President's Forum on World Jewish Affairs
The State of Jewish Culture in a Global World

Chairman: Prof. Sergio Della-Pergola

Speakers: Prof. Anita Shapira , Tel-Aviv University ,Prof.  Ismar Schorsch , the Jewish Theological Seminary, New York

Closing Remarks: The honorable president Moshe Katzav

THE JEWISH PEOPLE IN THE AGE OF GLOBALIZATION

Anita Shapira

There was once a wealthy Jew, who lived in a big city. He was given a general education, owned a large library, and was a patron of the arts and sciences, but he nevertheless remained a committed Jew. He traveled to Eretz Yisrael several times and visited the Holy City of Jerusalem. Moreover, he devoted his life to the intellectual pursuit of demonstrating that Jewish culture and the general culture of his time and place were compatible. Who was this person? One of New York 's preeminent philanthropists? A Jewish philosopher living in France ? Neither — it was the early first-century C.E. philosopher, Philo of Alexandria. While remaining true to his identity as a Jew, he worked throughout his lifetime to prove that the two civilizations — Greek-Roman on the one hand and Jewish on the other — were complementary and that they rested on the same philosophical principles.

Philo's worldview was obviously not consonant with that of the Mishnaic and Talmudic sages, whose frame of reference was limited to Jewish society. The Sages had been raised exclusively on Jewish sources and were not receptive to either the goyim 's institutions or to non-Jewish intellectual systems.

Accordingly, there are two models for the Jewish attitude to the surrounding society, models that have accompanied the Jewish people throughout our long history: during the Golden Age, the Jews of Spain adopted Philo's model; whereas the Jews of Ashkenaz adopted the model of the Sages. The Jewish attitude to the influences of the non-Jewish world was dialectical: even if in certain periods we tried to adhere to the precept "a people that shall dwell alone," in truth the self-administered isolation was never hermetic. Greek influence was evident not only among those scornfully dubbed "hellenizers," but also among the Jewish so-called "faithful." For instance, members of the Hasmonean family bore Greek names (i.e. Alexander and Aristobulus). Rabbi Gershom's ban on polygamy alternatively reflects the influence of the Christian monogamous family on the social patterns of Ashkenazic Jewry. Moreover, kiddush ha'shem ­­— Jewish martyrdom — could have only transpired as a mass phenomenon in the eschatological climate of the Crusades, when religious faith was the focus of life and identity. The above-mentioned influences merely constitute a small sampling of the constant interaction between Jewish and non-Jewish milieus.

Which of the models provides the best tools for preserving Jewish identity in the open society of the modern era: Philo's model or the Hatam Sofer's (the spiritual founder of contemporary Jewish Ultra-Orthodoxy)? It is worth noting that both models have simultaneously succeeded and failed. Philo's model was prevalent among educated Jews who had modernized since the nineteenth century, but this approach often led to a total detachment from Jewish identity. The Hatam Sofer's model, which stemmed from a fear of modernity, has also come at a heavy price: Judaism was frozen at a specific point in time and thus stagnated. In other words, Judaism lost its vitality and ability to draw from the surrounding world.

In the past decade, a slew of new concepts have cropped up, which have refocused attention on the question of Jewish identity in the twenty-first century: globalization, the clash of civilizations, and the struggle between Western civilization and Islam.

What are the changes that globalization has brought upon the Jewish people? How does the present situation compare with previous generations? The historian Simon Dubnow defined the Jewish people as an " am olam — a people whose home is the entire world." In Hebrew, the term " am olam " connotes time as well as space: an eternal people that have managed to survive from antiquity until the modern era and beyond. This term lent legitimacy to the Jewish Diaspora and underscored the lack of a Jewish need for territory in order to sustain Jewish identity. Accordingly, Jews never felt comfortable in intensely nationalist societies. Nations that stressed ethnic or cultural identity tended to exclude Jews, regarding them as nationally inauthentic. At a national ceremony in Belgium , for example, first the Flemish and then the Walloons were asked to take part. The Jews protested, "And what about us, the Belgians?" This anecdote reflects the Jewish longing to belong as well as the inherent difficulties involved. This is why the Jews preferred multi-national empires such as the Hapsburg Dynasty, which in recognition of the delicate balance that was required to quell its conflicting national groups upheld the notion of tolerance and refrained from imposing a uniform identity on its subjects. The term "cosmopolitan" (citizen of the world) expressed the desire of many Jews to rid themselves of a national identity and adopt a supra-national citizenship in its stead. The term cosmopolite suggests the dismemberment of the Jewish collective into isolated individuals. As in the anecdote on Belgian identity, only the Jews embraced the idea of cosmopolitanism. It is no accident that before the collapse of the Eastern Bloc, the Jews were accused of cosmopolitanism; that is, a lack of loyalty to the native country and ties to supra-national frameworks. Only the Jews were deemed cosmopolitans. The term "citizen of the world" became a disreputable label, which was identified with an absence of native roots and the targeting of Jews.

