The challenge of Jewish diversity during difficult times

By Rabbi Mark Glickman

(AJNews) – Like many synagogues, Temple B’nai Tikvah in Calgary is a very diverse community. Our members differ vastly in age, gender, careers, sexual orientation, and many other areas, as well.

Here, I’d like to introduce you to two members of our congregation whose different approaches to Jewish life can give you a sense of who we are.

First, meet Robert. Robert is 65-years-old and grew up in Montreal. Even though he was born a decade-and-a-half after World War II ended, the reality of that war and its aftermath defined the contours of his young life in many of different ways. Growing up, he heard stories about what happened during the war. He remembers his grandparents’ eyes welling up as they told stories of friends and family members who didn’t make it out. And he remembers that some of the grownups around him had strange numbers tattooed on their arms. It wasn’t until he grew older that he understood why. Through it all, Robert became aware of the vast European Jewish world that had come to an end just before his birth. On the timeline of history just before he came along was a huge black hole of loss and suffering.

Robert’s parents – and indeed the Jewish community as a whole – instilled in Robert an awareness that the world is not always a safe place for Jews.  And it wasn’t just the Holocaust that proved it. When Robert was young, he learned that Jews in the Soviet Union weren’t free like he was, and that they were oppressed simply because they were Jewish. Also, there were local country clubs that wouldn’t allow Jews to be members. Robert remembers watching the 1972 Munich Olympics when he was 13, and following with horror the story of the murdered Israeli athletes – yet another testimony to the fact that the world was an unsafe place for the Jewish people.

But throughout it all, there was something that brought hope to Jews in Robert’s world – the existence of the State of Israel. If the Holocaust was the big black hole in the recent Jewish past, Israel represented the light ahead. To Robert and his contemporaries, Israel was a country built in many ways out of the ashes of European Jewry. For once, Israel wouldn’t allow its Jews to be subjected to the whims of history; instead, it would have an army. It would defend itself, the Jewish people, and any Jewish community in peril. Yes, the world was dangerous for Jews, but Israel represented the promise of safety and security for Jews everywhere.

There was a little blue box on the kitchen counter where Robert’s family put coins to support rebuilding and reforesting the land. He learned about Israel at his temple’s religious school. Every year on Yom Ha’atzmaut – Israeli Independence Day – the congregation had a huge celebration, with Israeli music, felafel, and Israeli folk dances. It was great!

As a kid, Robert learned that he had some cousins who lived in Jerusalem, and one summer, they came for a visit. He was amazed – his cousins went to school on Sundays in Israel, but on Yom Kippur, everything closed down. His cousins spoke fluent Hebrew, and called their parents Imma and Abba – Robert loved it.

In high school, Robert spent a summer in Israel. He saw the historic sites of this magical land, and he met the people who lived there. He knew that his Israeli friends would all go into the army soon, and that scared him. But Israel was a sunny, green, robust, modern Jewish society. And he loved it.

Of course, Robert knew that Israel was also a country riven with strife and danger of all kinds. But for Robert, the existence of the state of Israel represented Jewish safety, the Jewish future, and the unique possibility for a Jewish life that was strong and vibrant. Jewish victimhood and modern antisemitism were problems – Israel was a huge part of the solution.

When Robert became an adult, he continued to feel that close connection with Israel. He traveled there with his family; he donated to Israel-related charities; he followed news stories about Israel with keen interest whenever they appeared.

Whenever were terrorist attacks or war in Israel, Robert’s heart broke. Israel wasn’t just any country, it was his country, even if he didn’t live there. To Robert, an attack on Israel was an attack on him – his own future, his own people, his own family.

And last year, in the wake of the October 7 attacks, Robert’s first response was clear – kill the bastards! He didn’t want innocent Gazans to suffer, of course, but he had no such compunction about the Hamas terrorists. Hamas had brutally murdered more than 1200 innocent Israelis, its thugs had raped Israeli women, and killed Israeli children. They needed to be destroyed at any cost, and the hostages needed to be freed. And if innocent Gazans needed to die in the process, well, that blood was on the hands of Hamas, not on the hands of Israel. Israel needed to defend itself.

