Tikkun Magazine, November/December 2008 

In the Footsteps of Hillel

Judaism and Religious Pluralism

By Or N. Rose

Over the last five years I have had the privilege of serving as a teacher and administrator at the Rabbinical School of Hebrew College in Newton, MA. Among my most meaningful experiences has been helping to develop a multidimensional interfaith program between Hebrew College and its neighbor, Andover Newton Theological School. Through joint text study, prayer, and social justice initiatives, I have learned a great deal about Christianity and the practice of interfaith dialogue. These experiences have also helped me to explore more deeply my Jewish identity and to clarify my understanding of the relationship of Judaism to other religious communities. This essay is my first attempt at articulating my views on religious pluralism. It is my hope that this brief reflection will be helpful to others working to foster greater interfaith understanding and cooperation.

Epistemological Humility

Aa a theology oriented person, I begin my comments with a discussion of God and the limits of human knowledge. Foundational to my understanding of life is the fact that all human knowledge is finite. This is true of matters secular and religious. Absolute truth is unavailable to any individual or community. The greatest of these mysteries for me, as a religious person, is God. While I have experienced what have felt like genuine encounters with the Divine—in nature, in conversation, and in prayer—I am left with more questions than answers. Is God a personal being or an impersonal force? Does God intervene in human affairs? Can human beings affect the Divine? Answers to these and other theological quandaries must always be considered partial and unfinished.

One powerful articulation of this point is the medieval Jewish mystical notion of Ayin, a description of the Divine as "No-thing." This is not an atheistic statement, but an assertion about God's radical transcendence. God is the One who surpasses all "things"—all thought or description. As the thirteenth-century German pietist, Eleazar of Worms writes, "When you contemplate the Creator, realize that His encampment extends beyond, infinitely beyond... in front, behind, east and west... infinitely, everywhere." Translating this spatial metaphor, the kabbalists say that God is Ein Sof (Infinite), beyond the limits of space and time, and, therefore, beyond the human mind.

We can approach this unknowable deity, say the kabbalists, because God is also immanent, revealing something of Herself to us at all times. Our task is to open our eyes to the reality of the Divine presence (Shekhinah) and to shape our lives around these moments of insight.

This paradoxical theological stance is expressed ingeniously in the opening pages of the Zohar (the masterwork of Kabbalah) in a reflection on the ancient Hebrew word Elohim, the most generic name for God in the Hebrew Bible. The Zohar authors deconstruct this name, reading it as two separate words: Mi and Eleh, "Who" and "These." This wordplay reminds us of the precarious nature of theology: On the one hand, all we can say about God is Mi: "Who are you? And what do you want of us?" On the other hand, we are given the freedom to engage imaginatively in God-talk: "Eleh, these are the ways in which I experience the Divine. And it is based on these encounters that I wish to shape my life." This dual message of theological humility and creativity remains as relevant today as it was for the medieval sages who articulated it centuries ago.

Human Interpretation

If I accept the reality of god's mystery and the limits of human knowledge, then I must also acknowledge that Judaism, like all other religions, is an imperfect attempt by my forebears at translating their religious experiences, ideals, and values into a communal culture with specific religious symbols, rituals, spaces, and times. Abraham Joshua Heschel articulates this position powerfully in God in Search of Man when he writes, "As a report about the revelation at Sinai, the Bible is itself midrash." That is to say, even the texts we consider to be foundational to our religious traditions are products of human interpretation (midrash), and because they are the work of finite beings, they are necessarily imperfect. This does not mean that the Hebrew Bible and other canonical sources do not possess great wisdom, or that they are not divinely inspired, but they are not the unmediated word of God.

As one who views the Hebrew Bible as an edited work, produced by various writers over generations, I recognize that within the Tanakh there are differences of opinion on matters large and small. As Jon Levenson writes in Ethnicity and the Bible, "The Bible is an anthology of writings composed over a period of about a thousand years, in several lands, and by authors of different sorts." He further observes that the writers of such works as Proverbs, Job, and Ecclesiastes (all a part of the "Wisdom" literature) make no mention of the revelation at Sinai, a central event in the Pentateuchal and prophetic traditions.