The term internationalism was equally commonplace in earlier generations. In a world in which Jews filled the role of the outsider, it was only natural that we sought refuge in theories of universal redemption that transcended national boundaries, abolished differences of religion and origin, and presaged the coming of a just kingdom on Earth in which Jews would no longer be categorized as aliens. The Jews naturally identified with these ideas, as they were consistent with the Jewish longing for a kingdom of heaven. The slogan "the redemption of man and nation" was consequently incorporated into the tenets of Jewish internationalism. As such, internationalist solution was not only intended for the woes of the individual Jew, but for the existential problems of the Jewish collective as well.

That said, where does globalization stand vis à vis these unifying concepts? First and foremost, globalization does not claim to solve the world's problems. Even though it too serves as a supra-national concept and belongs to the same family of terminology, it has no message — social, spiritual, nor even political. Globalization is practically a spontaneous phenomenon, which has been propelled by technology rather than ideology. It has materialized largely on account of the revolution in communications and computers. These advances have enabled entrepreneurs to span vast geographical expanses in the pursuit of business opportunities that are entirely driven and limited by factors of economic feasibility. The power of technology has also underpinned the spread of globalization as a socio-cultural phenomenon. Satellite transmissions generate a global following for specific cultural elements, including dress, speech, behavioral patterns, and eating habits. Today, one can find the same food and clothing labels in New York , London , Paris , Prague , and Jerusalem . From a social standpoint, globalization leads to mass migration from less developed to more prosperous countries. Millions of Indians and Pakistanis have flocked to London ; a huge North Africans community has settled down in Paris ; and Germany has imported hundreds of thousands of Turkish laborers. The current ethnic and cultural uniformity of Western states is being undermined by the pressures of mass immigration and by the allure of a global culture that weakens the populace's commitment to local customs.

Does this mean that national states with inhabitants that share a common culture, historical memory, and geographical bond are on the way out? We must bear in mind the fact that history develops dialectically. Other trends emerge in response to the factors that are eroding national or regional identities. These developments are indicative of the fears of natives who feel that their particular cultures are threatened by foreign immigrants that refuse to adopt the local lifestyle. So although globalization dilutes local identities, it also hones the people's awareness of these issues and induces the development of manifold particularistic ethnic or religious phenomena.

This, then, brings us to the question of globalization and the Jewish people: to borrow the age-old question, is it good for the Jews? At face value, putting economics at the top of the values system diminishes the importance of national, cultural or religious distinctions. But, as we have noted, the counter-reaction to globalization also leads to a sharpening and highlighting of these differences. In the clash between East and West and between immigrants and locals, the Jews once again find themselves in the thick of things. The dissemination of Western values throughout the East has included the import of anti-Semitism and anti-Semitic symbols. Traditional European anti-Semitism regarded Jews as foreigners, as Easterners who should return to whence they came. For Middle-Eastern and Moslem anti-Semites, Jews have now become the symbol of the West; the small Satan, as opposed to the big American Satan. Ironically, the Jews who have historically been persecuted by the West have now become the very symbol of the West. An integral part of the globalization of Western civilization, then, is the export of hatred of Jews. The reappearance of anti-Semitism in Europe is related to the emergence of a powerful Moslem minority. Displays of anti-Semitism by European Moslems not only constitutes a protest against Israel's policies and the United States' support for the Jewish State, but is an expression of their irate opposition to the social, economic and cultural order that the majority society is attempting to foist upon them. These minorities hope to preserve and highlight their identity by embracing Islamic streams that are quite extreme insofar as their hatred of strangers and spurning of modern influences are concerned. Paradoxically, globalization has enabled this process to take hold, as it facilitates communication and spiritual inspiration from afar via the internet, television and CDs. These are the medium through which Moslem minorities in Europe protest against the unifying cultural trends that are being dictated to them.

How do the Jewish people preserve their identity in an age of cultural homogeneity in which everything has been reduced to a commercial commodity? How is collective memory and commitment to cultural heritage preserved in an age of cost effectiveness? At the dawn of the modern era, the Jewish people were fragmented, primarily on account of the Emancipation; a common Jewish interest no longer existed. This multifariousness was one of Zionism's cardinal problems; namely, how to reconstruct a Jewish collective, a common denominator? Zionism ultimately forged a shared objective that harnessed the creative energies of the Jewish people, motivating its adherents to endeavor on behalf of the hityashvut (Jewish settlement in Israel ) and the nation's cultural revival.

Among the consequences of globalization is the devaluation of knowledge: the reduction of history to film footage, tradition to cult books, and the tendency to transform the Humanities from a common cultural base into yet another part of the global mass culture, which everyone can relate with but no one feels committed to. On the other hand, higher culture is being relegated to obscure, esoteric realms of professional jargon. Among Jews, this process is particularly evident. A respect for knowledge — religious or secular — was always part and parcel of the Jewish tradition. However, we are now witnesses to a delegitimization of knowledge, both religious and secular. It is unlikely that the conditions that produced a figure such as Philo of Alexandria exist in today's world.

The importance of nurturing cultural assets that are relevant to both Israel and the Diaspora is self-evident. In the face of the culture of malls and McDonalds, it is incumbent upon the leaders of world Jewry to forge an alternative set of ideals, one that offers values and morals, a common heritage, and identifies with the characteristics of " am olam. " The first step is to cultivate the Hebrew language, not only in Israel but in the Diaspora too.

If we are to preserve our Jewish identity, we must fashion a common cultural tradition. During the Second Temple Period, the entire Jewish world was informed of the start of a new month by lighting a network of beacons on mountain tops. Today, we must light beacons that embody the deep bonds that connect all the far-flung and disparate segments of the Jewish people. We have no sway over globalization as a worldwide economic process. However, the counter-reaction to globalization must come from the people, out of a sense of recognition for and pride in our cultural uniqueness, from a desire to sustain our legacy even in the face of sweeping homogeneity.

Will we prove capable of maintaining Jewish solidarity during a period that is not necessarily marked by crisis? Will our efforts to create a Jewish culture that is embraced by the entire nation, wherever they may reside, ultimately succeed?

A culture that is secluded from the winds of change — such as the stream of Judaism instituted by the Hatam Sofer — is unfathomable today. Will we manage to find our way back to the tradition of Philo of Alexandria, who immersed himself in the culture of the world while remaining faithful to his own? It is no mean feat, but perhaps this model contains the seeds for Jewish continuity in a world that has become a global village.

FROM CONTEXT TO TEXT

Ismar Schorsch

American Jews are on the cusp of a spiritual sea change. Collectively and individually they are reverting to the most traditional of literary genres in Judaism, commentaries. After a hiatus of two centuries, a spurt of new Bible commentaries and translations of the Talmud has restored the study of sacred texts to the center of religious consciousness. Indicative of the upsurge is the striking fact that since 1981 each of the three major denominations of American Judaism has produced a modern Bible commentary for its adherents. Whatever their vast differences, these commentaries are part of a widespread shift in sentiment that has not been picked up by any national Jewish population survey.

The need to interpret was coterminous with the embrace of sacred books. It began before the Hebrew canon was codified and never grew superfluous. Unending interpretations of both a critical and creative sort produced the arresting anomaly of a canon without closure. Thus from the early halakhic midrashim to the Talmud and the Zohar and beyond, rabbinic Judaism generated a library of exegetical works in Hebrew and Aramaic, Greek and Arabic.

The letters, words and verses of the Torah became building blocks for the construction of daring edifices of new meaning.

A text in the midst of commentaries also attained a measure of timelessness. The format drew commentators from different centuries and cultures into dialogue. Focused on the same text, they mounted a conversation unbounded by time and place.

Modernity shattered the insularity of late medieval Ashkenazic Jewry and dislodged the traditional centrality of sacred texts. Emancipated Jews invested little time in writing biblical commentaries. Only Ludwig Philippson and Samson Raphael Hirsch produced widely used commentaries to the Pentateuch.

A German translation of the Babylonian Talmud did not get underway till more than a century later in 1896. The delay reflected the Jewish fear that a literal and unexpurgated translation would provide grist on a grand scale for the opponents of emancipation. But it also expressed the extent to which the Talmud had been devalued internally. In 1913, when the young Gershom Scholem sought to gain access to the world of the Talmud in Berlin , there were almost no options available to him. German Jews had come to disparage the study of Talmud as much as Jewish mysticism.

