Orthodoxy and Innovation
For many religiously observant Jews, the traditional siddur, or prayer book, constitutes a problem. One such Jew was the great hasidic rebbe, Nahman of Bratzlav (1772-1810), who articulated the problem in terms appropriate to his time: the fixed prayers, with their praises and petitions, are like a well-traveled highway, and well-traveled highways attract robbers. By which he meant that excessive routine makes it difficult to concentrate the mind.
Things haven't changed in the intervening centuries. In fact, they've gotten worse as the traditional siddur has grown in size and the highway has been extended. It's a rare soul who actually reads the two millennia's worth of accumulated prayers that, for example, are supposed to be recited each weekday morning. Today, the traditional prayer service resembles, paradoxically, the spirit of contemporary life: it leaves no time to reflect.
But if the prayer book presents a problem, the ease with which traditional forms have been destroyed in the modern period presents another problem, and arguably the greater one. The traditional text is, after all, a reservoir of elevated thought and sentiment—potential energy waiting to be harnessed—while no serious person believes that simply dismantling the tradition will serve to revive the hearts of the Jewish masses.
The tension between the need to breathe new life into Jewish prayer and the danger of recklessly undermining traditional forms lies at the heart of a new book, On Changes in Jewish Liturgy: Options and Limitations. Its author, Daniel Sperber, is a scholar and an Orthodox communal rabbi in Jerusalem who has outspokenly advocated expanding the role of women in synagogue worship; his specific intention in On Changes in Jewish Liturgy is to demonstrate that the classical Jewish tradition leaves room for new modes of prayer, including by altering time-honored formulas that many Orthodox women consider to be offensive. That said, however, he is also aware of the dangers involved in innovation for the sake of innovation, "for it is easy to destroy but difficult to build constructively."
Why do traditionalist circles resist modifications to existing prayers or the addition of new prayers? Because, Sperber explains, certain talmudic texts seem to suggest that it is forbidden to change the standard liturgy, "the coin our sages minted." But, he claims, these texts have been misunderstood. The issue is complex, but Sperber's bottom line is that the rabbinic authorities intended to establish an unchanging framework for the mandatory and fixed prayers, not precise or immutable formulations. To the contrary, within the fixed framework, the sages wanted the heart of prayer to remain free and flexible. Illustrating his point, Sperber adduces much evidence to show how "[i]n all periods, additions, changes, alterations, and updatings were made" to the prayers.
An obvious objection to Sperber's claims lies in the rabbinic sources that do explicitly prohibit changing the liturgy. Sperber is of course aware of these sources, but he traces their position to a super-conservative attitude that first appeared among the classical scholars of Babylon. As against them, he appeals to their contemporaries in the land of Israel, who "allowed and practiced greater flexibility." In this sense, Sperber's position is restorative, an effort to revive the freer spirit of the Judaism of the land of Israel.
Toward the end of his book, Sperber lays out the two ways in which liturgical changes have occurred in history: either a great authority has introduced the change or a community as a whole has moved in a certain direction, leaving rabbis no choice but to give their blessing after the fact. This brings us to our current situation. Expecting little from today's religious leadership, Sperber hopes that change will come from the bottom up—so long as "numerous congregations are willing to be creative."
What sorts of changes might eventuate? When it comes to incorporating feminist sensibilities, some are already happening. To cite one well-known example: at a number of Orthodox synagogues, including one in Jerusalem, women are being called to the Torah and, for parts of the service, leading the prayers. But it's no coincidence that this is the only realm in which significant adjustments are taking place. Equality is the dominant value in modern society, and it has proved to be a potent weapon for those advocating equal roles for men and women.
But what about other sorts of change, for instance when it comes to the length and routinization of prayer? Here what is needed are rugged individualists ready to speak their minds even if doing so means giving offense; but in a world increasingly obsessed with tolerance and the virtue of not giving offense, few such types are likely to appear. As for the ultra-Orthodox, tolerance is admittedly not a supreme virtue with them; but neither is innovation.
What, then, remains for those dissatisfied with the present state of the traditional liturgy but hesitant to say anything lest they undermine larger traditional understandings? Rabbi Nahman, for one, cultivated an innovative solution that he was also careful to attribute to a number of biblical heroes: he found a secluded spot where he could pour out his heart to God, alone.
Rabbi Bar-Hayim's initiative is part of his approach which holds that practicing Judaism as an "Ashkenazi" or "Sefardi" is no longer relevant in an age where Jews have reconstituted themselves as a a nation living in Israel.