Just as the biblical authors held divergent views, so will each and every interpreter of the Torah and other sacred texts. This hermeneutical principle is captured dramatically in the rabbinic statement, "Just as the hammer splits the rock into many pieces, so will a scriptural verse yield many meanings" (B. Sanhedrin 34a, based on Jeremiah 23:29). As David Stern comments in The Jewish Study Bible, "It is often remarked that what is Jewish about the Bible is not the Bible itself, or even the Hebrew text of the Bible, but the interpretation of the Bible."

It is this appreciation of the plurality of human interpretation that leads the early rabbis to record majority and minority opinions on every page of the Talmud. Though Hillel may be deemed the winner of nine out of ten debates, Shammai's opinions are always recorded alongside those of his chief interlocutor.

Rabbi Abba stated in the name of Samuel: For three years there was a dispute between the School of Shammai and the School of Hillel ... Then a Heavenly Voice announced, "The utterances of both are the words of the living God" (B. Eruvin 13b).

Not only are Shammai's rulings considered sacred—"words of the living God"—but later mystics assert that his judgments will become law in the messianic age. Commenting on the rabbinic approach to exegesis, Elliot Dorff remarks in To Do the Right and the Good, "one must learn to live with that indeterminacy and open one's mind to the multiplicity of meanings inherent in both the law and lore of the Torah." This does not mean that we cannot take strong positions on a range of issues (after all, the rabbis in our text do argue for three years!), but our sages instruct us to do so with an appropriate measure of humility, knowing that God's truth is infinitely more complex than we can fathom.

A Partnership Perspective

The dialogical approach of the early rabbis can serve as an important model for interfaith relations, even if the rabbis of the past could not envision it as such. Just as the sages engaged in impassioned discussions about the nature and meaning of life, so too should people of different religious communities. The goal of such conversation is not unanimity, but a respectful exchange in which individuals learn from one another, critique one another, and agree to disagree about matters of substance.

In my experience with interfaith dialogue, participants often find it difficult to speak openly about real differences of opinion, not wanting to offend others or fearing that the conversation will devolve into dispute. The Hasidic sage Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav teaches in Likkutei Moharan that makhloket, disagreement, is among the highest forms of human communication. Drawing on earlier Jewish mystical imagery, the Bratslaver asserts that all forms of creation—Divine and human—require space. In his myth of origins, God, the Infinite One, initiates the creation of the cosmos by making space for life. Through a primal act of self-limitation, the Divine fashions an empty vessel (or void) into which He pours forth His creative energy, giving shape and form to the universe. Nahman suggests that human beings can replicate this Divine process by engaging in spirited conversation. When we disagree with one another, when we take sides, we create the necessary space for the emergence of new and unexpected ideas. Without makhloket, says the Bratslaver, the horizon of human discovery would be severely limited.

The importance of engaging respectfully in these sacred deliberations is spoken of in the same Talmudic text quoted above:

Since both are the words of the living God, what was it that entitled the School of Hillel to have the law fixed according to them? Because they were kindly and modest, they studied their own rulings and those of the School of Shammai, and they [were even so humble as to] mention the opinions of the School of Shammai before theirs.

Given the tragic history of religious disputation, this insight is particularly important for contemporary inter-religious conversation.

Despite the long history of conflict among religious groups, rival communities often share a number of core ideas in common and influence one another's worldviews. Having cited the book of the Zohar above, it is worth mentioning that my teacher Arthur Green, a leading Kabbalah scholar, argued in a recent monograph that the Zohar's bold teachings about the female figure of the Shekhinah were likely influenced by contemporaneous Christian teachings about the Virgin Mary and the rise of the cult of Marianism in thirteenth-century Spain. This is but one of countless instances of cross-cultural exchange between these two communities. History demonstrates that Jews, Christians, and Muslims (even when they could not admit to doing so) have all adopted (and adapted) teachings from one another over the centuries.

Religious seekers are wise to heed Irving Greenberg's call for the development of a "partnership perspective" in which we actively participate in shared interfaith learning experiences, knowing that each community has developed ideas and practices that can be beneficial to others. As he writes in For the Sake of Heaven and Earth:

Thus, a follower of Islam marveling at the perfect submission that Islam teaches would affirm the relevance of another path (Christianity), in which God intervenes to suffer with and lift up humans, and a Judaism that places tremendous emphasis on human action and responsibility in the world.

Though none of these ideas are absent from the sacred teachings of the other, historically each group has emphasized one or another of these concepts to a greater or lesser extent. Greenberg suggests that through interfaith conversation, we have the opportunity to explore various themes that might play a more minor role in our own tradition and to ask how these ideas might challenge and deepen our religious lives. We also have the opportunity to offer and receive constructive criticism from people whose beliefs and experiences are different from ours.