Robert has calmed down a bit since then. He’s become uneasy about the extent of the killing in Gaza, and concerned about the escalating violence in the north. Still, when he sees people opposing the very right of Israel to go to war at this time of peril, it cuts him to the quick. How could anyone say such things? And how, especially, could any Jews?

***

Not everyone in our congregation shares Robert’s world-view, of course – some of us see things differently. That’s why I’d also like you to meet Jessica.

Jessica is thirty-years-old, she grew up in Toronto, and moved here to Calgary as a university student in 2012. When she was young, Judaism was something very different for Jessica than it had been for Robert when he was growing up. Jessica came of age during a time when Nazi atrocities and Soviet oppression were the stuff not of direct Jewish experience, but of history books. Jessica learned about the Holocaust, of course, but it had become more of a distant memory for her and her contemporaries than it had been for Robert. Jessica learned a lot about Israel, too. She attended a Reform Jewish summer camp, and every year some of her counselors were young Israelis who came over as sh’lichim – emissaries – to run Israel programming. Like Robert, Jessica also went to Israel (for free, on a Birthright program). When she got there, the country that she saw was not a scrappy, imperiled young country on the rise, but an established, prosperous democracy – sometimes attacked, often conflicted, but on the whole doing pretty well.

In fact, there was a great deal about Jessica’s Jewish upbringing that differed from Robert’s. Robert was raised on a Jewish “diet” of particularistic Jewish concerns – the Holocaust, Soviet Jewry, and Israel. But Jessica’s teachers focused on other values. She and her classmates learned that Judaism teaches that each human being is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God. She learned about pikuach nefesh – the Jewish mandate to save a human at almost any cost. She learned about tikkun olam – our obligation to repair our broken world however we can.  For Jessica and her generation, the central challenge of being Jewish in Canada wasn’t about the need to guarantee Jewish survival. It was about these powerful universalistic Jewish values, instead.

Jessica, too, was horrified on October 7, but what happened on October 8 and afterwards was equally horrifying, if not more so. In the aftermath of the Hamas attacks, she saw Israel bombing Gazan cities into oblivion, killing thousands of civilians in the process. Jessica knew that the perpetrators of the October 7 atrocities were the Hamas terrorists, but she also knew that Israel’s past treatment of the Palestinian people played a role in setting the violent, conflicted context in which those attacks played out.

Yes, Israel needed to defend itself, but Jessica couldn’t reconcile the images of destroyed hospitals and schools and mosques with everything she had been taught to treasure about being Jewish. Self-defense might be one thing. But this? But how could a people who teach of the sanctity of every human life do this? How could a people who value the shared humanity of all people do this? This is Tikkun Olam?

So, Jessica criticized Israel. She called for a ceasefire. And she spoke out on behalf of Palestinian national aspirations. And even though she didn’t dare say so out loud – certainly not in Jewish circles – she quietly questioned whether she could even call herself a Zionist.

***

Robert and Jessica are both prototypes, of course, and real people usually don’t fit into such neat cubbyholes. But Robert and Jessica are real, and their Jewish identities are different, and they are both members of our congregation.

And their views about Judaism and Israel in this post October 7 world of ours differ so greatly from one another that sometimes they can’t even speak with one another about it.

I have spoken with both Robert and Jessica at great length in recent months, and I want you to know that they are both in pain. Robert sees Jessica criticizing a wounded and imperiled Israel, and can’t fathom how she could do such a thing – especially now. And Jessica sees Robert standing by as Jews – Israelis– kill thousands of innocent civilians, and wonders what ever happened to the great, universal Jewish values that she holds so dear.

And what’s worse, Robert sees so many Jessicas, and Jessica sees so many Roberts, that both of them feel alone and isolated, wondering how it is that their Jewish community has betrayed its core values and left them behind.

Know this: the Judaism of both Robert and Jessica are expressions of authentic and time-honored Jewish values. Robert’s concern for the unique destiny of his people, for the security of our brothers and sisters in our ancient homeland, and for the strength and stability of the Jewish state is rooted in the very foundational texts of our people. Jewish survival is a Jewish value, and an important one.

Similarly, the struggle for human rights that is so crucial to Jessica is also an important Jewish value.

