BUILDING a better Baltimore: KeeneIn the story of Exodus, Nachshon was the first Israelite to wade into the Red Sea, confident that it would part like Moses promised. Jewish Funds for Justice is taking this metaphor and running with it: Their Nachshon Challenge gives grants to leaders who are boldly going, to mix Jewish metaphors, where no one has gone before.

A couple weeks ago, Jewcy’s editor-in-chief Tahl wondered what would justify Judaism’s continuing existence in the 21st century. Not being a prophet or religious genius, I won’t pretend I have an answer, but I do think programs like the Nachshon Challenge are an excellent step towards continued relevance for one shockingly basic reason: Some of the people funded by the program aren’t Jewish. One, in fact, is a minister of a Baptist church. And their projects generally aim to do good not just within the Jewish world, but within the world at large.

Look at the description of the project run by the Baptist minister, Reverend Calvin Keene:

Rev. Keene left a career as a successful businessman to become the pastor of Memorial Baptist Church in the Oliver neighborhood in East Baltimore, where he grew up. Working with BUILD (Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development), Pastor Keene has been a driving force in the renewal of the economically depressed Oliver neighborhood, which gained notoriety through the HBO series The Wire. Along with other members of the community, Memorial Baptist acquired adjacent houses and parcels of land to create a foundation for the area’s redevelopment. JFSJ is working in close partnership with Rev. Keene, BUILD, The Reinvestment Fund, THE ASSOCIATED: The Jewish Federation of Greater Baltimore, and other members of the Baltimore Jewish community, to revitalize the area and develop hundreds of lots for new homes and businesses.

Is social justice the soul of Judaism, as a Jewcy dialog once asked? Not necessarily. But is social justice in the Baltimore ghetto a Jewish issue? Of course, because Jewish organizations are making it a Jewish issue. And not even youngish leftish organizations like the JFSJ, but the Jewish Federation of Greater Baltimore, which is not exactly a "Shalom Motherfucker" kind of place. A Judaism that can help a Baptist minister fund a totally non-Jewy project simply because it's a good cause—that’s the kind of pluralistic Judaism that has a chance of meaning something in the 21st century.

You can read about other leaders and donate to the Nachshon Challenge here.

Pluralism is one of the buzz words in the Jewish community these days, and usually it means either a) there are no Orthodox people involved or b) the event is de facto Orthodox because of having to cater to the highest standard. Regardless, everyone has been hailing pluralism as the future of successful Judaism and no one has bothered to parse the exact meaning and implications of pluralism in a comprehensive and cogent way—until now.
pluralism: untiting the Right with the Far Right
Check out Dov Friedman’s article in the Columbia Current, “Two Jews, Three Opinions? In Search of Pure Pluralism.” (Full disclosure: Dov is an old family friend.) Friedman does an impressive job of explaining the conundrum that is Jewish pluralism, and his article blows the top off of all of the ‘why can’t we all just get along’ BS that is usually billed as pluralism.

There is one central division among Jews with regard to proposed unity of religious practice. In one group are those who believe that Jewish law is binding on all Jews because that law is mandated by God. These Jews also believe that living their lives according to this law represents the single authentic way to practice Judaism. In the other group are those who see Judaism (and sometimes religion in general) as housing an infinite number of truths, all of which attempt to connect with one aspect of God or another.

For those who believe that law is fundamentally correct and that other conceptions of Judaism are incorrect, their theology precludes them from creating and joining in communal practices that deviate from their understanding of Jewish law.

Alternatively, those who believe that Judaism houses an infinite number of truths are always at risk of losing a coherent foundation upon which to build their community; they may build a pluralist community, but what would tie such a community together? It would have nothing to rally around except pluralism itself—making pluralism the end instead of a means to a more harmonious community.

 

 

Rock, meet Hard Place.

Friedman then runs through all of the various ways to view pluralism, taking into account everyone from Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik to Jewschool’s Dan “Mobius” Sieradski. In his conclusion he hopes for what he sees as the truest form of pluralism: educational pluralism. If kids are given strong Jewish educations that enable them to explore Jewish text, Jewish Law and Jewish thought, then pluralistic ideals will be easier for them to inhabit and maintain in the future.  As the product of some pretty hardcore Jewish education, I’m with him 100%.

Related: I Am Not Crunchy Enough for Jews in the Woods, Scrap the Mechitza

Ultimately, I came to learn that there are at lest three quite distinct symbol systems, or paradigms, for Christian theology coming out of the Bible. One is dominated by the idea of God as the judge, and what is going to happen to us on the day of judgment.God is the judge: Arnold is the bailiff

Everything circles around God's judgment, and sin and forgiveness and redemption and the cross-that's Western Christendom in Catholicism and Lutheranism. Then there is God as Lord. And that has to do with God as Lord and we as subject, and the world is full of covenants-that's Calvin and also the Jewish tradition. And the model gave the basic model for the federal structure of the United States; foedus in Latin means convenant. It's the sociopolitical model of God.

And then there is the third, the Johannine. It's all about life. Sin is sickness, not primary guilt. It's not about obedience and Lordship. It's life: He came that they should have life, and have it abundantly. In him was life. Out of his innermost parts, streams of living water will flow (John 7). And everything is to be born anew, born out of water and blood (John 3). That's John, and that's Eastern Christendom. There is no crucifix in an Eastern church; there is the icon, where the divine life shines through the human image.

These are three different ways of thinking about God. What a richness. And you don't see them until you lay them apart. Of course they flow into one another, in all our traditions. But it is by studying the scriptures to get the integrity of each of these that they come to life. It is a little like the Gospels: if you mix them, you don't get the feel of how many theologies there are in scripture. It's like with homogenized milk: when you homogenize milk, you can't make whipped cream anymore.Dairy products: Thick like Scripture And for sermons, that's a deadening thing.

So when the preacher preaches Luke, it should sound like Luke. And even the Lutherans should not mix in a little Paul to make it kosher. So, not so uptight. Let a thousand flowers bloom. Richness. Plurality. Plurals. Yes, meanings is better than meaning. Isn't that, in a way, what the Trinity is about? Isn't that odd, these confused monotheists who speak about the Trinity: We couldn't quite settle for something which was just oneness, we had to have more of a fullness of an interplay, of a giving and receiving. Do you remember how it is with the oneness in John 17, where Jesus prays that they all be one? And you, father, are in me, and I am in you, and they are in us. It's like the biological world: Everything is interdependent. It's a giving and receiving. It's a oneness that is not a glob, but a living interplay. Plural.

Which leads me to the fifth point: Not so universal. And here I come full circle. I said in the beginning that I read the Bible as if it was just about me. And now I say, the Bible, my beloved Bible, it is indeed my Bible. There might be other holy scriptures-and that might not be as threatening as some people think. Not to claim universality and uniqueness? I always felt that to speak about the uniqueness of Christianity or the uniqueness of Christ does more for the ego of the believer than it does for God. Has God Only One Blessing? is the wonderful title of a recent book. How can I sing my song to Jesus with abandon, without telling negative stories about others? What one religion says about another religion, what one beloved scripture claims to be over against other scriptures, comes pretty close to a breach against the commandment "Though shall not bear false witness against your neighbor." What we say about the others is usually self-serving. We say, Is it self-serving? Oh no, it is just giving God honor. But think about it. Think about the scriptures themselves. Jesus said, "Let your light so shine before people that they see your good deeds and become Christian." That's not what it says. It says, "Let your light shine for people so that they see your good deeds and praise your father who is in heaven" (Matt. 5). Your father-so that people have a reason to be happy that there are Christians in the world, instead of getting irritated at them, if not worse. Jesus said, "You are the salt of the earth." But who wants the world to become a salt mine?

We are born as a minority religion, as a religion among religions. And we are heirs to the Jewish perspective on these things: that's what I learned from the scriptures. It says, to Israel, that Israel is meant to be a light to the nations. That's what Jesus speaks about: a light to the nations. The Jews have never thought that God's hottest dream was that everybody become a Jew. They rather thought that they were called upon to be faithful and that God somehow needed that people in the total cosmos. What a humility, but we called it tribalism. From the enlightenment, everything had to be universal. But when Christianity started its universal claim, and got power, it led to the crusades. We couldn't really think that it was not God's hottest dream that everybody be like us. So I say, no, the Bible is my Bible. The milk of salvation: Suckling from the gospelsThis is the breast that I, as a child of God, have been nourished from. And for the little child, when the child is born that's the whole world, the mother's breast. But maturing means to recognize that other kids have sucked other mothers' breasts. That belongs to growing up.

Now this is my Bible. It was given to me as a gift, and it is full of love, for which I am grateful. If I have found a doctrine, that is my doctrine. I don't need to bad-mouth all others. This is theology for the next generations. Paul was on to that. Paul, late in his mission, had to learn to deal with plurality.

PART FOUR: Final Thoughts 

Hanukkah candles: this is the whole pointOkay, there’s some Hanukkah bashing going on this year, here on Jewcy and over at Slate, and I want to say that first of all, all the points that have been made are totally valid and everything. But despite all that, I think Hanukkah has some redeeming value, and I think it would be a shame to write it off as unimportant or too gory to celebrate.

Most of the controversy surrounding Hanukkah has to do with the war against Atiochus, and how bloody and shortsighted it was. That’s all true. But the holiday of Hanukkah is about the miracle of the oil lasting for eight days. The miracle, not the battle, is the part we celebrate and I think that’s something to pay attention to. The rabbis aren’t asking us to glorify senseless violence here, they’re asking us to glorify a miracle. So maybe you don’t believe that the miracle ever happened, or maybe you don’t care, but the miracle itself is not that offensive. And honestly, shouldn’t the concept of a limited amount of oil speak to the contemporary green movement? I mean, this is hardly a stretch.

The message of the war against Antiochus is, at its heart, a message of self-esteem for Jews. It may have actually been a horrible and bloody war, but the idea that a small group was able to take down a much larger force is something that has always resonated with Jews. It should be pointed out that all wars are horrible and bloody, and this one probably no more or less than any other war of its time. The goal of the war--Jews standing up for a life of mitzvoth--is a concept that makes absolute sense to me. Do I love the Maccabees’ methods? Of course not, but I think it’s a mistake to impose our pluralistic ideals of today on the Maccabees. There were no models of pluralistic societies at the time (that I know of). And beyond that, they were following the narrative that has been constant throughout the Jewish Experience. Our job has been to ensure that Jews could practice mitzvoth no matter what. That’s what led us to leave Egypt, to settle in Israel, to fight Haman on Purim. Because the thing is, if Jewish mothers will die if they circumcise their sons then Judaism itself is at stake. The commandments are what we’re supposed to be about, and if we can’t do them, then who are we?
Antiochus: total meanie
Finally, though it pains me to say this, I think part of what’s good about Hanukkah these days is that it has lost most of its historical context. Almost no one reads the book of Maccabees anymore, and it’s certainly not presented to little kids at Hebrew school. Instead, kids learn about miracles, about light, about spinning a dreidl, and eating latkes with their families. They learn about sharing a “holiday season” with other kids celebrating other kinds of festivals, and they learn about giving. One of my favorite things about Hanukkah is that even though there are eight potential days on which to get gifts, I don’t know anyone who gets eight extravagant gifts. Instead, most kids get presents on one or two nights, and spend other nights giving gifts to others, or just hanging out with their family. Because Hanukkah is so overwhelming it ends up being less over the top than many Christmas celebrations.

It’s true that the Maccabees were scary guys, and Hanukkah is never going to be my favorite holiday, but it’s not all bad. Celebrating miracles, ensuring that Jews will exist in the world, and lessening consumerism. Let that be your Hanukkah mantra.

So there’s this awesome thing called Jews in the Woods. Basically, it’s a shabbaton held way out in some rural location in the Northeast, and recently it’s been happening as often as three or four times a year, and even in Israel. Also known as Fruity Jews in the Woods or just Fruity Jews, the group is led by an informal contingent of mostly college students, and they’ve done all kinds of really cool and innovative things, though by far my favorite is their tri-chitzah, a mechitzah that separates the group into three sections so that people who want to have egalitarian davening can be accommodated, as can people who want separate seating. Pretty nifty, eh?

Jews in the Woods: at a lake JitW is completely non-denominational and not run by any overseeing organization like the Federation. Money comes from grants, though there isn’t much of it, and there’s no mission statement or agenda. Read an awesome Forward article about Jews in the Woods here, or visit their wikipedia page. The JitW website is not quite as helpful as you might want (though that’s by design, apparently) but here’s my favorite little blurb:

Jews in the Woods is a community. JITW is a laboratory for a vibrant, inclusive Judaism. JITW is a way for Jews of a younger generation to create a Jewish community that draws on the love and wisdom of Jewish tradition as well as the richness of contemporary American and world civilization. JITW is the first Jewish community I’ve found that is not built around the pain and fear of previous generations. With a commitment to respect and working things out, there is a joy present that is hard to find elsewhere. JITW is, for some folks, the only Jewish setting where they feel at home. And for others of us, it’s the Jewish setting where we feel most at home. JITW is a place where it is the norm to be Jewish and: Jewish and feminist; Jewish and queer; Jewish and pagan; Jewish and an anarchist; Orthodox and egalitarian; Jewish and vegetarian; Jewish and dating a non-Jew; Jewish and Buddhist. JITW is a Jewish community where geography is incidental. Moving across the state or even a few states away is irrelevant to membership, participation, and leadership. This is so valuable in an age when synagogue membership (and thus, connection to a particular form of Jewish community) is so geographically linked. - ilana s

If this sounds like the community for you then I encourage you to go to the JitW website and click on the making contact link.

Sadly, even though I’m totally in awe of all of the rockin’ pluralism and innovation going on there, I think I’m a little too straight-edge for JitW. I would pretty much rather poke my eye out with a rusty old menorah than put my arms around someone else and sway while singing Eliyahu HaNavi. But hey, if singing and swaying is your thing I give you a virtual high five and usher you towards JitW. Go and be Jewcy in the Woods!

Congratulations!  You’ve finally found your bashert.  You are so in love and a perfect match in every way – except that he’s shomer Shabbat and you can’t wake up without Saturday morning cartoons.  Or you don’t eat at non-kosher restaurants, while she routinely heads to Burger King to soothe her cheeseburger fix.  Welcome to the strange world of Jewish dating – a land where two people of the same faith can be religiously miles apart.  Luckily, there’s one thing that all Jews can agree on – food…or so I thought.

In my own pluralistic Jewish relationship, the subject of cheese has become a surprisingly contentious topic.   In one corner we have a farmers’ market shopping, microwave shunning, organic loving food snob (me).  In the other corner we have my kosher-keeping, bachelor-kitchen owning boyfriend.  Like any good foodie, I’m rather obsessed with good cheese – the stinky, artisanal stuff that evokes that elusive food sense, umami.  My boyfriend also likes good cheese, but if confronted with the choice between the non-kosher aged cheddar and a slice of highly processed kosher cheese from Miller’s, he’ll invariably pick door number two.

The problem is, Miller Cheese makes me want to start throwing things.  Honestly, if you have to dig through three layers of plastic to unearth a flavorless orange brick, why bother with cheese at all?  Our disagreement certainly isn’t the stuff of breakups, but soon after we started dating, finding a happy cheese medium with my boyfriend became a high priority on my list.   

Enter 5-Spoke Creamery.  According to their website (and also to owners Barbara and Alan, whom I met recently at their vendor booth at Jewzapalooza), all of their cheeses are made by hand from the raw milk [swoon] of grass-fed [double swoon] Holstein cows, are pesticide and hormone free,” and (and!!) “are kosher certified Kof-K.”

PestoliciousToo good to be true?  After trying their Redmond Cheddar and Herbal Jack (a mix of chives and garlic), I’m a believer.  It had the "real cheese" flavor that I love and the legit certification that my boyfriend needs.  I like it so much, I decided to create a celebratory dish to honor the company that brought cheesy harmony to my pluralistic relationship. 

5-Spoke Pasta with Cheese with Arugula Pesto
Serves 4

*Serve this dish with a green salad and, if you're trying to woo someone, a bottle of dry red wine (see The Jew & The Carrot's wine list for delicious, kosher, organic suggestions.)

Pasta
1 package of dry or fresh pasta (macaroni, spirals, shells, penne etc.)

Cheese sauce
1 1/2 cups shredded (or cubed) Redmond Cheddar from 5-Spoke Creamery
1/3-2/3 cup milk
2 Tbs unsalted butter
½ tsp mustard powder
pinch of nutmeg

Pesto
1 large bunch fresh basil
1 bunch fresh arugula (fresh spinach works too, and will yield a more subtle pesto)
2-3 garlic cloves, with skins removed and roughly chopped
½ cup toasted pine nuts  http://www.fitnessandfreebies.com/food/cooking/pine_nuts.html
Olive oil, salt, and pepper to taste

Directions
Start with the pesto.  Thoroughly wash the argula and basil, removing all grit and sand.  Remove basil leaves from stems.  Roughly chop together with the arugula on a cutting board.  Add all the greens to a food processor (a blender works too, but not as well).  Add the garlic cloves and toasted pine nuts and pulse in food processor until roughly combined.  Add in olive oil, about 4 tablespoons at a time, continuing to pulse the food processor between each addition until the mixture turns into a paste.  Add salt and pepper and blend once more.  Scoop 2/3 cup into a bowl and set aside.  Put the remaining pesto into a Tupperware and freeze it for an easy pasta sauce or sandwich spread later.

