Following is a text version of my Shabbat sermon from 8/24/19 –
Just a few years ago I was vacationing at Bethany Beach with my family when I received a FB message from a young man, also vacationing at the beach. He was with his extended family, and at conversation over dinner one night the topic turned to the difference between being a Jewish American, or an American Jew. In other words, when push comes to shove, do you consider yourself first and foremost to be an American, and your Jewish identity is secondary, or is your Jewish identity the primary one?
Of course the question was not a new one. For the better part of 1500 years it was clear that Jews were aliens in the country in which they lived. But when the Enlightenment began in the late 1600s, the thinking of that time began to embrace ideas about the humanity and equality of all people, regardless of race or religion. And European nation states began to develop a sense of national identity so that everyone living within their distinct borders might be considered a citizen. In time, Frenchmen began to feel French, and Germans began to identify ethnically as Germans, or English people as English. But Jews were different! At that point, if you were Jewish and living in one of those countries, you weren’t yet German or French or English, you were Jewish – you were of a different nationality. And for much of the next centuries the question was asked of Jews, “Are you able to join us in our national identity, to be a Frenchman or an Englishman or a German or a member of any nation state, or will you always be an alien, who cannot be integrated into modern society?”
The problem was that the Jews, while they became more and more integrated into the societies and cultures they were living in, still maintained a distinct identity. Most of the time they still lived in neighborhoods that were exclusively Jewish. They kept their own religious practices – they wouldn’t eat gentile food, or drink gentile wine, or marry into the non-Jewish community. They kept a different day as their Sabbath. And so the Frenchmen or the Germans, the majority population in whatever country the Jews were living in, began to wonder whether the Jews could ever embrace national citizenship, or whether they were taking advantage or their new rights without taking on the obligations and loyalties accompanying those rights. And suspecting that Jews were secretly, in their hearts and minds, first and foremost Jews.
That is why you have Napoleon, in 1807, summoning a group of Jewish leaders and and asked them to essentially fill out a questionnaire, the purpose of which was to determine whether the Jews of France were Jewish Frenchmen – in other words, they were first and foremost Jews, who happened to live in France. Or whether they were French Jews – that is to say people who prioritized France as their nation, French culture as their culture, French as their spoken language, and they just happened to be Jewish. (when they went to church, it happened to be a shul on Saturday)
The 6th of the 12 questions that Napoleon posed to the Jews of his time begins in the following way:
Do Jews born in France, and treated by the laws as France citizens, consider France their country?
What Napoleon is really doing is asking the Jews a question of loyalty. To which nation are you loyal? To which culture? To which ethnic identity? Do your consider yourselves, at the end of the day, to be Jews, or to be Frenchmen? And if you consider yourselves to be Jews first, then you are disloyal, and cannot be loyal Frenchmen.
I’ve always felt there was a fundamental logical flaw in Napoleon’s question, and also in the question posed by the young congregant at Bethany Beach of whether one is a Jewish American or an American Jew. Because the presumption of the question is that you can’t be both. You can’t be both a loyal Frenchmen and a loyal Jew, or a loyal American and a loyal Jew. You have to choose one or the other. And the one you choose, you are loyal to, the one you don’t choose you are disloyal to.
But human beings, at least it seems to me, are structured in such a way that we can maintain multiple loyalties in our hearts and minds at the same time. In a very mundane example, we might be die hard Orioles fans during baseball season, and Ravens fans during football season. We can love and be loyal to multiple friends at the same time. Or multiple children at the same time, for that matter. When you are supporting, loving, caring for, helping one child, it doesn’t mean you are disloyal to your other children.
If anyone should know this, it is the Jews. We are the masters of holding multiple ideas in our minds, we are invested in the idea of arguing an issue from one side, and then arguing it from the opposite side. The Talmud, at least in part, is a record of that particularly Jewish kind of conversation.
Which is why when the young man asked me a few years ago are we Jewish Americans, or American Jews, I said – yes. Because I believe that we can be loyal Jews and loyal Americans. I believe we can be lovers of and supporters of the State of Israel, and at the very same time we can be deeply patriotic Americans, who love our own country. To suggest otherwise is to create a false dichotomy.
The President made a similar mistake this week when he said you can only be a loyal Jew if you vote for a particular political party. In fact, he made two mistakes. The first is the same mistake Napoleon made, because the President’s statement presumes that being a Jew is a zero sum game, that one can only be loyal or disloyal. He didn’t take into account the idea that one could be loyal to multiple entities, multiple traditions, and multiple nations at the same time. And his second mistake was to assume that there is only one way to be loyal, and that is to be uncritical, and agreeable with his point of view. But when you think about it, the greatest form of loyalty might be the very opposite – to be critical and demanding, and to have high expectations of someone, or something you love. That is the way we love the people we truly care about, and our loyalty to America, to Israel, to our own Judaism, should be no less.
The truth is loving people cast their love in many directions, they live their loyalty in many ways, to their family, to their community, to their ethnicity, to their nation. Whether that nation be Israel, or the United States.
It is my hope and prayer that our love and loyalty for the United States and for Israel remain strong and true in the years ahead, and all the other loves and loyalties that enrich and define our lives be continuous, fulfilling and rewarded.