Radical Hospitality

Had the Pew Research Center analyzed the condition of the Jewish community of this week’s parashah, their assessment would undoubtedly have been altogether gloomy, if not downright bleak. Relative to the general population, the Jewish community as represented by Abraham and Sarah suffered a desperately low fertility rate. It was an aging demographic of two, Abraham at ninety-nine and Sarah not far behind. Even back then, one of every two unions, Sarah and then Hagar, was with a non-Jew. In terms of the structural impediments to living an active Jewish life – considering last week’s story of circumcision, I would characterize the bar of entry as pretty high. As for the percentage of Jews who would identify themselves as religious, given Isaac’s near sacrifice on the altar, we can excuse his generation’s understandable lapse in God-talk. How strong was this generation’s attachment to the Promised Land? Last I checked, as much of this story takes place outside of Israel as in it. Had a survey been conducted back then, I imagine the Jewish press would have characterized the results as dour if not dire. Had a survey been conducted back then, I imagine anyone reading the coverage would have been sure that the first study of Jewry would also be the last.

Of all the questions I have pondered since the results of the recent Pew Survey on American Jewry were released, high on my list has been the question of why I have avoided speaking about it. Sermon after sermon from my colleagues, one conference call after another, panel after panel, and more op-eds in the Jewish press, it would seem, than self-identifying Jews – the survey has raised more questions than it has sought to answer. How was the data collected? How were the questions framed? Is it accurate? Do one percent of Orthodox Jews really have Christmas trees? And even if we accept the information, what does it mean for the Jews? Most people interpret the data with great pessimism, the study an alarming wake up call for a community on the decline. Others see the silver lining in all the data, insistent that there is good news to be found. Part of my hesitation, I think, is my knowing that our narrative on the Upper East Side is very different from what is taking place nationally. Consider today: a double day-school bar mitzvah, a filled sanctuary, filled hallways, and filled classrooms of intellectually, spiritually and philanthropically engaged Jews. Take a trip outside of this neighborhood and you will understand the bubble we live in. Just this week, I heard of a colleague being laid off, as a historic Midwest synagogue prepares to shut its doors. I know exactly what is going on outside of our bubble, and it strikes me as somehow unseemly to weigh in on the tough times of American Jewry from a pulpit and community enjoying such bounty.

The more fundamental reason I think I have avoided speaking about the survey is that I am a congregational rabbi and not a sociologist, and as a rabbi I am not exactly sure how all the analyzing actually helps push the conversation forward. As Mark Twain once remarked about the weather, everyone is talking about it, but nobody is doing anything about it. As a rabbi toiling in the trenches of Jewish life, my question is always about you, the Jew in the pew, and what makes you tick. Don’t get me wrong, there is a time and place for fancy folk with fancy titles to sit on long-term planning committees to assess data and allocate Jewish communal resources. Sometimes I even get to sit in on those conversations. But here in this room, we know that not only is all religion local, but it is deeply personal. The decision to affiliate – or not. To come to shul – or not. To observe mitzvot – or not. To go to Israel – or not. These and a million other markers of active Jewish existence, are decisions that this institution is trying to impact every day. With a limited amount of time in a rabbinic day or, for that matter, lifetime, I would rather spend it thinking about how to bring Jews closer to Torah, closer to God and closer to each other. It is not at all clear to me that the massive amount of time and energy being spent debating the study will bring any Jews closer to their spiritual inheritance, and that is where I think we here in this room need to spend our time.

Which brings us back to Abraham. I believe that it is in the figure of Abraham, more than in any op-ed, where the secret of Jewish continuity lies. There he sat, at the beginning of this week’s parashah, in the heat of the day, ready to greet a wayfarer from any direction. The rabbis comment that his placement is itself an indication of his character; that despite his vaunted spiritual stature, he sat humbly at the tent door greeting the passing stranger. And when one would come by – as did the three visitors – out he ran, ratz likratam, to greet them. Were these passersby mere men or emissaries from the divine? It is not exactly clear, but that is the point. As Rosenzweig noted on this passage long ago, “Abraham is the religious man par excellence for he sees God in the human situation.” Abraham’s spiritual greatness was that he saw God’s image in everyone, friend, stranger or otherwise. It was not the externals that interested Abraham; in Abraham’s mind everyone possessed a spark of the divine. Abraham embodied what Ron Wolfson calls a form of “radical hospitality,” what is called in Hebrew hakhnasat orhim. (Relational Judaism) In Abraham’s presence everyone felt welcome, everyone felt embraced. And you know what? Despite the aforementioned tongue-in-cheek trends that would have argued otherwise, Abraham’s open spiritual posture worked and he reaped huge rewards. He became av-raham, the father of many, making souls, oseh n’fashot, our outreach role model ever since.