Make the pasta.  Fill a quart-sized pot with water.  Add a shake of salt and a drop of oil to the water and set to boil.  Once boiled, cook pasta according to directions on box.  Drain, set aside in a large bowl.

Meanwhile, make the cheese sauce.  Melt the butter in a sauce pan over low-med heat.  As soon as it melts (before it gets brown and bubbly!) add the milk and stir to combine.  Add ½ the cheese and stir frequently, until melted.  Add the rest of the cheese, the nutmeg and the mustard powder and continue stirring, adjusting the sauce with more milk or cheese, if necessary, until you get the desired thickness.

Pour hot cheese sauce and pesto over the pasta and stir to coat.    

Recently a lapsed Catholic friend confessed a serious case of religion envy—for the religion I happened to be born into. “I’ve always had a strong admiration for Judaism,” he told me. “If I had to choose any religion, it would be yours.” Ironically, I had a similar confession to make: I’d always felt the same way about the Catholic Church.

In an age when schoolchildren in the most goyish suburbs learn to sing “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” alongside “Silent Night,” when churches and synagogues engage in interfaith outreach, and where politicians regularly lump sharply contrasting belief systems together under the category of “faith,” it shouldn’t be surprising that religions can seem interchangeable. Especially when your own religion feels a bit lacking. Don’t like fasting on Yom Kippur? Why not try on Catholicism for size? Unhappy with the latest Pope? Drop by your neighborhood synagogue or mosque. But religious values aren’t a Chinese menu, where we can pick two from Column A and three from Column B to suit ourselves. In fact, the better metaphor here would be a delicately balanced house of cards; pull out one from the middle, and the whole thing comes crashing down.

Making Catholics want to be Jews since 1909: Isaiah BerlinAs my friend explained his high regard for Judaism, I realized that he was attracted to certain Jewish cultural traditions but didn’t realize how they fit into a larger philosophical framework. He had two reasons for his high regard for Judaism, beginning with our people’s famous penchant for heterodoxy. Unlike Catholicism, we have no Vatican that issues The Final Word which all Jews must follow. He also admired our tradition of scholarly debate: rabbis carrying on heated discussions long into the night, not to mention Jewish writers and intellectuals like Isaiah Berlin and Hannah Arendt carrying on that tradition in the secular culture. My friend found this refreshing compared with Catholicism, in which the word of God goes directly through the church to its adherents, with no room for questioning.

I found it difficult to recognize the religion he was describing. True, we lack a central authority, and our rabbis don’t hector us from the pulpit like stereotypically stern Irish priests. But then our rabbis don’t need to hector us, as the Jewish laity has more than ably fulfilled that role. Judaism emphasizes faith performed in the context of a community (which is why, in order to pray, you need the presence of ten adult males.) Step outside its accepted norms and you’ve got two choices: subject yourself to an earful about it from family, friends, and strangers, or walk away from the community.

And while there is a lot of debate in religious circles, I wouldn’t necessarily categorize it all as intellectual since it focuses mostly on matters of ritual rather than philosophy. (What’s so intellectual about a debate over whether it’s permissible to put sugar into tea or tea into sugar on Shabbat?) This reflects Judaism’s emphasis on practice over intent—the here-and-now over the metaphysical. Our leaders often find themselves absorbed in such profundities as the proper way to slit the throat of a chicken. In fact, most of our greatest intellectuals (Spinoza, Marx, Freud) were reacting against the grain of our religion, not with it. Compare this to Catholicism, which inspired St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and Dante.

Beat that, Judaism: Notre Dame in ParisAnd that’s why, as I told my friend, I’ve long had a secret case of religion envy for Catholicism, with its emphasis on the soul, not rituals. Catholics have the freedom to live their daily lives as they see fit, because Catholicism has few rules governing the banalities of what to eat or what clothes to wear. Also, especially in contrast with Jews, Catholics have a much better knack for pageantry and decoration. Walk into any Catholic cathedral and then a Jewish synagogue; which space is more likely to inspire a state of awe and meditation conducive to prayer? Perhaps the chief source of my Catholic religion envy, though, is the ritual of confession. Imagine it, free therapy! For a Jew, what could be a bigger wet dream?

