Looking for love in all the wrong places

Vanessa Ochs obviously doesn’t know too many religious Jews.” “Vanessa L. Ochs is completely unaware of what Judaism is about.” “Ms. Ochs, sadly you have forgotten how to feel God’s love.”

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised that Vanessa Ochs’ essay in the May 25 edition of NJJN, “Where’s the love?” would inspire responses like those above. But I was.

Ochs, a professor of religion at the University of Virginia and chair of its Judaic studies department, wrote about the field work she does in local churches. A self-described “observant Jew,” she envies church-goers the sense they have that God loves them, individually and unconditionally. Ochs was careful to write that she is not tempted by their beliefs or their rituals, only by an element of worship that has been de-emphasized in Judaism even as it has been emphasized in many churches. On the eve of Shavuot, Ochs asked if it is possible for Jews and the institutions that serve them to recapture this sense of godly love.

Why was I surprised by the response? Because Ochs’ questions are often heard among synagogues, philanthropists, and Jewish professionals: How do we transform and renew the American synagogue? How can we make our Jewish institutions more inviting places and restore what Steven M. Cohen and Jack Wertheimer call a “spirit of engagement”?

Ochs was also writing from the heart — a slightly broken heart — and I thought readers would be sympathetic to her quest, as opposed to disdainful. And indeed, I was heartened, as was Ochs, by those readers who urged her to come to their synagogues and perhaps find what she was looking for.

But I didn’t anticipate how strongly some readers would object to the fact that she would go looking in a church, even as a disinterested academic. Even in this age of rapprochement between Jews and the Catholic church and a growing political coalition among Evangelicals, Orthodox Jews, and the pro-Israel lobby, the taboo about encountering Christianity (as opposed to Christians) apparently runs deeper than I thought. One reader even suggested that Ochs’ article “did the work of Jews for Jesus better than they could.”

So would I run the article again and give it the same prominence on page one? Let me first say that, notwithstanding all the angry letters we received, I don’t know for sure how most readers reacted to the article. Angry readers are more likely to write than contented ones. I prefer to imagine that average readers considered the article, found it provocative, and instead of attacking the author or questioning our judgment in publishing it, used it as a spur to think about their own religious lives. Do I feel loved in shul? Do I want to feel loved in shul? And if not love, what is it I feel in shul?

If these are the questions readers asked themselves, then I have no regrets about publishing the article. As I wrote to one critic, I always cling to the hope (perhaps naive) that by serving as a forum for conversation and debate, and even deep disagreements, a Jewish newspaper helps all readers (including its editor) better understand and appreciate the richness of Jewish tradition and the varied perspectives that make up a vibrant, diverse community. What we hoped to inspire by publishing the article, under the rubric of “The Next Big Think,” is a dialogue about how well we are doing as a community, and perhaps what we can do better, to make our shuls and institutions warmer, more welcoming places.

Is there a limit to such dialogue? Sure, but good luck trying to define it. Some lines are clear; I wouldn’t, for example, run a self-justifying article by a member of Jews for Jesus, since their agenda is to lead people away from Judaism and the Jewish community. On the other hand, I would publish, and have published, articles by and about secular Jews, who may not put much stock in Judaism per se but nonetheless have a deep commitment to Jewish peoplehood and community.

Secular Judaism, meanwhile, is an oxymoron to many “observant Jews,” who feel the Torah and their rabbis are reliable guides to what is “acceptable” dialogue and what is not. But this paper is intended for all members of the Jewish community, observant and non-observant alike. And plenty of the ideas that an observant Jew considers acceptable are beyond the pale to other members of the community. For example, polls suggest that many, if not most, American Jews would object to the Orthodox Union’s support of the federal amendment that would effectively ban gay marriage. And not merely object, but characterize such support as bigotry of the most abject — and non-Jewish — kind. But I would certainly print the OU’s defense of the marriage amendment, and not just because the organization raises some important questions about the conflict between gay rights legislation and First Amendment freedoms. I’d print it — and risk offending those who support gay rights — because the OU’s opinion is essential to a dialogue that improves our understanding of the issues, ourselves, and our fellow Jews.

The Mishna, in “Ethics of the Fathers,” suggests that there are two kinds of arguments, the argument for the sake of heaven, and the argument that is not for the sake of heaven. What’s the difference? Many commentators suggest it is the distinction between an argument that seeks the truth and an argument that seeks victory. The former is constructive, and the latter is destructive. Seekers of truth put forth their positions but remain open to learning from those with whom they disagree.

Heaven, in my humble opinion, is a Jewish community that agrees to disagree — over and over again.