The Non-Jew in Classical Jewish Literature

While I have drawn on a number, of ancient and medieval Jewish sources to construct my theological position, it would be inaccurate to describe these pre-modern thinkers as religious pluralists (certainly not by contemporary progressive standards). In truth, my forebears often spoke in negative terms about non-Jews and their spiritual traditions. This negativity is attributable to a number of factors, including doctrinal differences, human competition, and my ancestors' repeated experiences of persecution—physical and spiritual—at the hands of other nations.

It is not surprising, therefore, to find many derogatory statements about non-Jews and their religious traditions in classical Jewish sources. One such example is the allegorical comment by the rabbinic sage Rabbi Azaryah on the verse from the Song of Songs, "Like a lily among thorns, so is my darling among the maidens." Azaryah interprets this to mean that Israel is the "rose" among the "thorns and thistles" of humanity. He asserts that if the Jewish people had not come into existence and accepted the Torah, God would have destroyed all of creation. It is only by the merit of Israel and of the Torah that the world was saved (Song of Songs Rabbah 2:3).

Despite the existence of statements like this one, many traditional rabbinic authorities agree that non-Jews are capable of living decent and upright lives without taking on the yoke of the Jewish tradition. This is articulated most famously in the Seven Noahide Laws (Y. Avodah Zarah 8:4), a brief list of moral norms created by the early rabbis. The assumption is that if non-Jews live by this modest code of conduct, they can fulfill their responsibilities to God and humankind. This line of reasoning leads the sages of the Talmud to state that "the righteous of all nations have a share in the world to come" (B. Sanhedrin 8b).

Nonetheless, the fact remains that my ancestors viewed the Jewish people as God's chosen people and Judaism as the highest form of spiritual practice. Rabbi Akiva, a fabled sage and martyr, is quoted as saying that all people are created in the Divine image and that God loves all of humankind, and yet only the people of Israel are God's children. Further, God gives His children the ultimate gift, the Torah—the very instrument with which He brought the cosmos into being (Pirkei Avot 3:18).

Of course, the Tanakh is full of examples of Israel's failure to live up to God's expectations. Even so, the Divine remains faithful to them, fulfilling His promise to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. While God may grow angry with His beloved people and punish them severely, He never gives up on them. Rather, God says, "I will betroth you to Me forever. I will betroth you with righteousness, with justice, with love, and with compassion" (Hosea 2:21-21).

The Chosen People Today

The ancient belief that the Children of Israel are God's chosen people has been a theological pillar in Jewish life for centuries. The idea that the Divine has a special relationship with Israel provided my ancestors with the necessary support to survive many painful episodes in our tumultuous history. For even in their darkest hour they could tell themselves that ultimately God would redeem them (or their descendents), punish their oppressors, and announce to the world the truth of their ways. "As the vine is the lowliest of trees and yet rules over all the trees, so Israel is made to appear lowly in this world, but will in the hereafter inherit the world from end to end" (B. Avodah Zarah 3b).

While I acknowledge the power of the doctrine of chosenness to sustain my forebears, I cannot uphold this position. I do not believe that the Hebrew Bible is the literal word of God, nor do I think that Judaism is better than other religions. I have simply met too many outstanding non-Jews and learned too much from non-Jewish religious and secular sources to make such an assertion. While the classical religious teachings of my tradition are of inestimable value to me, in this case I must remain faithful to my own life experience.

In seeking to revise my understanding of the relationship of Israel to God and to other religious groups, 1 find the following statement in Exploring Judaism: A Reconstructionist Approach by Rebecca Alpert and Jacob Staub helpful:

Instead of regarding the Jews as "chosen from among all peoples," we understand ourselves—and all other peoples—as being "called to do God's work." That is to say, we follow a specific path to salvation through the preservation and development of our inherited tradition. Other peoples follow their own paths; ours is not necessarily superior to theirs, nor can we be certain that, on any particular issue, it is divinely grounded.