But as my friend quickly pointed out, Catholicism’s fetishization of the soul can become meaninglessly ritualistic in itself. Catholics can eat shrimp to their heart’s content, but their penalty for breaking the faith’s few key rules is rather extreme: an eternity in hell or a slightly shorter time in purgatory. As for Catholicism’s theatrical pageantry, it’s fun to look at occasionally, but after a while, it can all get a bit tacky, even gruesome. The point is not to inspire individual meditation, but mass conformance to Catholic dogma. And Confession isn’t a bit like therapy. The priests aren’t there to sympathize but merely to help you atone—all in all, a ritual as empty as the rabbi of a synagogue with over a thousand members shaking a congregant’s hand on Shabbat.

That’s when it hit me: Understanding someone else’s religion is like learning a language. You can’t just translate the words one-to-one. Rather, you have to begin by tackling the logic of the whole supporting system underneath.

100% halal: A kosher symbol on a soda bottleIt’s not just a question of Judaism and Catholicism, either. I find it lovely that many Muslims search for the kashrut symbol on non-meat products in American grocery stores because a kosher product is often also halal. Keeping kosher and eating halal, however, are hardly the same thing. In fact, one of the reasons kosher meat is not considered halal is that kashrut is based on the Jewish principles of cleanliness and the ethical treatment of animals. Halal rules incorporate these principles, but they privilege the uniquely Islamic value of submission to God’s will, which is why a prayer affirming the greatness of Allah must be uttered immediately preceding the animal’s slaughter.

Why do we feel the desire to mold unfamiliar religions to fit our own wishes and ideals? Maybe in an era of terrorism and armed conflict in the name of God, we want to comfort ourselves by affirming the notion that deep down we really are all the same. (We are, but our religions aren’t). For some of us, religion envy may be a symptom of a consumer society in which almost every product can be customized to fit each customer’s specific tastes. “Would you like your sandwich on whole wheat, foccacia, rye, white, country Tuscan, country Tuscan whole wheat, or country Tuscan whole wheat low-carb?” “Would you like your religion belief-centered, practice-centered, monotheistic, pantheistic, ritual-heavy, or ritual-lite?”

The more I hashed the matter out with my Catholic friend, the more it became clear that our religion envy came out of sadness, even regret. Just as children idealize their friends’ parents when their own parents seem not to understand them, we too idealized each other’s faiths (and denigrated our own) because of our desire to correct what we saw as the flaws of the religions we’d been born into. Religion envy is a band-aid, but it doesn’t quite fit over the wound.

Inscribed "I had a blast at Benjy's Bar Mitzvah": The pope's kippahFor example, my friend stumped me with the following un-Jewish question about Judaism: “What happens if you don’t go to synagogue? Is that a sin? Does that mean you’re going to hell?” He’d been turned off from Catholicism after being told that skipping church on Sundays was a mortal sin.

But Judaism addresses the subject of hell only in passing, with scant detail. For all Judaism’s rules, our emphasis is not on doing right to receive a reward or avoid a punishment, but on doing right for its own sake. Perhaps the best answer I could come up with was, in true Jewish form, another question: “Does the Pope wear a yarmulke?”

Similarly, in all my questions about Catholicism’s emphasis on spirituality the name “Jesus Christ” never came up. In fact, I was surprised when my friend explained that you can’t be a good Catholic without affirming your belief in Christ as the Son of God who once walked on Earth and died for our sins. “But what if, even if you’re not sure Jesus was divine, you follow all of his teachings to the letter?” I asked. Nope, not good enough. For Catholics, faith in Jesus’ godly status is a prerequisite. I’d been unable see this dogmatic aspect of Catholicism because I was too busy admiring the religion’s spirituality as an antidote for Jewish dogma.

If we must accept the notion that different faiths are indeed fundamentally different, where does that leave those of us who’d like to promote interfaith understanding, particularly now, when we’re so frightened of people who passionately believe things that are antithetical to our own belief systems? A false understanding of how other religions work is just as bad as no understanding. Instead of promoting untruths like “we all believe in the same God, just with different names,” we should approach the faith of the Other with a completely open, almost childlike sense of wonder and bewilderment. In other words, we should be adult enough to say something as juvenile as, “Wow, your god used to think if you eat meat on Fridays you’d go to hell? Interesting, but I don’t understand that at all. Tell me more.”