While we can never know, I theorize that the speed of change introduced by Reform was directly responsible for putting the brakes on the speed of change of so-called halachic Torah Jews.
The pressure to modify liturgy and liturgical practice, especially vis a vis the role of women, is just one symptom of the real tension -- do we participate in the world around us, or do we isolate ourselves from it. Jeff, you would do well to refrain from projecting his misinformed view of Reform on the millions of Jews who are not like you.
Another metaphor the Besht uses is of one who is drowning and who throws his hands, arms and body all about to be saved. So, too, a soul of the one who prays and therefore one should not mock someone who is hyper-active in his devotions for he is trying to save his soul.
Yisrael and Moshe, thanks for your additions. I'm going to go look up R. Bar-Hayim right now.
No. The differences are what motivates the change, how one reads and respects tradition, how much accord one gives to the sages of prior generations and whether one follows the guidelines for change and innovation in the context of observing halacha as a system of required, rather than optional, behavior.
For example, Rabbi Sperber discusses adding the matriarchs to the first paragraph of the Amida that refers to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Rather than ask why Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah are missing, one should first ask why the patriarchs are there in the first place. R Sperber (along with conservative and reform thinkers, and some orthodox feminists) seem to view this as part of patriarchy and their modern egalitarian values motivate and justify their proposed change. Rabbi Soloveichik however saw the reference as a matter of permission: it is an act of chutzpa for a human to seek a dialog with God and were it not for the precedent of patriarchs (who established the morning, afternoon and evening prayers by tradition) we would have no authority in halacha to do so. There is no comparable connection to matriarchs (though Chana might make sense, since her prayer is the model for the Amidah). Rabbi Soloveichik himself made changes to the Amidah, but generally only to correct and clarify problematic texts or restore original meaning.
These are radically different approaches and it is not just a matter of the speed of change.
1. Do Reform, Conservative and Orthodox Judaism comprise the same religion, distinct sections of the same religion or different religions?
2. Do Reform, Conservative and Orthodox Judaism regard each other as Judaism?
3. Is it to be preferred that Jews who think the same about how the religion they regard as Judaism is to be observed group together and express no propriety judgment regarding the forms of observance chosen by others?
4. In terms of trend lines, what are the prospects for the growth or continued existence of Reform, Conservative and Orthodox Judaism?
Julian Tepper
Placitas, NM
USA
The implication of your third question is that, if we are one, as the slogan has it, we should not seek to delegitimatize one another, to which I, as a Reform Jew, say Amen.
Regarding the future -- the best we can do is put a mirror to the past, and see what we can learn from it.
Orthodox Judaism has grown in recent decades more than most observers would have predicted, but is still vastly outnumbered both by secular Jews and by Jews of the more liberal streams. Conservative Judaism has had some shrinkage, while Reform has stabilized as the largest stream after several years of significant growth. While the institutional frameworks of the movements may change with time, my prediction (I can't call it a trend line, per your question) is that Orthodoxy will persist as a fragmented and somewhat inchoate but strong minority niche, the secular niche will diminish as its participants either drop out of Jewish identification or identify with one of the religious streams, and some amalgam of today's non-Orthodox contingents will continue to comprise the largest sector of the North American Jewish community.
This, of course, is just the opinion of one uncredentialed layman.
Thanks to the credentialed neologist for that info.
JT
I think your criticism is not deserved. The Conservative movement also has struggled with the traditional siddur. They sometimes come to different conclusions than their Orthodox brethren, but the struggle is remarkably similar. The fact that new siddurim and machzorim are being published is emblematic of this.
Is there a criterion or a set of criteria that all who think of themselves as Jews can agree on regarding what it is that comprises (a) a Jew; and (b) Judaism?
And, as to either of these, if there is no such criterion or are no such criteria, then, as the case may be, does that mean that Jews and Judaism exist only in a most relativistic construct?
Also, is there a defined minimum of required behavior that one must live by in order to be considered as living a Jewish life?
And I am curious about this: Can one who regularly eschews kindness in favor of self-important posturing be considered a good Jew?