And of course, we need both sets of values – both the particular and the universal – to be fully Jewish. If we don’t survive as a people, we can’t bring our message of human dignity to the world, and if we are only concerned about survival, then we forget why it is that our existence matters in in the first place.

We’ve known this from antiquity. In the Talmud, Hillel taught, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me, but if I am only for myself, what am I.”

I hope Jessica remembers that Robert represents a crucial dimension of Jewish life. And I hope Robert remembers the same about Jessica. And most of all I hope that both remember that, to be complete, Judaism needs their counterpart’s values just urgently as it needs their own.

Robert and Jessica are both members of our Jewish community, and neither stands alone. It’s hard sometimes, because our community is such a diverse one, which means that there are people here who disagree with them both. It’s important for us to speak with one another,  listen to one another, share our views with one another– passionately, if necessary. Always remember that the people with whom you disagree have something to learn from you, and maybe you might be able to learn a thing or two from them, as well.

And let’s be honest about how this is playing out. Most of the large organizations representing the Canadian Jewish community are driven by people who agree with Robert. And when Jessica speaks up, these organizations often try to sideline her. But Robert should know know that Jessica and the people who agree with her aren’t going anywhere. I’ve been watching this closely; I’ve been listening to young Jews; I’ve been listening to younger rabbinic colleagues of mine – and I can tell you that Jessica and her allies are growing in number, they are coalescing, they are organizing. And in the decades to come, the progressive left on issues regarding Israel and Zionism – devoted to human rights, committed to Palestinian national aspirations, and sometimes critical of Israel’s policies and actions – will increasingly become a force to be dealt with.

In response to this, Robert has two choices. He can try to cancel Jessica, or he can try to engage her. He can try closing the doors of our Jewish institutions to her, or he can talk with her, debate with her, and create a meaningful Jewish dialogue.

It’s kind of up to Robert, but if Jessica wants to talk and he doesn’t, then Robert can’t accuse Jessica of being the only divisive one.

There’s one more thing I want to say about this. I’ve been arguing here that both Jessica and Robert’s views are authentically Jewish. But what’s not Jewish as these debates unfold is the effort to quash dissent. Instead, we Jews have always treasured argument. We have always debated, and the vigorous debates have strengthened us! In fact, communities that debate a lot tend to discourage extremism, and that’s good for everyone. Making room for objectionable views, in other words, doesn’t make us weak, it strengthens us.

I’ll give you one concrete example from recent days. As the Calgary Jewish Federation prepared for its community-wide observance of the first anniversary of the October 7 attacks, Jessica somehow started whispering into my ear. “It’s just going to be Israeli flag-waving,” she said, “and they’re not going to mention the reality of suffering on the other side.” Immediately, Robert shouted into my other ear. “It’s an October 7 memorial!” he cried. “We need to stand with Israel.”

In response to both of these voices – my inner Jessica and my inner Robert – I sent an email to the Federation asking whether there might be a way, even as we stand in full solidarity with Israel, to also acknowledge the reality of recent Palestinian suffering, too.”

I sent that email off, but a few days later, that inner Robert started bending my ear again. “You know,” he said, “October 7 was a day of Israeli loss and suffering, not Palestinian. The bombs only started falling on Gaza later. Maybe we should keep October 7 about Israeli suffering, and find other opportunities to acknowledge the Palestinian deaths.” So, I sent another email amending my earlier request.

I’m still working through this, and still trying to get it right. But the point is that, to the extent that there was any value whatsoever in my pleas to the Federation, it was because I had both Jessica and Robert whispering into my ears. When both of them are present and both of them are vocal then I become a better rabbi, and even more important, a better Jew. When both are present and both are vocal, we all become better Jews and we all become better people.

We desperately need what both Robert and Jessica bring to the table. When they’re both present, our community grows stronger.

This is a time of horrible conflict for our people. As we face these challenges, let’s speak our truths and be humble enough to learn from those with whom we disagree. And let’s stay at it together. Let’s listen to Robert, listen to Jessica, listen to each and every one of us in this sacred community.

Doing so can only make us stronger.

Rabbi Mark Glickman is the Rabbi at Temple B’nai Tikvah, Calgary’s Reform Jewish Congregation.