Moonies: C’mon.. you have to draw the line someplaceCheck out the Washington Post this week, for a really interesting story about a crazy Moonie-Catholic priest (author Peter Manseau doesn’t call him that, though that won’t stop me!)

The gist:

…IN MAY OF 2001, Archbishop Milingo made headlines around the world when he announced that he had broken his vow of celibacy by getting married. Marriage for a man in Milingo's position -- a well-known septuagenarian Roman Catholic prelate -- would have raised eyebrows under any circumstances; that he had wed a 43-year-old woman selected by Moon's Unification Church, regarded by critics as a mind-controlling cult, made the nuptials a global media event.

Awesome!

Now, I’m all for reforming outdated religious models, including the prohibition against married priests, but this guy is clearly nuts, and not really a Catholic anymore.

The Post story delves into the complexities of just that issue… of the blurred line between religious denominations. Of mutual goals shared by distinct groups, and how a religious leader, wearing two hats, can be a dangerous (and crazy) tool.

So why am I blogging about this story today?

Because for me, the article is about the difficult waters of acceptance and pluralism. The article is a lesson in how sometimes you have to follow your divisive instincts to set your faith apart from other religions. To protect the integrity of your faith. Even when it costs you your pluralism.

Why do I care so much? If you read on, you’ll come to this:

Then a man who looked as though he had stepped from the pages of an Orthodox Jewish clothing catalogue -- black suit, black beard, black fedora -- walked into the room. He'd flown in Friday night for the occasion.

The next day, he handed me a business card that read, "Rabbi Dr. Mordehi Waldman: Have Shofar Will Travel." The leader of a "struggling" congregation in Michigan, he had enjoyed 15 minutes of fame about three years ago, when he appeared at a reception held in the Dirksen Senate Office Building and blew his shofar to announce the coming of the messiah just before Moon had himself crowned "humanity's Savior" and "returning Lord."

After freelance journalist John Gorenfeld wrote about it in June 2004, the event was a major embarrassment for the congressmen who attended. It had been a big day for Waldman, however. Though blowing the shofar -- a curved piece of ram's horn used like a trumpet -- is usually reserved for the Jewish High Holy Days, Waldman now blows his at every opportunity. He has done so for Unification events across Asia and Europe, occasionally referring to his patron as "Rabbi Moon."

What's in it for him?

"About a year ago, they said to me, 'Rabbi, it's not good for you to be alone,'" he told me. "You should have a wife, they said. Then they asked me: 'What kind of wife would you like?' So I said, 'A slender blonde.'"

I wondered if I was hearing a bit of shtick, but then he added, "That's how I met this lovely lady right here." Sure enough, he pulled a slender blond woman to his side. "Look at us, a German Lutheran and a Jewish rabbi! Hello! Reconciliation, right?"

See… when I read that I freaked out a bit. I mean, it’s one thing for a Christian to become a Moonie, but a Jew? I looked up the good Doctor/Rabbi, and found him to be a total sham. He claims ordination as a “Conservadox” rabbi, and can be found at the “Congregation Beth Tephilath Moses Jewish Synagogue of Mt. Clemens, Michigan.” Whatever that is.

But if we want to love everyone, we have to love this guy too. If we want to accept that everyone born Jewish is a Jew, then so is this guy… if we want to extend Inclusivity to HinJews and Jewnitarians and the children of intermarriage ( like me)…

Where do we stop?

I’m not talking Halacha here. I’m just talking my gut. But I can’t help it. Call me a close-minded conservative… this guy gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Anyone out there care to wrestle? I’d really like to hear from someone who can stretch this far…

The funny thing is, the author of this story, a friend of mine, is himself not Jewish. But he is a regular contributor to the Forward, and a self-proclaimed Shabbes-goy in training. His upcoming novel, “Songs for the Butcher’s Daughter” is about the last Yiddish poet. And that kind of blending gets me all excited and happy. I like that Peter is interested in Judaism. Which makes me a little hypocritical I guess. Since I like the blending in Peter...

But then… he doesn’t call himself a rabbi.