The specific phrase that Alpert and Staub cite is significant because the words "chosen from among the peoples" is a key expression in several important Jewish prayers, including the blessing over wine on Shabbat evening and the blessing one recites when approaching the Torah scroll in synagogue. Following in the footsteps of Mordecai Kaplan, founder of Reconstructionist Judaism, these authors challenge us not only to consider how we think about our relationship to God and humanity, but also to reflect on the role of ritual in shaping our thought and behavior. I must admit that I am inconsistent in my own prayer practice. Sometimes, I recite the traditional text seeking to maintain continuity with the past (while reinterpreting the meaning in my mind), while at other times I change the language, feeling a need for greater consistency.

Particularism and Universalism

While I do not believe that the Jewish people are God's chosen people, I do believe that Judaism is the only true religion for me. To quote John Hick,"...it has formed me and nourished me, it has so to speak made me in its own image, so that it fits me and I fit it as probably no other can" (see The Myth of Religious Superiority). Every morning, as I awake from bed, I thank God for making me a Jew. But as a religious pluralist, I recognize that this is a sentiment shared by people of different religious communities around the globe. Just as I treasure the sacred teachings and practices of my tradition (even when I struggle with certain of them), so does the Buddhist or Hindu seeker. Just as I cannot fathom living as anything other than a Jew, the same is true for the Christian or Muslim devotee.

In an interview conducted with Abraham Joshua Heschel several days before his death, the ailing theologian was asked the following question: "Would it be a better world if we were all of one religion? Heschel responded in fine rabbinic fashion, answering a question with a question:

If I were to ask the question whether ... the Metropolitan Museum should try to introduce [the policy] that all paintings should look alike, or I should suggest that all human faces should look alike—how would you respond to my proposal?

While humankind has suffered greatly from centuries of religious strife, the answer to this problem is not to eliminate religious diversity through the introduction of one universal religion (syncretistic or hegemonic), or to replace it with one form or another of secular culture. As Jonathan Sacks states in The Dignity of Difference,

The paradox is that the very thing that we take to be the antithesis of tribalism—universalism—can also be deeply threatening, and may be equally inadequate as an account of the human situation.

Absolute universalism is dangerous, as it denies people—individuals and communities—the opportunity to express their individuality. It leads to the idolatrous belief that there is but one true path for all of humankind. While God may possess ultimate truth, no human being or community should ever make such a claim. Ironically, when either particularism or universalism (or any other "ism") is taken to an extreme, the result is the same—idolatry. Simply put, ultimate truth is unavailable to any of us. It cannot be reduced into any one form, concrete or abstract.

As Sacks writes, "We are particular and universal, the same and different, human beings as such, but also members of this family, that community, this history, that heritage." Every person lives within a complex web of relationships, with more and less intensive connections to people, places, ideas, and practices. The challenge of pluralism is to understand that just as I love my wife and children, my God and religion, others have equally strong interpersonal relationships and religious and cultural commitments. What is universal is that every person's life has a particular shape, unique in its texture and detail.

* * *

We live in an age of globalization, in a world in which people are connected to one another in ways unimaginable even a decade ago. While most of us recognize the intricate manner in which various social, political, and economic systems interact across great distances, we have not yet adequately explored the connections among the religious communities of the world. As Heschel stated more than forty years ago in an address to Protestant students and faculty at the Union Theological Seminary,

Parochialism has become untenable.... The religions of the world are no more self-sufficient, no more independent, no more isolated than individuals or nations.... Energies, experiences, and ideas that come to life outside the boundaries of a particular religion or all religions continue to challenge and to affect every religion. Horizons are wider, dangers are greater.... No religion is an island.

Heschel's statement about the interdependence of the world's religions in the modern period remains as relevant today as it was four decades ago. The question is whether or not people of different spiritual traditions are willing to engage in meaningful interfaith endeavors. Will we participate in honest and respectful dialogue, sharing our wisdom with one another and identifying commonalities and differences? Will our dialogue experiences help us to work cooperatively on issues of social justice and environmental responsibility? As we contemplate the challenges of this sacred undertaking, let us recall that the great heroes of our religious traditions were brave seekers who journeyed into the unknown to meet their God and to fashion lives of holiness. May we be blessed with the vision and determination to renew the courageous spirit of our ancestors in, and for, our time.

Rabbi Or N.Rose, a contributing editor for Tikkun, is director of lnterfaith and Social justice Initiatives at Hebrew College in Newton, MA. He is the co-editor of Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call for Justice (Jewish Lights, 2007).

Source Citation

Rose, O.N. 2008. In the Footsteps of Hillel: Judaism and Religious Pluralism. Tikkun 23(6): 62.