsive to the longings of every searching soul to feel the caress of God’s presence, yet shudders at the thought of fundamentalism. These values are not regnant leftovers from a bygone age, but ongoing and uplifting ideals to which we aspire and remain committed. It is not a need for market share that drives my rabbinate. It is the belief that what we are seeking to do here is right, is needed and yes, is the most authentic expression of Judaism our age offers. I would not dedicate my spiritual existence to a compromise position and neither should you. Like the scouts of the Torah reading, the American Jewish center lacks the conviction and passion and fortitude to enter its next stage of existence. Yes, course corrections are in order. Only a fool would dare ignore the warning signs the new data contains. In order to take the next steps, new ideological and programmatic ideas are needed for Conservative Judaism and other movements. I am not yet ready to give it full articulation and as we enter the summer months I am comfortable ending the season with a cliffhanger. But let there be no mistake. While the means may be in need of modification, our long term goals remain the same. Neither rash nor reckless, we zoom in and we zoom out, informed and responsive to the present, all the while committed to the long term vitality of our way of life.

I shared with you a story of one “Ben” – Ben Zakkai, and I will leave you with a story of another famous “Ben” – Ben Gurion, the first prime minister of Israel. It is a story I was reminded of last week when I visited Tel Aviv’s Independence Hall – the historic site of the signing of Israel’s Declaration of Independence on May 14, 1948. The decision to proclaim independence did not come without heated debate. While the world was well aware well of Britain’s anticipated exit from Palestine on May 15, 1948, it was not at all a foregone conclusion, not even within the Zionist leadership of the day, that the time was right to declare a Jewish homeland in Palestine. After all, the thinking went, if a State were to be declared, the attacking Arab armies would render it dead on arrival. And while we now know that President Truman would recognize the State just eleven minutes after its proclamation, two days before, every signal indicated otherwise. Marshall had indicated to Shertok that no help would be coming from the United States and it was well known that the State Department had no interest in being pulled into a war against the Arabs. Even Zionist leaders in the U.S. hedged – the time was not yet ripe, the pieces not in place for a declaration. As the story goes, it was on May 12, 1948 that David Ben Gurion encountered these mounting internal and external doubts. But he believed that buried somewhere within the fractious debate was an exciting promise of Jewish destiny. It was on that day, that he stood up in his quasi-cabinet and famously proclaimed: Haverim – achshav o l’olam lo, “Friends, it is now or it is never.” This was not an impulsive act. Just the opposite, it was at that moment that some 2000 years of Jewish history converged on a single point in time and Ben Gurion understood that it was time to flick the switch of destiny. And he did. And a new chapter of our people’s history was opened. Over the next two days, the declaration was drafted, to be read and signed on Friday afternoon, May 14, at 16 Rothschild Boulevard.

The Judaism we enjoy, the Israel we are grateful for, the blessings of our lives, exist because leaders like Ben Zakkai and Ben Gurion were able to do the exact thing that great leadership has always been asked to do. To zoom out and see the grand arc of history, and zoom in with a courageous and audacious response that will carry our people towards the fulfillment of God’s ancient promise. That promise remains before us now as always. May we have the chutzpah, the creativity, the discipline and the stamina to make decisions in the short term ever loyal to our long term ideals, and in so doing, plant the seedlings today that will be enjoyed by the generations to come.