Toe Stomping: Some toes are better than others.As Tamar mentioned on Friday, I spent the weekend at the AWP (Associated Writing Programs) conference, and it was a wonderful event—tiring and frustrating, and fun (as most conferences are).

But how does that relate to Faithhacker?

I swear… it does!

Because on Friday afternoon, I was on a panel convened by a fabulous (Jewish) poet named Jason Schneiderman) called “Writing Faith for the Faithless (and the Faithful)”. And as I listened and talked, and talked and listened… I thought about something I wanted to toss out here.

See, Jason introduced the idea that religion is especially complicated to write about because we are all afraid of “stepping on toes”. And then he introduced the idea of “answerability” for our writing. And I nodded from my seat (of course—because nodding is what panelists do while listening to one another)… but then I thought...

And I realized that I absolutely think the fear of toe-stomping is getting in the way of real religion-writing. I think that what we are really answerable for is not the harm or upset we might cause, but our lack of honesty… I think we should be saying what we mean, no matter what. I think we owe it to each other. Especially when we are NOT in agreement.

How else can we dialogue? If I don’t know why/how you think I’m wrong, how can we begin a conversation that will be interesting or useful to anyone? Or important?

“Oh, yes… that’s very nice. Your kiddie-porn and Taco-Bell-worshipping cult sounds both native and contemporary. I’d love to come to a naked sweat lodge service sometime and check it out! I mean, it’s not really my thing, but I’m fascinated by your sociological place in the world, and I absolutely am NOT judging you”.

Bullshit! I am judging you. Of course I am. I may not hate you or want to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not criticizing you privately, telling my friends about you… and I think privacy is overrated… that we should be having our private conversations in public.

I think that most religion writing today is SO AFRAID to step on toes, so afraid of “answering” for hurt feelings and possible harm… that religion writers aren’t being honest anymore. And it bores me.

Of course, all of this needs to be contextualized by an understanding that I was in a pluralistic academic setting. Certainly there are crazy freaks all over the web, representing all faiths (people who need no urging to be “honest”). And those people are “religion writers” willing to step on toes, burn clinics, condemn me to hell. But that’s not what I’m talking about… I’m talking about the world of smart and creative thinkers, writing on faith. I’m talking about people who aren’t violent. I’m speaking from a position of privilege and I know it. But so what?

Within the community of writers I respect, there are precious few willing to go out on a limb and claim passion/conviction. Nobody is willing to get drunk and throw down. I want to get drunk and throw down. I want to say what I think, at the risk of pissing people off. I want to fight with people I think are wrongheaded. I want to have a reason to apologize.

Some toes suck. Some toes deserve to be respectfully stepped on. We all need to toughen up.

There’s a really amazing story at the Washington Post today, about an army chaplain who was, until last year, a Pentecostal Christian Minister at Camp Anaconda.   But then, in his own words… 

I realized so many innocent people are dying again in the name of God…When you think back over the Catholic-Protestant conflict, how the Jews have suffered, how some Christians justified slavery, the Crusades, and now the fighting between Shiite and Sunni Muslims, I just decided I'm done. . . . I will not be part of any church that unleashes its clergy to preach that particular individuals or faith groups are damned.

So what’d he do?  He became a Wiccan!  Obvious next step…

Guess what happened after that:

On July 6, he applied to become the first Wiccan chaplain in the U.S. armed forces, setting off an extraordinary chain of events. By year's end, his superiors not only denied his request but also withdrew him from Iraq and removed him from the chaplain corps, despite an unblemished service record.

If you read the story, you may find yourself thinking this guy is a nut.  Wearing RenFest garb and speaking in tongues, converting first from Catholicism to Pentecostal, and then to Wicca… but it’s a really interesting story.

Religious Tolerance: God + Dungeons & Dragons = WiccaBecause it makes me think about my own predjudice.  I admit I tend to giggle at the mention of new-agey faiths.  In theory, I’m all for them, but deep in my gut, I think I may have some respect issues with them.  And I think that in part, that connects to my Judaism.

In my head, Judaism is a “real” faith. It’s old and stuff.  Like Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, Hinduism and Buddhism.  You know, “real" religions.  And the newer religions (however deep its roots, Wicca was only organized recently) just don’t feel as serious to me. 

I can’t help wondering if anyone else has this same nasty streak. Is it just me?  Is there any legitimacy to it?  Please understand… I’m NOT saying that my own impulse is okay. I’m only confessing it here, considering it… and wondering what you think of the story…