America at the Crossroads

Yom Kippur 5777/12 October 2016

In 1788, right here in Philadelphia, Mikveh Israel faced the problem of how to pay off the building they constructed in the waning days of the Revolution. This was hardly a new challenge — communities across the world had financed synagogue projects for centuries — but in the heady post-Revolution environment, Mikveh Israel decided to test their new waters in a bold way. Historically, Jewish communities would retire their debts through an appeal to wealthy Jews, from their own town as well as others nearby. In Philadelphia, however, it was already common for churches to raise funds by appealing broadly to the general public in addition to their own membership. What might happen if Mikveh Israel attempted the same play?

Their gambit paid off. Prominent Philadelphia Christians happily came forward in support of their Jewish neighbors — most notably Benjamin Franklin, who as a matter of principle contributed to support the church buildings of any denomination and, it would seem, saw no reason to treat Mikveh Israel any differently.^[1] 

While the colorful personalities and Revolutionary-era setting make this story especially charming, the underlying attitudes were typical of the American Jewish experience. The United States was unique among nations in granting Jews formal citizenship rights along with everyone else, not as a result of specific legislation; and although social bias against Jews existed,^[2] by the time our Founding Fathers gathered here to write the Declaration of Independence, America’s Jews were already the most liberated Jews anywhere in the world.^[3] Only in America have Jews enjoyed, from the very beginning, the right to participate in society as Jews.

At the dawn of modernity, the Jewish people quickly discerned the intrinsic connection between diversity, political liberalism, and our own welfare;^[4] and yet even in this context, early America was qualitatively different. Virginia’s 1785 Act for Religious Freedom, which served as a template for the First Amendment’s Free Exercise Clause, asserts a “natural right” to religious freedom — not because our Founding Fathers particularly cared about or even noticed the Jews in their midst, but in response to their own practical concerns.^[5] The framers of the Constitution drew on Enlightenment philosophy to protect the rights of Protestant dissenters; Jews came along for the ride, unintended beneficiaries of American liberalism.^[6] 

George Washington himself acknowledged America’s unique approach to religious liberty. In a famous 1790 letter to the Jewish community in Newport, Rhode Island, he wrote:

Throughout history, Jews benefited or suffered based on the shifting moods of the non-Jewish government; in America, for the first time, we were treated no differently than any of our neighbors.

No matter how exceptional we might find America’s approach to religious liberty, we must understand that this quality of our democracy is not inherent; it must be tended and cultivated at every turn. Seventy-five years ago, as the world descended into the bloodiest conflict in human history, Erich Fromm cautioned us that “the crisis of democracy is not a peculiarly Italian or German problem, but one confronting every modern state.”^[8] Democracy is always vulnerable to a populist, of any political bent, who might appeal to our least-refined impulses and rise to power, dragging down the entire society.^[9] History proves, again and again, how easy it is to build social cohesion and even a mass movement by identifying and targeting an “enemy” group, whether within society or on the outside.^[10] Discrimination, in any form, corrodes democratic societies and poisons even those groups who are not specifically targeted.^[11] We Jews know all too well where this ends: as John Dewey presciently observed in 1939, “Movements that begin by stirring up hostility against a group of people end by denying to them all human qualities.”^[12] Diversity – in all its manifestations – may be the only social force capable of inoculating a democracy against the danger of encroaching authoritarianism.^[13]

Every generation believes it faces uniquely difficult problems; still, by any reasonable measure we live in extremely trying times. As America’s cultural, religious, and ethnic landscape becomes ever more diverse, the groups who once saw themselves as the center of American society will feel increasingly displaced. As the pace of social progress increases, those who found safety in the familiar contours of an older way of life begin to resist change, longing for a mythic era of past “greatness.”^[14] Even as diversity increases, we must also understand the very real fear and anxiety of those who feel destabilized, and respond with compassion instead of condescension.

As disruptive as these trends and countertrends have become, the shift toward a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic society ultimately benefits all Americans. Just before his appointment to the Supreme Court, Louis Brandeis gave a speech that could just as easily describe our America, a century later. In one of the most moving passages, Brandeis urges:

It’s hard to say if Brandeis could have imagined the America we see in 2016. But I have no doubt that we have a greater opportunity than ever before to realize the ideal he articulates: an America open to all people – no matter how foreign, no matter how different – who come here seeking fellowship, liberty, and opportunity.

We can not separate the decisions we face this fall as American citizens from the moral and spiritual questions we encounter today on Yom Kippur. At its most basic, Yom Kippur makes sense only in a world where we have the free will to choose good over evil; free will provides the only secure foundation for moral accountability, and stands as a primary assumption of Jewish thought.^[16] Totalitarianism represents the antithesis of the Jewish world view, demanding that the individual submit himself to the supreme leader’s ultimate power and abandon all personal agency and accountability.^[17] Erich Fromm, in his classic treatise on democracy and totalitarianism, Escape from Freedom, cites just one Biblical verse: אִם־יִֽהְיוּ חֲטָֽאֵיכֶם כַּשָּׁנִים כַּשֶּׁלֶג יַלְבִּינוּ, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow” — a verse that lies behind our custom of wearing white on this holiest day, and in which the prophet Isaiah captures the very essence of Yom Kippur. For Fromm, Isaiah’s insistence on the reality of teshuvah, the ever-present capacity for change and improvement, “express[es] the very opposite of authoritarian philosophy.”^[18] In similar fashion, Dewey sees democracy as “allied with humanism, with faith in the potentialities of human nature.”^[19] We find here a striking consonance between Judaism and democracy, both predicated on free will and a belief that human beings can — and generally will — do the right thing.

