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October 4, 2002
Many different roads to Judaism
The Ten Commandments were possibly construed by man and adopted
by reason and morality, says writer.
HERMAN LITSKY SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN
Recently, I viewed a re-run of Schindler's List and tears
welled up in my eyes. Not tears of lachrymose per se, but the source
of which stemmed from introspection as to my ambiguous identity
as a Jew with a desire to delineate it clearly in relation to the
Jewish community at large.
Oscar Schindler, an avowed philanderer and a German industrialist,
was able to sustain the lives of 1,200 Jews until the end of the
Second World War. The reactive scene in the movie that tugged deep
into my psyche was his final farewell to those who owed him an allegiance
through his efforts. He decried his ineptitude in not saving more
Jews for the lack of bribery money given to the Nazi commandant.
Schindler, both a rake and a savior, integrated with the group in
an emotional scene. He seemed wedded to their sufferings, symbolized
by a single gold band that they had lovingly fashioned for him as
a departure gift. He was one of them, no more no less - intertwined
in time and circumstance, although he was neither a Levi nor a Judah
from some ancient Israeli tribe.
That got me thinking. Could I, as a born Jew living in a relatively
pre-ordained environment of religious custom, hold a similar strength
of fidelity and identity to that of Schindler and his Jewish factory
workers? What is the true intent of a Jew living in this modern
era? Is it solely by the sanctum of the synagogue or, alternately,
the liberal interpretations of individuals? Does Judaic dogma dictate
the definitive values and ethos of our brethren or can we take a
step each day without fervent prayer and reach out for our identity
by merely extending naches to our neighbor?
And what about our children and their children? I feel I have a
traditional bonding with my granddaughter Jaymie through a chai
pendant I bestowed upon her as a gift. It is this chai that binds
us. She wears it proudly, since it exemplifies the opportunity to
exhibit her many athletic skills at the Maccabiah Games some day
(July 2005). I had explained the significance of the chai to her
and its numerical importance and that I would be wearing my chai
at the games this summer ... and so I did, proudly and necessarily.
And now she dreams the dream I had had for years to participate
in an athletic aliyah in Israel.
But one cannot sustain identity through tokens, medals or icons.
There must be something more that is in concert with respect and
resiliency towards others. What then exacerbates the soul, this
identity crises that is projected by struggling with some yet undefinable
interpretation of what or who is a Jew?
For several years, I sought spiritual and legal solace in talmudic
seminars. It was not at all an exercise in futility, composed of
articulated and well-reasoned argument. Steinsaltz's Talmud gave
me an inroad into the Tractates, particularly the institution of
marriage. The sages and prophets of the past provided a revelation
but not a resolve to my queries. I even dabbled in the readings
of the kaballah and its mysticisms, straining and stretching the
imaginative indices of my mind as if there were fortuitous signs
or omens to seeking the truth. In addition, I have joined a choir,
since music has been identified by some as a pathway to the soul
and is a melody of the universe where Hebraic intonations would
bring me contentment, and so they have ... to some degree.
All these avenues and others have offered some succor, a temporary
respite from my searching. But not until that evening when I viewed
Schindler's List and witnessed the interchange between a
group of Jewish survivors and a Catholic benefactor did I have a
stark revelation. It seemed they were united as one – fused
together by the misfortunes of war and all its savagery, seeking
comfort in each other's generous overtures, melded together by the
gold ring that was melted and fashioned from the gold teeth of several
survivors. It struck me that the true test of a Jew is the acceptance
of his fellow human being. Humanism must be the karma of Judaism.
Not long ago, I was confronted by an Orthodox Jew on the Internet,
lecturing me because I was an advocate of Judaic humanism. He contended
that the Ten Commandments were divine and inviolate and not man-made
– that they were handed down from Mount Sinai. I supported
the alternate view that these commandments were possibly construed
by man and adopted by reason and morality, and were not necessarily
God's domain. In this respect, some Jews are contemplating the religious
dictates of Rabbi Sherwin Wine of the Birmingham Temple in the Detroit
suburbs of Farmington Hills, as well as the philosophies of Rabbi
Baruch Spinoza of the 17th century.
Humanistic Judaism embraces a human-centred philosophy that combines
rational thinking with a celebration of Jewish culture and identity.
Humanistic Jews value their Jewish identity and aspects of Jewish
culture, celebrating Jewish holidays and lifecycle events such as
weddings and bar mitzvahs with inspirational ceremonies that draw
upon but go beyond traditional literature.
I am not an adherent, yet this approach seems to be the child of
enlightenment. It holds that the way to truth is through reason
and intellectual experience – that the best way to solve human
problems is through human power. It means self-assertiveness in
life, where people are in a constant state of curiosity and discovery,
and that we do not pray unequivocally by biblical prescription alone.
Judaic humanism defines a Jew as molded through their own experiences.
If experience is the criterion, then Zionism is Jewish – we
took it unto ourselves to build the state of Israel that is democratically
secular in lifestyle.
If experience is our criterion, then compassion is Jewish –
you can go to the Bible or sacred texts and find compassion (Thou
shall love thy neighbor as thyself) but you will also find Ezra,
who says if you marry a non-Jewish woman you are violating the commandments.
The Bible is full of chauvinistic and punitive sections that abrogate
universal tolerance, so if one is to legitimatize the concept that
we ought to respect the aspirations of all people in the world then
one has to also appeal to the Jewish experience, not to the Bible
entirely.
If experience is our criterion, then our culture is Jewish –
the progression of folk music, dancing and a whole new literature
in Yiddish and Hebrew, much of which is secular.
If we use experience as a criterion, then the splendid intellectual
achievements of Jews in science have little connection to the sacred
texts, although many scientists are profoundly religious in their
own right.
Perhaps we need a more zealous religious reformation towards community
activity and participation in the synagogue and we need to contemporize
Shabbat – not read mechanically the texts that are usually
the domain of the rabbi and elders. We might have to take the frip
and frappery out of traditional Orthodox procedures often sacrosanct
but innocuous for many followers. To some extent, this translated
tolerance is happening but only to a slight degree.
As a former judge, I sense that if the laws of the country can be
infused with the professional precepts of medicine and the social
sciences by the judiciary, who also is slow in transition, why can't
we as Jews make salient changes to the Torah, although interpretations
have moderately manifested themselves in the Talmud and the halachah?
These comments may seem to be iconoclastic or non-doctrinaire, questioning
our traditional identity as Jews, but it may afford us a vehicle
for compatibility through intellectual reasoning.
The universe is not a machine of perfect precision. It is given
to both chaotic entropy and growth occurring by chance. It cannot
be said it is ruled by one deity alone. In fact, as one astronomer
has said, "The universe is by no means silent. It is like some
distant orchestra. It tantalizes us with individual notes and fragments
of music. But it does not tell us the organization of these notes,
nor reveal the secret of their melody. Somehow we have to unravel
the secrets of that hidden melody so that we can listen to the composition
in all its glory."
I am proud of my Jewish heritage, yet one must see further from
the trappings. We may never as human beings come close to deciphering
the magnificence of our destiny. We must see others with the same
purpose, travelling on different roads perhaps, yet we are all co-existing
along this same road, to a similar destiny, where the road is paved
posthumously for all of us.
Herman Litsky is a retired Family and Youth Court Judge
and writing is one of his many hobbies. He was also a competitor
in the 16th Maccabiah Games and is a member of the Vancouver Jewish
Folk Choir.
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