I don’t like the term “inclusive.” It sparks a similar unpleasant reaction in my gut as does the term,“tolerance.” They each imply an alternative that does the opposite of what I believe Judaism to be about. To be “inclusive,” suggests an alternative that is “exclusive;” the one implying the other. “Tolerance,” is less ideal than “acceptance,” because it merely allows for the existence of that which is “tolerable,” rather than doing the heavier lift of “accepting” all things, wether we can tolerate them or not.
“Expansive,” though. That does it for me.
The universe is always expanding. And, last I checked, we are all a part of that universe. Imagine an expansive Judaism. One that neither includes nor excludes, but simply contains. Grows around. Is affected by and has an effect on the ways of being that exist within it.
What would it look like, if instead of questioning the authenticity of one’s Jewishness, based upon absolutely any factor, we just agreed that Jewish identity is vast enough, elastic enough, and strong enough to withstand, and expand to hold, multiple different paths towards it?
And what if, once we accepted that vision of ease and acceptance, and co-existence within our Jewish communities, we could start to exist in our non-Jewish communities in the same manner? What if we could live alongside those of different religious traditions and just say “God/the Universe/That-Which-Is-Greater-Than-And-Connects-Us-All is expansive enough to contain multiple interpretations and paths to Itself," and be done with it?
What would it look like, if we were able to accept and expand around each other regardless of how we express our Jewishness? You might think that there’s only a certain amount of space available for expansion. That in order for you to expand, I have to contract. But the universe isn’t like that. It doesn’t expand along an x-y axis; rather, space itself is expanding, with every point moving away from every other point.
Can you imagine?
I can. I can imagine a Judaism that doesn’t make me feel alien to it. A Jewish heritage that expands from every point along it’s timeline into infinite directions and possibilities. Reform. Orthodox. Conservative. Reconstructionist. Renewal. Chabad. Charedi. The list goes on and on. What, if not expansion of the Jewish Universe, do these identities, these groups represent!? There are infinite pathways to oneness, to remembering that we are all part of the same organism, and that what hurts one of us, hurts us all.
Let’s start by viewing each other’s particular paths as parallel, rather than perpendicular. I don’t keep kosher, but my food choices are informed by Torah. I am not shomer niddah, maintaining ritual purity laws within my home (i.e. separating myself from my male relatives from the weeks after ovulation through the end of menstruation), but I do have compassion for myself during those two weeks; and I try to not to be too demanding of myself. There is a whole host of Jewish traditions that I *don’t* observe, but you know what? Every other one that I do, and there are many, are informed by, and indeed my understanding of is born from Jewish tradition.
For instance: astrology. You might think that astrology is “against” Judaism, or “isn’t” Jewish. But! Astrology has long been interwoven with Jewish practice. As have myriad other methods of encountering and experiencing the divine. Take, for instance, the phrase “Mazal Tov!” which we say in response to any good news. You might think it means “congratulations,” which I suppose it does, colloquially. But if we look at the meaning of the actual words, we will see something else. “Mazal,” means “constellation,” and “tov,” mean’s “good.” Put them together, and you’ve got something along the lines from “this is proof that the constellations, your horoscopes, are doing good things right now!” to “may you always have a good horoscope.”
See what I mean?
We can go further with that one, actually. What do we clap and sing when a couple smashes a glass at a wedding, or after a kid is called to Torah before their community? “Siman tov v’Mazal tov, U’Mazal tov V’Siman tov”. That second part: “siman tov,” means “a good sign” (i.e. a good omen.)
«C.B. lower’s their eyeglass frames and looks at you over the top of them»
That dear reader, is what you might consider to be some out-there, frowned-upon, “woo-woo” stuff. And yet we say it literally all of the time in normative, mainstream Judaism. It has always been there.
The synagogue floor at Beth-Alpha (above), features a large mosaic of the Zodiac.
Other similarities:
We follow a lunar calendar and its solar influence.