Julian Tepper
Placitas, NM/Bethesda, MD
In this analogy, we can view halakhah as the "genetic code" of the Jewish people as a people. In order for its host to survive, the code has to adapt. There will be mutations--sporadic changes spurred by local conditions. There will be more structured, intentional changes wrought by individual communities. There will also be adaptations spurred by massive upheavals and changes in the environment--for example, the choice offered the Jews in Western Europe at the time of their emancipation. They could gain citizenship only on the condition that they give up Judaism as a nationality with its own civil laws. This caused a radical shift in Jewish identity, since those who chose this option had to redefine their Judaism as a religion, a matter of creed and belief, on a par with Christianity and Islam. In Sephardic countries, this change did not happen; and Judaism continued to include elements of civil law, economic law, agricultural law, etc., alongside what we like to call "religious" law.
What determines whether a given mutation will survive--whether there will still be Jews around in a hundred years who practice the new way of doing things or the new self-identification? Obviously, if a mutation causes Jews not to have children, or to marry out in numbers insufficient for replacement (usually given as 2.4 children per couple), that mutation will prove a dead end. It seems to me that if a mutation results in Jews' taking themselves completely outside Jewish civil law (halakhah in the broader sense), that mutation may also be too extreme to survive.
If we look at the past, as Larry has suggested, then we can discern a subtle thread running through Jewish history. The mutations in halakhah that caught on and became part of the genetic code of future generations tended to be changes that not only helped their adopters survive and encouraged them to have children but also included a mechanism for transmission. It isn't enough for a change to be useful for a single generation; it also has to have be self-reinforcing. It must lend itself to self-replication in the next generation. Halakhah as a whole is a wonderfully adaptive structure, with many little "loopholes" for change built into it. Whether the lawmakers of any generation are willing to use those loopholes has more to do with the level of perceived threat to the structure or to their own authority than to any rigidity in the halakhah. But halakhah also has a built-in retransmission mechanism, what Max Kadushin called "value concepts." These concepts are effective at retransmission because, inter alia, they lead to self-reinforcing actions in the real world.
It seems to me that a Jewish community that takes itself outside the halakhic loop altogether divests itself of this intricate genetic code. No community can maintain coherence as a community separate from its surroundings unless it has some such genetic code, which is also separate from its surroundings. If halakhah is no longer taken as the community's genetic code, something else will have to be put in its place. Whether such a community is still Jewish may not be the applicable question. The question is whether it will still be recognizably Jewish in 500 years.
For example, is it that we have, Bo-Peep-like, lost our own previous unique relationships with Him (Her?) and now must figure out how to find them? If so, do we know where to look? How do we know that each of us had a unique relationship of that sort? What about those of us who did not lose it? What ought we to be doing? What about persons who keep it located in what Bonde (Miriam Bonde) calls "past and absurd trivialities"? (By the way, is her reference to our Lord God as HaShem--The Name--one of those trivialities?)
Is it, perhaps, that what Miriam Bonde had in mind was not "finding" but "discovering" our own unique relationship? But, if so, on what does she rely for her assumptive assertion that each of us has a unique relationship with God? Maybe our relationship with Him is that we are Jewish, members of a tribe, and that each Jew's relationship with our Creator is well described in our Bible.
All of this brings me back to questions I raised earlier:
1. Do Reform, Conservative and Orthodox Judaism comprise the same religion, distinct sections of the same religion, or different religions?
2. Do Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Judaism regard each other as Judaism?
3. Is it to be preferred that Jews who think the same way about how the religion they regard as Judaism is to be observed group together and express no judgment about the propriety of the forms of observance chosen by others?
4. In terms of trend lines, what are the prospects for the growth or continued existence of Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Judaism?
5. Is there a criterion or a set of criteria on which all who think of themselves as Jews can agree regarding what it is that comprises (a) a Jew and (b) Judaism?
6. As to either of these, if there is no such criterion or set of criteria, then, do Jews and Judaism exist only in a relativistic construct?
7. Is there a defined minimum of required behavior in which one must engage in order to be considered as living a Jewish life?
8. Can one who regularly eschews kindness in favor of self-important posturing be considered a good Jew?
I'd love to see some instructive answers to these questions.
With gratitude,
Julian Tepper
Placitas, NM/Bethesda, MD
http://www.azamra.org/Essential/prayer.htm
Also, Rebbe Nachman wrote a considerable amount of specific advice about hitbodedut (aka hisbodedus), translated as meditation or seclusion. He thought it was of utmost importance for every person to spend significant time daily, ideally at least an hour, in solitary personal prayer in one's own words.
Much contemporary literature has been written on this amazingly effective and vibrant spiritual path with Judaism (for example, see the wonderful books of Rav Shalom Arush.)
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