The practitioners of critical Jewish scholarship, on the other hand, certainly continued to pore over the ancient texts of Judaism, but they did not write commentaries.

As I tried to convey by the title of my book, From Text to Context , the research agenda shifted in the nineteenth century to recovering the context in which a text was composed.

Scholarship had turned synthetic. As a literary form, commentaries tended to be disjointed, analytical and too narrowly focused. But the quest for context also demoted the text to a secondary role. Even when Bialik and Louis Ginzberg refashioned the lore and legends of rabbinic Judaism into captivating Hebrew and English anthologies in the early decades of the twentieth century, they still wrenched the narrative specimens from their original exegetical setting.

The point of my historical digression is to illuminate the unappreciated novelty of our own day. The sea change of which I speak marks a return from context to text. Not that synthetic, historical scholarship has suddenly ceased. Young scholars with new sources, better tools and fresh perspectives formulate research projects undreamt of or unrealizable by those who came before. But such continuity should not obscure the discontinuity in the resurgent centrality of the text.

The Babylonian Talmud, for example, is currently appearing in the United States in three different translations by Jacob Neusner (finished), Adin Steinsaltz, and ArtScroll (both as yet unfinished). The latter two are accompanied by helpful commentaries, making the text accessible to serious learners. The uniqueness of the Talmud is regarded today by Jews as a source of ethnic pride and religious meaning, which is worthy of study in the university as well as the synagogue.

Equally astonishing is the recent profusion of biblical commentaries by Jews of all stripes. I would go back to 1964 when Nahum Sarna and E.A. Speiser published their respective commentaries to Genesis. Written in a non-technical language, both books bracingly set the biblical text within the context of the ancient Near East without ducking the urgent question of religious significance. In 1987, in their elegant literary guide to both the Hebrew and Greek Testaments of Scripture, Alter and Frank Kermode intensified their advocacy of shifting away from exclusively tracing the text in its formation to explicating it in its final form as a piece of literature. In prooftexts in countless essays over the years, it evinced the high yield to be garnered by treating biblical texts literarily.

By the nineties the exegetical ferment produced the multi-volume set The JPS Torah/Bible Commentary, including one on the haftarot.

Through the instruction of Burton Visotzky, who authored his own idiosyncratic, pungent commentaries to Genesis and Exodus in the nineties, Bill Moyers grew enamored of the age-old, freewheeling Jewish dialogue with the biblical text. In his ten-part grouped conversation on Genesis, which premiered on public television in the fall of 1996, Moyers introduced America to midrashic discourse. Reverence for the canon in Judaism had always expressed itself by reading the text literally and figuratively, critically and imaginatively.

What started as a trickle in the sixties took on the proportions of a veritable torrent in the last decade. Without let up, volumes of commentary keep cascading off the press: the Anchor Bible commentaries, Moshe Greenberg on Ezekiel, Jacob Milgrom on Leviticus, Mose Weinfeld on Deuteronomy, Baruch A. Levine on Numbers, and Micahel V. Fox on Proverbs are models of precision, empathy, and erudition informed by a lively religious sensibility. Of a more popular and personal sort, the commentaries by Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg, Norman J. Cohen, and Leon R. Kass on Genesis and Exodus expand the entire religious spectrum, from secular to Orthodox.

In sum, without pretense to being complete, my survey of the flood tide of new biblical commentaries by Jews strongly suggests a resurgence of the sanctity and centrality of the text. Once again American Jews have become the people of the book. In countless study groups in synagogues and downtown offices, Jewish community centers and private homes, Jews are meeting to pore over a biblical book or a Talmudic tractate. A plethora of new translations and commentaries has given them entrée to the inner resources of Jewish religious vitality.

Traditionally, Judaism never renounced the validity of reading the Bible critically (p'shat) in the face of the compelling need to read it creatively (d'rash) . To study the Bible in a vacuum after two centuries of excavating the ruins of the ancient Near East is to indulge in willful ignorance. Nor is it necessary. The deeper understanding gained of nearly every aspect of the biblical corpus is itself rife with profound religious significance.

I know of no more auspicious change in the profile of American Jewry than this silent revolution reconnecting us with our sacred texts. The text has always been our portable sanctuary, our venue of conversing with God, our reason for being. Outside its sacred precincts, there can be no long term survival for the Jewish people, even in its own homeland. What has historically defined being Jewish is a relationship to a holy text, whose manifest expression is an unending literature of interpretation.