The Jewish Problem

A few months ago I was sitting in a Sherut (communal cab/mini bus) on my way back to Jerusalem from the airport after a week's trip back to England, and I got talking to a lovely girl called Jude, who was out for a few days to visit her brother and also to look at some halls for her upcoming wedding. We got chatting about the differences in living in London and living out here, and I mentioned that one of the main differences I felt was that I had a much broader range of friends then I had in London. I have both more religious friends and also less religious friends, and we are united by the fact that we are all Olim.

This got me thinking. When we sit down to define ourselves, we always apply to do so via numerous labels. Orthodox, Charedi, Traditional, Reform, Conservative, Masorti, Modern Orthodox, Modern Charedi, we seem to be obsessed by what divides us and not by what unites us.
Amongst the religious communities it appears that you can be defined by which style of kippah you wear if you are male, or what type and length of skirt you wear if you are female. Whether a married woman does or doesn't cover her hair, and if she does, whether it is partially or fully. Which synagogue you daven at or which Kashrut authority you hold by, we seem to be focusing on what separates us.

Don't get me wrong. We still need definitions, but perhaps it's time to focus more on what unites us as opposed to what divides us.

A friend asked me on Friday night a very pertinent question. Did I believe that the establishment of the State of Israel had led to the Jewish people begin to implode? Let me flesh this out for you. For centuries, we as a persecuted and unloved people, have united to fight the external forces attempting to destroy us. Whilst there is no shadow of doubt in anyone's mind that we still battle these forces today, and in the current climate of anti-Israel feeling these forces are getting stronger, we seem to have switched our focus. Over Shabbat I was at friends for meals, and on both occasions I saw a foil container with a stamp of Kashrut on it's base. At first I thought this is ridiculous and laughed, and then I thought, herein lies a serious problem. As I see it, we have become obsessed with 'oneupmanship' and a passionate desire to define not only who is a Jew, but who is the best type of Jew. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not taking a swing purely at the Charedi community, although I do believe they are the main offenders, I am also talking across the whole Jewish spectrum. We appear to be edging towards a spiritual civil war and the prize is the soul of Judaism. When a non-Orthodox friend turns round to me and says 'because she does not keep Shabbat, this probably means she is going to hell', I have to admit I weep. When did we get so judgemental? When did one viewpoint of Judaism get the right to define what makes a Jew?

I believe that I am, first and foremost a Jew. File it down a little, and I fall into the category I suppose of being a Modern Orthodox Jew, whatever that may mean. I believe that the Torah is one of the most best life manuals ever written. Far from the rule book that many misrepresent it as, I see it as a guide to self improvement. I see it as a God given tome that, contrary to the prevalent view of being disabling (you should not do this, you should not do that), is in fact wonderfully enabling. Take an Eruv, for example. Most people who use an Eruv understand the notion thus. You cannot carry on Shabbat, but if you wish to, you must first create an Eruv. However, I remember hearing Rabbi Alan Plancey, the former Rabbi of the Borehamwood and Elstree United Synagogue community in England, turning this on its head. He argued that not only can you carry on Shabbat, we should be carrying on Shabbat. Far from the Torah saying 'if you need to, this is how to do it', the Torah does not even question your motives and it could be argued is saying 'you can carry, just you need to do this and this to enable you to do it.'

This is one of the themes central to my Bar Mitzvah Parasha of Kedoshim. I gave a D'var Torah a few years back on what does in mean when we are commanded to 'be holy, because I, HaShem, your God, am Holy?' To cut a long story short, I argued that God is commanding us to strive to see the world from His perspective and try and understand His motivations and intentions behind the commandments in the Torah. The very next verse after this is the commandment to fear one's parents and also keep the Shabbat. I believe here we hit two core themes of Judaism and our starting point for everything. Jewish Continuity. We can only be in the image of God if we understand and appreciate our links to our past, both as individuals (parents) and communally (Shabbat). This is how we as a people have survived the rise and fall of many empires, as well as almost all our enemies. The fact that we seem to be using these two foundation stones as a stick to beat each other with concerns me. Who gives this generation the right to look down on our parents' generation, on our Grandparents' generation? We owe them a huge debt, and who are we to question their commitment to Judaism? Does it make us more Jewish than them because our toilet paper is 'supervised', or that unlike some of us, they didn't spend twenty years in learning? What gives each of us the right to frown on someone's Judaism based on how or whether they keep Shabbat? If someone chooses to be stricter with the way they keep Shabbat, why should we look at that as somewhat 'cultish'? Who decides how we define Shabbat?

