There is an old adage (or there ought to be) that “The finest antidote to depression is
Modim.” Indeed, anyone who prays daily and pays attention to the words he or she is saying
should find it difficult to be despondent. We thrice-daily (at least) thank God for “our lives, our
spirit, the daily miracles that are with us and God’s wonders and beneficence that are with us at
all times.” When we appreciate the breath we inhale and expel, the cognitive ability to reason,
the family and special friends that enrich our days and the consistent wonders that fill our lives,
sadness is indicative of a complete loss of perspective. This is not to argue that there aren’t
worrisome things in our lives, personal, familial, communal, national, and universal—but a
healthy appreciation for the blessings in our lives empowers us to brave these challenges with
hope and with a confidence in even better days to come.
While there are countless areas of our lives which have improved in the past few
decades—in spite of (and, in some cases, as a result of) noted worrying trends, I’d like to focus
our attention on a generally overlooked area of Jewish life—the fostering of our relationship with
the Book of Books, our Tanakh. Wondrous and heretofore unimaginable developments have
impacted the way that we view, study and teach Tanakh in at least three distinct yet interrelated
areas. One of the delightful ironies which these intersections share is their respective roles, in
earlier times, in effecting the opposite. For centuries, the serious study of Tanakh largely
disappeared from the traditional Jewish paideia and each of these areas played a central role in
that enforced distance. Yet, beautifully and seemingly serendipitously, these three areas have
become forces for increased study, promulgation and a renewed rigor of Biblical study in the
observant community.
For purposes of clarity and distinction, I will refer to developments in the areas of
“academic,” “interreligious,” and “intra-religious” Bible study. These will be presented in a non-
synchronous order; the consideration is chiefly driven by the role that area plays in study, from
the more intense and integral to the peripheral and public.
Academia
That world that we refer to as “academia” is itself young; even though the first
institutions of higher learning date back nearly a millennium, critical studies of areas which were
traditionally the bailiwick of religion (which, it should be noted, included cosmology, geology
and the rest of the natural sciences) began in earnest and in a publicly accessible manner at the
end of the eighteenth century with the advent of the Enlightenment. As the early founders of
“source criticism” developed and formed the contours of the Documentary Hypothesis, the study
of our holiest text became a target of radical splicing operations premised on an essentialist
denial of prophecy and of the traditional approach to the historicity of the text. This quickly went
from theory to creed in the academy so much so that anyone writing or lecturing on the biblical
text in those circles who even suggested that even “JEPD” be viewed through the lens of “R”
(the Redactor) was laughed out of the circles, circles which then determined the new orthodoxy
about the Bible. The history of the school of “higher criticism” and its broader impact on the
humanities throughout the western world is a much longer study with a conclusion yet to be
written. The nineteenth-century world of Jewish studies was immediately divided into two main
camps with a small but vital third camp that will eventually play a central role in all three of our
areas of interest. The two broad approaches were assimilation or isolation. The school of
Wissenschaft des Judentums along with its religious stepchild, the “Neolog” (later “Reform”)
movement adopted the Documentary Hypothesis entire and developed its intellectual and
religious platforms, respectively, against that background. Since the founding of the Hebrew
Union College in Cincinnati in 1865, Bible study and decisions about Jewish practice were
premised on seeing the Torah’s text as an amalgam of ahistoric traditions from the ninth to the
sixth centuries BCE (or later) which only came together in the fifth century BCE. These were the
assimilationists. In direct response and reaction, the world of Eastern European tradition, already
boiling in the cauldron of the new Hassidic movement and its inroads into traditional life,
completely rejected not only the conclusions reached by the school of higher criticism but even
refused to entertain the challenges that their observations raised. The general tactic assumed in
these communities was isolationism, to the point of, in some extreme cases, regarding family
members who engaged in academic Bible study or even enrolled in the universities (now
suddenly open to Jewish students) as dead. Indeed, there were families that practiced mourning
rituals for children who breached the walls of the shtetl to pursue this newly minted discipline.
