Rabbi David Wolpe Asks: Can We Talk?

What can we do about non-literalist Jews?  Non-literalists are the vast majority of Jews, those who do not believe that the tradition is dictated from Sinai, and that God’s will is not the unarguable imperative of observance.  The disaffection of such Jews is by far the greatest internal dilemma we face. 
If we continue to lose the non-literalist Jews, not only do we forfeit the majority in terms of numbers, but also in terms of activism, political influence, cultural contribution and even Zionist support.  What is our future if we cannot convince the majority of Jews to care for their own tradition?

Of course the presumptive fortune tellers of Jewry should remember that what happens to Jews is part of a larger picture: the fate of America, the West, and indeed the world will determine the fate of the Jews more than any internal debate.  Again and again in history the Jewish future has been borne on a larger tide than our own resolutions.  The machinations of Iran’s government or the convulsions of the environment may have more to do with the future of Jewry than any program of cultural or spiritual enrichment. 

Restricting ourselves to what we can influence, my own belief and approach is that Judaism has to be sustained on the ground not of command, but of relationship.  The model of covenant reminds us that Judaism is treasured because we take care of one another, watch out for one another, learn how to relate to each other and to the world.  Covenant recalls to us the central truth of Judaism – that it is born in a relationship to God. 

The massive, often simplistic, literature pouring forth from magazines and television reminds us daily that human beings are not only enmeshed in relationships, but constantly seeking wisdom on how to conduct and advance them. 
God’s role in the bible, as theologians from Soloveitchik to Heschel and Buber remind us, is one of relationship: to assuage loneliness, to seek human fidelity, to enter into a dialogue based ultimately not on need, but on the sublimity of presence. The open-souled approach to one another and to God is at the heart of  Judaism; it is the aim of much of halacha, and is, I believe, the only model that can serve to consistently interest non-literalist Jews in the tradition many so cavalierly dismiss.

We have exercised the language of command for millennia.  For many Jews ‘thou shalt’ is still alive.  The tradition speaks in a voice that must be heeded. For such Jews, the model of relationship may seem mushy or even feckless.

Still, when Moses is praised at the end of the Torah we are not told that he was the greatest shomer mitzvoth, or the most learned, or even the ethically purest.  The Rabbis may extrapolate such attributes, but the Torah does not recount them. Rather, Moses experienced God ‘panim el panim’ – he had the most comprehensive relationship with the Almighty. 
In a time of rapidly advancing human learning, we dare not shut the door on knowledge, whether from the natural or social sciences.  We do not possess accurate factual knowledge that is denied to other traditions or methodologies; what we have is a unique language.  The language of mitzvah, the means of speaking to the past, and to the future, as well as to God and others around us, is the quintessential Jewish treasure.

Given an imaginary plenipotentiary power over the Jewish world, I would begin language classes.  Not in the literal sense, although we certainly could work on our Hebrew, but in the sense of teaching us to speak Jewish to one another.  There is a great deal of work to be done to teach Jews how to parent Jewishly, to relate Jewishly to spouses and parents and others in the workplace.  Such a language would include how we relate to Jews who are different from ourselves and, crucially, to the non-Jewish world. 

In other words, we urgently need to propagandize a Jewish language that will not be seen as arbitrarily ritualistic, but part of a covenantal frame.  Within that frame human beings will choose to live not only for enrichment, but to preserve the essential communities and connections that enable us to live.
What will the Jewish world look like in thirty years?  If we are granted a certain global stability, then it will depend upon whether we can create a more varied, ramified, ritually charged, nuanced and sacred conversation.  Can we talk?

Rabbi Wolpe is the head rabbi of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles, California. He contributed the introductory article to The Commentator’s Visions & Visionaries series.