I was at a talk a few years ago that Chief Rabbi Professor Lord Jonathan Sacks gave to celebrate the launch of the newly revised edition of the "Authorised Daily Prayer Book", the official prayer book for Orthodox Jews in the United Synagogue communities in the UK. He explained his decision to change the translation of 'Shema Yisrael' from 'Hear Israel' to 'Listen Israel' as follows. The Chief Rabbi explained that 'hearing' is a passive action, something you can do without any semblance of concentration. 'Listening' however requires you to pay attention, it compels you to engage and focus on what you are hearing or as the Chief Rabbi phrased it back in 2006 in his weekly Covenant and Conversation email, 'there are two parties to a dialogue – one who speaks and one who listens, and having listened, responds'. It is the difference in Modern Hebrew between 'l'hakshiv' and 'lishmoa', 'to pay attention' and 'to hear'. At the epicentre of a dialogue there has to be an ability to respect and listen to the other side's point of view. It is obvious that one cannot counter an argument unless you understand and respect the other viewpoint. If you cannot, you are left with two sets of monologues, each disconnected from the other.

To cut a short story long, we are a people with a long history of arguing and heated discussion. One of our central learning texts, the Talmud, is made up in the main of discussions and disagreements. It remains a most remarkable example of hearing both sides of an argument, in so much as even what is eventually disproven and discounted, is still included in full as a valid viewpoint.
Pirkei Avot - Ethics of The Fathers, asks what is a discussion for the sake of Heaven? The answer, the discussions between the schools of Hillel and Shammai. What is a discussion that is not for the sake of Heaven? Korach and his congregation. Interestingly, it is not Korach and Moshe, and that, according to a number of commentators, is because Korach and his congregation did not want to hear the other side. They lacked respect for the other viewpoint. They were engaged in a monologue with themselves.

It is time for us to stop judging people and stop playing this dangerous game of 'oneupmanship'. Discuss, argue, disprove, but I challenge every Jew to look beyond aesthetics. We must return to respecting each others viewpoints, even if we may disagree, and pull back from using our faith as a stick to beat each other with. I may be wrong in your eyes, may have completely missed the point from your perspective. If so please tell me.

As a Jew and as your brother, I welcome your feedback and your views.

Tell me, what makes an Israeli?

Holy cow Chaim, you're not thinking of tackling this subject are you? Dear God man, everybody writes about this and no one has an answer...do you? Well, no. So now you're all thinking two things. One, what's Chaim writing this for? Two, does Chaim realise he's showing the first two signs of madness, namely talking to himself and then answering himself??? Well, I'll answer the first question below, and yes to the second question...


I was at a wedding about a month ago when I said to a friend that I don't like olives. This brought about the response of 'you do realise that if you don't like olives, you can't be Israeli!' I then mentioned that I don't like Garinim (Sunflower seeds, which Israelis eat by the bucket load and then spit out in random places...I believe that they would like this to be added as an Olympic event for the 2012 Olympics as they feel they would have a fair chance of the Gold!). So my friend told that me that was it, I may as well make Yeridah and go back to Ingerland.

Joking aside, (yes, yes, I was trying to be funny...hmph...), it got me thinking. In a land filled with immigrants from all over the globe, what makes an Israeli?

Do you have to be a rude, opinionated, know it all to be an Israeli?

If you can walk past a falafel or shwarma stand and not feel the urge to have one, does that mean you need to book a plane ticket back to the land of your birth?

If you have manners and are polite, are you just a foreigner abroad?

Does being an Israeli mean that you must develop for the rest of the world infinite amounts of new technology, and then never use any of it, so much so that you still think that stuffing a piece of paper with the name of your chosen party into an envelope, remains the best way to cast a vote?

Is it believing סלטים - dips, are perfectly alright as a first course?

Is it going to a supermarket chain and finding the prices are completely different to the sister store just up the road?

Is it also about queueing up to pay (standing in line, for the North Americans), when you have only done half your shopping?

Perhaps it's the knowledge that anybody that works in a clothing store knows your size better than you do, and reserves the right to shake their head when you ask for your size and then bring you a size larger?

Is it knowing that a visit to any government office, requires you to pack food and clothing for a few days until you'll be seen by an official who then tells you that you needed to bring every single piece of paper you have ever had in your hand from the moment you stepped off the plane and then go to another office that's served by a bus that comes once every never?

Could it even be haggling with your bank manager over what rate they will give you on your account, or how much your overdraft limit will be?

Is it standing in a DIY store and thinking, 'isn't it great to see so many Jews here' (well, we plan, we design, we don't build), and then realising that most of these people are employees of the store?


I think it could be all of the above and much more. But maybe it's the most simple thing of all. To be an Israeli is all about feeling that any place you go to in this country is your home, and in the same way that within the confines of your home you are free to do whatever, be whoever, say whatever you want, whenever you want; why?; because this is my house and I make the rules; so to you have the right to do all of these things wherever you are. Why? Because Israel is my house, and I make the rules.

I am an Israeli!