Because I believe that the human soul has remained essentially constant since the Bible, I also believe that those concerned for the Jewish future need look no further than the Abrahamic model to respond to our present angst. You want to know who the most thrilling religious leader of our era is? The new Pope, Pope Francis. Why? Because some six months into his papacy, the Pontiff has performed the canonization-worthy PR miracle of overhauling the public’s perception of the Vatican. No longer does the church lead with its chin, letting a list of “Thou shalt not’s” define its mission. No longer is the church asking the question “Who is out?” but rather “Who is in?” From his headline-grabbing comment on homosexuality “Who am I to judge?” to his more recent comment that that Church had grown obsessed with abortion, gay marriage and contraception, this Pope understands the big tent needs of the hour. Significantly, if you study his words closely, the shift is one of style not substance. There have been no doctrinal revolutions, no policy changes, no line dancing in St. Peter’s square. As Pope John XXIII stated at the opening of the second Vatican council, the deposit of faith is one thing; “the way in which it is presented is another.” But think of how far the tone has changed since the “God’s Rottweiler” days of Pope Benedict. It is far too early to count the returns, but as Timothy Egan recently wrote, Pope Francis’ expansive and embracing vision has resulted in the emergence of a Catholic community that though “lapsed” is now very much “listening.”

It is from this playbook that we, as a Jewish community, should learn a lot very, very quickly. Whatever the assumptions of mid-century middle America may have been, I don’t need a study to tell me that it is no longer the case. The most famous book on American religious sociology of the 1950’s was Will Herberg’s Protestant-Catholic-Jew, a book whose very title speaks to its assessment that American religious life was composed of three steady streams of inherited religious affiliation. If your parents were Irish or Italian, that meant you would be Catholic and would affiliate with the Church, as would Jews with Jews and synagogues, and Protestants with Protestants and churches. But the time for any automatic tribal affiliation has long since passed. This week I had lunch with a proud, self-identified Jew, who over the years has given more time and support to the Jewish world than most people in their lifetime. Over the meal he joyfully shared that his children were joining a synagogue. And because I can’t help myself, I asked him, “So who called the synagogue and who is paying for the membership?” On both counts, he replied that it was he. It was the smallest exchange that spoke volumes about what is taking place nationally. The default assumption that one joins, affiliates and supports Jewish institutional life – simply because that is what Jews do – is a language that has lost its traction. And that has nothing to do with Jewish or Catholic, nothing to do with Orthodox, Conservative or Reform – that is the just the fact of religion in America today.

All of which is why, when formulating a response to concerns for Jewish continuity, we need to think not just locally, not just personally, but inter-personally. On more than one occasion, I have shared how it was one individual who stopped me as I was walking out of my campus Hillel who triggered my journey back into Jewish life and living. If you see Jewish communities that are growing, that are thriving on campus, in the city, in the suburbs or anywhere, I am willing to bet that at the heart of these communities lies the radical hospitality, the open spiritual posture practiced by Abraham. As Martin Buber once noted, “All real living is meeting.” It has nothing to do with ideology. It is not Orthodox or Conservative, it doesn’t matter if you are a store-front start-up or Park Avenue Synagogue. It is the small and simple gesture of recognizing the humanity of the person sitting next to you, not judging them because they are taller or shorter, or older or younger, or richer or poorer, or more or less religious. They are human beings created in the image of the divine just as you are. In welcoming them warmly, you designate them, this sanctuary and our faith as sacred. As the book of Proverbs teaches, “The soul of a person is the candle of God.” (Proverbs 20:27) Each one of us, like a candle, can kindle the flame of another soul without diminishing the strength of our own flame. What is the secret to creating vibrant Jewish communities? Welcome everyone, invest in everyone, greet everyone, make everyone feel that their presence matters. There is no shortage of challenges facing the Jewish world, but if you want to know what you personally can do to help facilitate Jews to join, affiliate and support Jewish institutions, practice radical hospitality. That is the secret to the Jewish future.

The late Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach was once asked to describe his ideal community, a community that would, in 1960s San Francisco, become known as the House of Love and Prayer. Famously, he responded by characterizing his ideal community as one where when you arrive, people are happy to see you, and when you leave, people miss you. At any given moment there are people walking in and walking out of this building and by extension, Jewish life. More likely – and increasingly, it would seem – they are walking right by it, opting not to stop in at all. We need to sit at the opening of the tent, literally and figuratively, even running out to greet them. We need to spend less time worrying about Pew research and more time connecting with the people we would like to have sitting in the pews. We need to do the very thing Abraham started doing so long ago. In doing so, no matter what the pundits say, we will fulfill the ancient promise made to him: that our people should grow as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of earth, a blessing for all to behold.