Though I disagree with his prediction of imminent doom, I must admit I largely agree with Daniel Gordis’s critique of what the Conservative movement has gotten wrong. In fact, his assessment may have been too kind. Fearful of Orthodox approbation and losing members if we took a stand, we simply lacked confidence in ourselves and faith in the God of our ancestors. We failed to fully embrace what we know to be right and good, whether it is Sabbath observance and Torah study among our parishioners or egalitarian ritual observance and gender equality in all our institutional arms, including our schools, camps, and youth groups. Perhaps worse, commitment to intellectual honesty, or perhaps discomfort with non-rational spirituality, led us to relegate God to the periphery of our communal discussions, whether in Torah study or about halakha, Jewish law.
True, the Pew study is sobering but not just for Conservative Judaism. I’m sure my Orthodox colleagues are equally discomforted that Pew found so many children raised in Orthodox homes abandoning Orthodoxy. Our dire Pew numbers may just be the kick in the pants we need to motivate the various arms of Conservative Judaism to work together to retool and rise to our historic purpose and potential.
We have our work cut out for us, but I am heartened by what I see both nationally and locally. For the first time in my memory, I see synergy between our lay and rabbinic arms, for example, with the recent focus of both the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism’s centennial convention and a Rabbinical Assembly rabbinic workshop on relational programming. Such programming offers great potential for building the kind of caring, transformative communities we need to again thrive, but only if we include building relationships with God, not just between humans.
There are many reasons to observe: the comfort of memory, a sense of communal identity, or obligation. The Pew study indicates that these reasons are no longer compelling for the majority of American Jews. In a society in which almost everything is an expression of personal choice, the choice to commit to an observant life, a way of life too few of our congregants choose, has to come from some deep emotional, personally felt commitment. Throughout history, such personal commitment has been expressed as a desire to come closer to God. While I have my share of skeptical scientists within the ranks of my flock, most of my congregants want to feel God in their lives.
Conservative leaders must take our own medicine: We too must bridge tradition and change. We can remain committed to our tradition of intellectual rigor and honesty even as we unabashedly and passionately return God to the center of our communal discussion and experience. Our central prayer, the Shema, states, “You shall love your God.” We haven’t done a good job of showing that love in our congregations and educational institutions but we must if we are to thrive.
Locally, congregations who have embraced innovation are thriving. The most powerful innovation is to align our values, congregationally and nationally, placing Jewish values at the core of congregational life, the yardstick by which we measure every board decision and every scheduled program, as we have begun to do in my congregation. While we should not proselytize, we can publicize, without embarrassment, that converts are welcome—not to lower standards of expectations of kashrut and Shabbat observance or to fill out our shrinking numbers, but to open our doors to the many unchurched (those raised as Christians but for whom the fundamentals of Christian belief no longer make sense) who seek the kind of thoughtful faith in one God and disciplined spiritual practice that Conservative Judaism offers. Their comfort with talking about God and faith is also something we American Jews need to relearn. We can be expecting and accepting, holding to our standards while accepting everyone wherever they are. We need not blur faith differences to attract the intermarried. My interfaith families move from other synagogues to join us because they appreciate our willingness to appropriately include them while honoring the significance of their own faith choices, even when it means they cannot fulfill obligations required of Jews.
In a world driven by rapid social and technological change, we need Conservative Judaism’s commitment to live in the tension between tradition and change and what such a commitment offers: continuity, mindfulness, and a thoughtful and thorough process to weigh whether or how such changes enhance rather than detract from our God given purpose of tikkun olam (repairing the world), respecting the tzelem Elohim (the image of God) in each of us, and the covenantal responsibility to transmit these messages through our unique identity in the world. This is what the “halakhic process” of Jewish law is about: how we navigate social changes as a historic covenantal community in such a way as to fulfill God’s intention for us to enhance life for ourselves, the Jewish people, and the rest of the world.
In a world riven with fundamentalist intolerance, we need Conservative Judaism’s commitment to faith as well as science, to tradition as well as the equality of women. In Israel, where increasing willingness of young Israelis to consider a bi-national (aka non-Jewish) State of Israel because ultra-Orthodox coercion has alienated them from their Jewish identities, Conservative Judaism, through our Masorti movement, can literally save the Jewish soul and the Jewish nature of the Jewish State by providing Israelis a modern yet meaningful and traditional way to live as Jews in the Jewish homeland.
Conservative Judaism is too important to Judaism, and I would add to Israel, to fail. So we better get to work.
Editor’s Note: Daniel Gordis replies to his critics and outlines his positive vision for the future.
In Chapterhouse: Dune, the sixth book in the Dune series and the last Herbert wrote before his death, the Jews show up.
Between the mid-1960s and 1991, more than two million Jews left the USSR. To the extent that the Soviet Jewish exodus is remembered, its lessons are misunderstood.
As the holiday of freedom approaches, we explore two haggadahs—one old and one new—from our nation's capital, and think about the "audacious hope" of redemption.
A new intellectual biography explores the thought and legacy of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook.