A recurring theme in Jewish life and history is the question: What is the balance between assimilation
and distinctiveness? That we
assimilate, is simply a given. Wherever
we live in freedom, we grab the opportunities to enjoy the best of what society
has to offer. We make no apologies for
this, and we shouldn’t. To be sure,
there are Jews who go to great lengths to avoid participating in the
culture of the place where they live.
Whether they live in Antwerp, Brooklyn, or Melbourne. They seem aloof and untouched by the place
where they live. They live in a
self-imposed ghetto. You could go
between certain Jewish enclaves in Antwerp, Brooklyn, and Melbourne…and not
realise you had moved to a different country or continent!
Just as there are
Jews who avoid assimilation, there are those who avoid distinctiveness. There are Jews whom you might meet and get to
know, and never know that they’re Jews.
Until some life event brings the hidden Jew to the surface. Until then, they do not participate in any way
in Jewish life. Thus, they avoid
contributing to its vitality and viability.
Between both extremes
are the rest of us. Wanting to find ways
to positively express our Jewish identity.
Seeing no conflict between that, and enjoying the best of the world
around us. We’re like a ship, navigating
narrow straits. Our task is to stay in
the channel, in the centre, avoiding the rocks and shoals on both sides.
I can prove to you that this is the
Jewish ‘norm.’ When the Nazis singled
out the Jews for persecution, there first acts were to ‘out’ a people – the German
Jews – who until then were largely invisible to the average German. Even if the Christian neighbour knew that a
particular family was Jewish, it seldom resulted in that family isolating
themselves in a distinctly Jewish world.
In fact, this was one of the Nazis’ chief complaints about the
Jews. That they sought to ‘hide’ among
the Germans. The very pseudo-science of
Anti-Semitism was, more than anything else, aimed at enabling Germans to
identify the hidden ‘Jewish Menace.’
Okay, so the Nazi
era was relatively recent in the sweep of Jewish history. Let’s go back to the Maccabean revolt against
Assyria. Assyrian King Antiochus
Epiphanes tried to force the Jews to assimilate, because so many Jews were
eager to do so. The king thought that
was a good thing and wanted the rest to join in.
Going further back, you
may remember Queen Esther, the heroine of the book of the Tanach named after
her. Her very name – Esther – means ‘Hidden’
in Hebrew, and you may remember that her Cousin Mordechai advised her most
strongly to hide her Jewish identity whilst in the palace of Kind Achashverosh.
Even farther back
was Moses: Mosheh in Hebrew. But wait, Mosheh isn’t even a Hebrew
name…it’s an Egyptian name! And
as you remember – and we start to read the narrative in this week’s Torah
portion – Moses was always aware of his identity as a Jew but it only became a motivating
force for him at age 40.
All I’m trying to
say, is that this tension between maintaining our distinctiveness as Jews, and
our full participation in the surrounding culture, has been a constant theme in
Jewish history. And through most of that
history, the majority of Jews dwelt somewhere in the middle of the continuum
between assimilation and remaining distinctive.
That is, when we were given the choice.
We avoided disappearing into society on one hand, and remaining aloof
and apart on the other. But at various
points in our history we would swing what would turn out to be an excessive
distance towards one or the other extreme.
And then, events and their consequences would influence us to chart a
more centrist course going forward. Over
the centuries, we worked hard to find a balance.
Early in this week’s
Torah reading we are informed that the Egyptian Pharaoh thought the Jews a
threat to his rule. And we are informed
of the Jews’ response: The more the
Pharaoh afflicted them, the more they grew and filled the land. The midrashic interpreters suggested what
this meant: They filled the theaters
and circuses. This rings true to
me. The other night we went out to the Gold
Coast Art Centre to see Suffragette. Despite
our tiny presence on the Gold Coast, we are always conspicuous in our patronage
of the ‘serious’ arts. And sure enough,
in the sparse crowd in the theatre the night before New Year’s Eve I recognised
several other Jews.
This interpretation, they filled
the theatres and circuses, is meant pejoratively. The more they assimilated, the more the
Egyptians thought them a threat. The
sages are implying a circular progression of case and effect. We responded to our affliction by trying to
shed our Jewishness. And we were punished
for our eagerness to do so.
And yet we know that
we are called to be a Nation of Priests, a Holy People, a Light unto the
Nations. Here’s the heart of the
matter: We cannot fulfil this calling
if we remain so distinctive and aloof from those around us that we are
untouched by them. Nor can we, if we lose
our distinctiveness and disappear. The
very quest of the Jewish people requires that we find a balance. That, like ships navigating narrow straits,
we stay in the channel. And avoid the
rocks and shoals close to both shores. Because
a ship on the rocks is of no use. And a
Jew who cannot serve as a witness to G-d’s presence, is effectively not a Jew. There are always Jews who are more or less
traditional in their outlook. But as an
entirely separate phenomenon, there are Jews who try to be more or less distinctive.
Let’s support one
another as each one of us tried to find the channel between the rocks of aloofness
on one hand, and of invisibility on the other. Some days it seems that either extreme would
be easier. Either can be tempting at
times. But by taking either extreme, we
fail to fulfil the prophecy: By you
shall humanity be blessed. Shabbat
shalom.
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