Who owns your Judaism? 

It seems like a relatively straightforward question, but it’s not at all. 

We like to think that we do, that our Jewish lives, our Jewish motivations, our Jewish identity is in our control. Aren’t we the ones making the decisions whether to come to services, to keep Kosher, to educate our children? We chose to join this community, to sit here tonight.  

But this past year, in the shadow of October 7th and living through its long aftermath, I’ve begun to see just how complicated the question is. 

There is so much out of our control right now. As I spoke about on Rosh Hashanah, many of us feel powerless. Powerless if we disagree with the direction of this war. Powerless to bind the wounds of the Jewish and Israeli people. Powerless to get the hostages back. Powerless to broker a fair and just ceasefire.  

But the exact thing we should be in control of -- our own sense of Jewishness -- is increasingly becoming more and more elusive. Most of us, in our brokenness, in our fear, in our trauma, as lost as we are, have let others define our Judaism for us, and tonight I want to explore how we take it back.  

For some of us, the war in Gaza has redefined not just our relationship to Israel but to everything Judaism encompasses.  

This year, I’ve sat with congregants who so disgusted with the images they see on the news, with what feels to them to be the callous disregard for civilian lives, that they are ready to leave the congregation, ready to no longer raise their children Jewish, ready to abandon their faith. If the Jewish state could do this, then there must be some flaw in Judaism itself.  

The war has taken up so much space in their Jewish identities that it completely overshadows everything else about Judaism. There is no room for anything else. Despite all that Judaism might offer, might stand for, the only thing they can see, the only thing that feels relevant are the injustices before them.  

I love Israel. I am a proud Zionist and I believe that Israel is an important part of the Jewish story. But what this war has done for these individuals is that it has made it the whole Jewish story. For many, Israel has become synonymous with Judaism. But when that happens, there is a real risk. When Israel subsumes Judaism for you, it means that the actions of a few leaders, can affirm or upend your connection to your faith.  

When that happens, you don’t own your Judaism. Benjamin Netanyahu does. His actions and that of the Israeli government, not only shape Israeli policy, they transform your Jewish self conception.  

And it’s not just happening to those who feel shame and anger. One of the deep critiques of 20th and 21st century Judaism is that pride of Israel, defense of Israel has also played an outside role in American Jewish identity.  

If you grew up in the 70s, 80s, and 90s, your religious school curriculum likely centered on two main topics: Israel and the Holocaust. Very little time in our education was given to the other big topics of Jewish living: ancient Jewish history, Jewish ethics, prayer, even God.  

That has since changed. Jewish education is much more varied, rich and nuanced today than it used to be. But for a whole generation and their parents, Israel was Judaism.  

And the risk of conflating the two was that now there was a lot more on the line if you didn’t whole-heartedly support Israel.  

Think of your Jewish identity like a stock portfolio. If you invest too heavily in one area and that area is devalued, so does the whole portfolio. The way to avoid total collapse is to diversify so that every part of your portfolio provides a buffer, scaffolding to the whole. 

If your Jewish identity is not diversified, if all it is is unwavering support of Israel, you won’t be able to cede ground in an argument or lovingly critique Israel’s actions from afar. It’s too risky. Your Jewish self is a house of card, where anything might cause it to come crashing down.  

For much of the past 50 years, the organized Jewish world protected itself by turning away from legitimate critiques of Israel. One’s commitment to the Jewish state became the chief measure of one’s Jewishness. That’s why the late historian of Zionism, Rabbi Arthur Hertzberg once quipped that of all the beliefs that might put a Jew outside of the fold, “The lack of support for Israel [is] the only offense for which Jews can be ‘excommunicated.’” 

The tragedy in that thinking, however, is that it takes one’s agency away. If your Judaism is defined as whatever Israel is at the moment, you are not in charge of your Judaism. The Israeli election, the actions of Israel’s government, for good or bad, define your Judaism. 

The idea that we cede our Jewish identity to other’s is not a new idea.  

In his book, For Such a Time as This, and riffing off a dichotomy first set forth by Rabbi Donniel Hartman, Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove talks about two kinds of Jews “Genesis Jews” and “Exodus Jews.” 

As Cosgrove explains, the book of Genesis is mainly the story of Jews owning their Judaism. Abraham hears a call from God to go to the land of Cannan and takes it upon himself to go. He makes a covenant with God and raises his children and grandchildren to follow God’s ways. He freely chooses a Jewish path.  

The story of the Jews in Egypt is very different. Pharoah enslaves the people, and they learn who they are in relation to him. Their Judaism is not theirs. Rather than see themselves as God’s children, as the inheritors of a rich and fruitful tradition, they mainly see themselves as victims, as workers, as belonging to Pharoah.  

Rabbi Cosgrove makes the important observation that since October 7th, much of the Jewish world has pivoted from an expansive, open, positive, autonomous, and voluntary Judaism of Genesis to a narrow, constricting Exodus identity that is owned not by us but by others.  

Think of this in relation to how we view antisemitism, another topic which like Israel can easily comprise the whole of our Jewish identity. 

I think it’s self-explanatory how those who are so afraid of antisemitism may let it subsume their Jewish selves, choosing to hide outward expressions of Judaism, avoid public gatherings, abandon meaningful Jewish practice. In those cases, antisemites own your Judaism.  

But in our Post October 7th world something else has happened. Fighting antisemitism has become a religion itself and that’s equally problematic.  