We mark each new Hebrew month, or moon, with its own holiday and ritual of Rosh Chodesh..
Each of those Hebrew months is considered to have its own character, and thereby, it’s own theme. For instance, in the month of Nisan, which aligns to Aries season, we celebrate Pesach, the annual remembrance of and return to the Paschal Sacrifice (Check out Deuteronomy 16 for the full deets on that one). Paschal means “lamb.” Remind me what an Aries is? Oh right: a ram. Lamb/Ram. You see the similarities? The gigantic ven diagram of overlap between what a lamb is and what a ram is? Ok. cool. 1
«C.B. replaces glasses and continues as before.»
Perhaps you’re a person for whom astrology and the zodiac have been helpful resources, and guides of greater understanding. I am, and have been since I was a little kid. Our tradition tells us, clearly, that when good stuff happens, the stars are somehow involved. And we are connected to them, and they are to us. Jewish mysticism teaches that the human is the point where the spiritual realm and the earthly realm “kiss.” We are where the seen world and the unseen world connect and communicate and flow and get to know one another. That’s some vast stuff. Doesn’t it stand to reason that there would be a whole bunch of different “right” ways to access that connection?
If you’re not a person for whom astrology holds meaning, then I still implore you to look at your Jewishness through this expansive lens. What is it about the way that you practice that aligns or misaligns with the movements to which you “belong”? (also, weird word that we use - Jews belong everywhere and to each other, don’t we? I mean, the world seems to treat us like we do, so we might as well.”) If your practice doesn’t align with the movement you identify with, does that make you feel like a “bad Jew”? Have you every called yourself a “bad Jew”? For whatever reason?
You are not a bad Jew. There is no such thing. There are only human Jews, and humans are neither entirely bad nor entirely good. There’s a whole section of Talmud dedicated to this question, Rosh Hashanah 16a&b. The TLDR of that one is: human beings are beinonim or “middling.” We are neither entirely good nor entirely bad, but somewhere in between, each of us having missed the mark as many or near as many times as having hit it. The text goes on to conclude that for those of us who are aware of the places where we’ve missed the mark, and have done teshuvah for it, “God will place a thumb” upon the scales on the side of the good, for us. God will forgive us if we seek to make right the places where we have done wrong.
We’ve just rounded the corner on the Hebrew month of Elul (and that seems as good a place as any to bring this puppy back down to earth.) Elul is all about compassionate self-reflection. We are invited to spend this month in gentle but honest contemplation of our actions and how they reflect upon our souls. We take a cheshbon ha-nefesh, an accounting of the soul. We do this so that we are ready when Rosh HaShana, the New Year arrives and invites us into ten days of teshuvah, of return to our soul’s original… whatever form souls take in your understanding of them. I can’t decide that for you.
Here’s the thing: if you stay through the end of the day on Yom Kippur, all the way through neilah, the closing service, you know that the final words you’ll hear from the liturgy in that massive prayer book, will be “you are forgiven, as you have asked.” So. Elul is about taking a gracious and also honest view of our actions over the past year (and all the years before, too,) and see where we have missed the mark. Where we have shown up as less than our best selves, and to do so with love and care and compassion, and even forgiveness.
If Elul were a friend, they would be the one waiting to drive you to and from that medical procedure that you really don’t want to have but need to. Ungrudgingly. Expansively. They will hold your hand through it if they can, and make sure that you have all of your favorite comfort foods and basic needs met during the time it takes to recover.
Perhaps the hard work that we can do as a community this Elul is that of expansion. What would that be like, I wonder, if we gave that a try? If we attempted to put our metaphorical (and literal) arms around each other and hold space for each others’ wisdom and experience. If we were able to hold compassion and understanding for our own selves and our past choices? I think it would be pretty awe-some, actually. And what are we supposed to be as Jews if not witnesses to of awe?
I’ll write more on this later, because I’ve got a lot to say about it.