We also cannot fail to notice the profound incompatibility of Jewish values with authoritarian politics. The authoritarian respects power above all else; he disdains, more than anything, compassion for the weak.^[20] In one of the most chilling passages from Orwell’s 1984, O’Brien, representing the totalitarian government, declares: “Power is not a means; it is an end… The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power.”^[21] 

Our Torah condemns this approach to life in no uncertain terms; it portrays the exercise of power for its own sake and contempt for those in need as the hallmarks of Amalek, the Jewish People’s eternal enemy.^[22] Of all the nations encountered by the ancient Israelites, only Amalek was singled out for complete annihilation^[23] — because the very existence of an totalitarian state, anywhere in the world, undermines the Torah’s moral vision. Again and again, the Torah reinforces our mitzvah to protect those who are weak and disenfranchised;^[24] and while more could always be done to support the needy and defend the powerless, America is still predicated on the ideal that our government and society exist to serve the needs of our fellow citizens.^[25] 

We must pay attention to the centrality of education, debate, and intellectual diversity in Rabbinic Judaism. From the very beginning of Talmudic thought, our Sages scrupulously recorded and preserved minority opinions — despite their being rejected in practice.^[26] The Houses of Shammai and Hillel, who sharply opposed one another on most matters of halakhah, nevertheless respected the others’ opinions and taught them alongside their own.^[27] In modern America, good examples of this spirit are Supreme Court Justices Ruth Bader Ginsburg and the late Antonin Scalia. Despite adhering to diametrically opposed legal theories, the two expressed genuine respect for one another and enjoyed a warm personal friendship throughout their years on the bench.

Overall, however, our generation fares much worse. Researchers have now thoroughly documented our tendency to gravitate toward news and information that merely confirms our preconceived notions,^[28] and it often seems our elected representatives have come to treat “compromise” as a dirty word. I see this as an issue of grave concern. Democracy cannot endure without engaged, educated, open-minded citizens;^[29] for Dewey, villainization of dissent and rejection of accommodation or compromise are telltale signs of authoritarianism.^[30] If public discourse around contentious issues — reproductive rights, structural racism, health care and other social safety nets — serves as the proverbial canary in a coal mine, the prognosis doesn’t look particularly good these days.

And yet I see cause for hope. In 1914, with revolution in the air and the world teetering on the brink of war, Rav Kook — modern Israel’s first Chief Rabbi — published a series of essays dealing with the emotional and spiritual climate of his age. Assessing the spirit of revolution among the younger generations, he writes:

In a world that appeared to be descending into chaos, Rav Kook discerned the first tender growth of social progress. While much of the burgeoning turmoil came out of a spirit of violent nihilism, Rav Kook also saw a different type of revolutionary — motivated not by a desire for power but because they believed in the possibility of a more dignified, egalitarian, just society. These idealists, for Rav Kook, represent a holy force in the world. The “orderly souls,” deeply invested in the status quo, can’t see the potential and thus don’t understand the chaotic soul’s insistence on change; in their well-intentioned but misplaced desire to preserve the present order, they inadvertently stem the tide of human progress.^[32] 

It takes great courage, on the part of the individual and society, to weather the instability and challenges that precede the unveiling of “a new and wondrous creative existence.”^[33] As Erich Fromm’s analysis shows, in the course of human development the old social structures, in which we find a sense of security, begin to dissolve before the new way of life has fully emerged. The gap between those states, in which we no longer feel the familiar safety of the old ways and cannot yet sense the greater freedom that comes with progress, generates immense, almost intolerable anxiety — an anxiety that drives Rav Kook’s “orderly souls” to fight back against progress.^[34] 

America today is at a crossroads, not a precipice. We live at the dawn of a new America — an America that redresses centuries of racism; an America in which women receive equal pay for equal work; an America that cares for its poor and vulnerable citizens; an America where all people, regardless of ethnicity, religion, sexual or gender identity, enjoy the fundamental human rights for which this country was established. At its core, today’s social upheaval arises from the conflict between those who will not rest until we have expanded the bounds of human liberty, and those who, driven by fear or mistrust, hold tight to the old order.

I worry that many of us still don’t understand what is at stake in this year’s election. I worry that, if we aren’t focused on the moral dimension of the decisions we face in the coming weeks, things could get much worse before they get better. Still, I don’t despair. We have a historic opportunity to shape what America will look like going forward — and a responsibility to bring our Jewish values with us to the polls.

We must take the path that affirms our belief in free will to choose right over wrong, and our faith that most people will do so. We must stand up for the rights of the disenfranchised, whether they are Mexican or Muslim, from the rust belt, struggling urban neighborhoods, or distant shores. We must choose the difficult way of dialogue, compromise, compassion, and understanding, and reject the easy temptations of absolutism. We must choose, at every turn, to expand the circle of liberty. May we be blessed to set our country on a course toward a brighter future for America and all humanity.

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Tags: America, Democracy, Freedom of Religion, Yom Kippur