Now, before saying anything else, I want to say that I’m proud of our community this year for facing antisemitism in our midst head on. We have power and we have agency and we have, for the most part, used it well. At the same time, I’ve watched some in the Jewish community let their Judaism become subsumed in the fight. And that’s problematic for three reasons. 

First, making Judaism synonymous with fighting antisemitism means you now need the fight to feel Jewish. Crisis gives you a sense of purpose while calm can be unnerving. There’s an old saying that if all you have is a hammer than everything looks like a nail. If you need to stand up to antisemitism to feel Jewish, you will find that fight. There is enough antisemitism out there. But will you have the perspective to know whether this fight, this battle, this crisis is the right one to pick? 

Second, you risk losing the joy of Judaism. Fighting antisemitism is hard, it’s exhausting. And although at times it can be energizing, it’s rarely joyful. Judaism is complex. It’s a mix of the light and the heavy, of pleasure and pain. It riles us up and calms us down. The fight against antisemitism needs to happen, but we can’t delude ourselves into thinking that it alone is Judaism. To borrow a phrase from the famous Jewish historian Salo Baron, it’s Judaism at its most lachrymose.  

Finally, when you build your Jewish identity primarily around fighting antisemitism (and feel free to join with me) you don’t own your Judaism. Those who make the insensitive comments, who paint the swastikas, who hold the offensive placards hold your ability to “do Jewish” in their hands. They, not you, get to decide when you engage. 

Israel and antisemitism are important issues. But be careful about making them the center of your Jewish world. Judaism is so much bigger than those two issues.  

No one should leave Judaism become of Israel and no one should build their Jewish identity solely on that foundation. No one should leave Judaism because of antisemitism just as no one should enter the fray just to have to fight.  

What we need is balance.  

In the face of the Holocaust, 20th century philosopher, Rabbi Emil Fakenheim, famously added a 614th commandment after the Shoah, “Don’t give Hitler a posthumous victory.” What I love about this teaching is that where many may have replaced the previous 613 commandments with the need to fight oppression, Fakenheim’s approach was expansive. Take seriously what came before but then add on to it. 

Take a moment to think about five or so of most important times in your Jewish life. I hope one or two of them were a powerful trip to Israel or the time you stood up to bigotry. But I hope, and bet, you have plenty of others: watching your child become B’nei Mitzvah, your home filled with caring friends during a shiva, the memory of lighting the Shabbat candles with your family as a child, goofing off in the bathroom during religious school with siblings. 

We need to remember, to rediscover when Judaism felt good, felt joyful, felt yours.  

We have to learn to get back there, even in the midst of this crisis.  

I often ask couples who are about to get married why they want to raise their kids Jewish. Often, I get some version of the same answer: I don’t want to be the generation that kills it, that breaks the chain. When I hear that I challenge them. Jewish continuity isn’t a reason on its own to be Jewish. One shouldn’t be Jewish out of fear or guilt. If you are Jewish to not disappoint your parents, it’s their religion, not yours. 

Often, when I push them, that’s when I get the real fruitful answers: 

• One loves Judaism because of the community it brings. 

• Another because they love the values.  

• One talks about Judaism giving them the opportunity to live out their childhood memories again and again. 

• While another explains that the rituals and holidays give structure and meaning to their lives. 

• One talks about Judaism as an avenue to spiritual connection 

• And another talks about how Judaism makes everyday things feel holy by imbuing them with meaning. 

To return back to Rabbi Cosgrove’s observation, these are the answers of a Genesis Jew. Not a single one is out of your control. All are affirmative, forward looking. 

There are going to be times in our post-October 7th world where you don’t have a choice, where a social media post, a news story, an offhand remark lights you up, refocusing and reorienting your Judaism. When that happens you need at act, to fight hate, to engage with Israel, or to speak for justice.  

But that need not always be the case. 

Judaism is a rich, textured, varied, and colorful faith that is never just one thing. And it is yours.  

I’m not going to tell you how to practice your Judaism since you own it. But what I will ask is that you make this year into a kind of playground. Experiment with your Judaism. Try on different practices, attend a myriad of events. Make your Judaism expansive. There are no shortage of avenues to spirituality, books to read, texts to study. Invite a few people you don’t know well but who you want to know better over for a Shabbat dinner.  

If Judaism matters to you then take it, own it.  

Yes, react when necessary but don’t forget to be proactive.  

What part of Judaism have you always wanted more of?  

• Do you have nagging questions about God? 

• Do you want to feel more comfortable at services? 

• Do you want to feel like you have “your people” here, rather than a room full of strangers and acquaintances? 

• Do you want to learn to read Hebrew? Chant Torah? 

• Do you want to find ways to give back to this community or the broader world? 

October 7th took away our choices. It created a crisis so big it left little room for much else besides addressing its fallout.  

Give yourself permission to shrink it the crisis. Then fill in the gaps with Jewish practice and behaviors on your terms. Israel and antisemitism matter but so do the hundred other aspects of Jewish life we have not had the space for this year.  

It’s now been a year since October 7th and we are past the sprint. If your Judaism is going to be sustainable, you have to make Judaism yours again. You have to couple the hard stuff that comes with living in a post October 7th world with those things that bring you joy, that lift you up, that feed your soul. 

Who owns your Judaism? 

You do.  

Don’t be afraid to demand that to be true.