However, there were a few traditional scholars who engaged with the world of “higher
criticism” on its own terms with the overt goal of formulating a traditionalist response and
defense of Mesorah. Most notably, David Zvi Hoffmann (1843–1921) in Berlin composed a
commentary to Leviticus with the stated aim of responding to the newly popular Documentary
Hypothesis. There were a number of other traditionalists who also came to the defense of the
Mesorah from different perspectives, such as Shmuel David Luzzato (“Shadal,” 1800–1865) in
Italy and Meir Leibush Wisser (“Malbim,” 1809–1879) in Bohemia. We will consider these
religious heroes to be confrontationalists. As always, the “golden mean” is a path walked by few.
Generally, the world of traditional study looked askance at any engagement with this new
“heresy” and built higher walls. This led, predictably, to a broad devaluation of the study of
Tanakh in these communities and their attendant schools. For the most part, the study of any
scripture was governed by a complete dependence on medieval commentators and their
observations about the text—to the deliberate exclusion and rejection of any contribution to be
offered from the “outside world.” This was the general state of Tanakh study in the self-defined
world of religious education until the last few decades.
What Happened?
Intellectual evolutions are inevitably multicausal. By the early part of the twentieth
century, there were internal challenges within the academy that questioned the foundations of the
theory, a phenomenon which is typical within three generations after a fresh, exciting
“discovery.”
In the meantime, a new generation of Jews was growing to embrace the Tanakh as a
result of the miraculous return to the Land and the revival of spoken Hebrew. It may be
surprising, but much of the movement towards an enhanced study of the Bible came from secular
Israelis who were emotionally committed to the historicity of the text. We need look no further
than our first Prime Minister, a decidedly secular Jew who was in love with the Tanakh and held
a regular Saturday night “parlor meeting” at his home to engage with leading teachers in the
study of our Book of Books. After all, our claim on the Land and our connection to every dunam
is ultimately anchored in the earliest chapters of Genesis; this stake is only firmly set if there
really was a Patriarchal family that was promised the Land, a premise denied by the academy.
Our claim to Jerusalem is not new—it dates back 3,000 years to David’s move of his capital from
Hebron to the Jebusite city and then the divine promise that just as David’s dynasty would
always rule in Judea, similarly God would never abandon David’s city. Curiously, even those
many avowed atheists were able to read these divinely centered texts as meaningful and
legitimate. With time, cross-fertilization of the worlds of academia and tradition increased, and a
new sentiment took hold in many corners of the religious world of Jewish education: There is
much of value in philology, archaeology, anthropology, paleontology, Assyriology, Egyptology,
and many more disciplines which are the bailiwick of the academy. None of these disciplines
stand in challenge to our traditional beliefs; indeed, much about the Tanakh can be understood
with more clarity and immediacy by using these tools judiciously. As a student of mine is fond of
quoting, “You cannot understand the Tanakh unless you understand the world of Tanakh.”
The result of this has not only been felt in the many religiously committed Bible scholars
and writers, but also in the growing acceptance even in the generally isolationist world of
“Haredi” education of many external disciplines to be used as legitimate “handmaidens” of Torah
study. There is a newfound appreciation for the critical distinction in study between what the text
says, for which any and all sources of data can and must be used to further and deepen our
understanding, and what the text is telling us, which is bound up in the covenantal community’s
received tradition; indeed, it may be said that what the text is telling us is the tradition of the holy
nation. The rest is commentary. Go study.
The first welcome and exciting development in the study of Tanakh is the newfound
alliance of the academy and the yeshiva. This is not a marriage; their purposes and modes, the
environment each wishes to foster is unique and exclusive. Yet, there is an amity and a
partnership which has engendered much intellectual growth among many of the committed
members of each school. The academy and the yeshiva are each wiser as a result.
The Growth of Inter-Religious Bonds
There have been epochs where Jews were able to comfortably and safely discuss, debate,
and share ideas with prelates and monks as well as kadis and imams. In ninth-century Baghdad,
there were regular gatherings of Jewish, Muslim, and Christian clerics who engaged in publicly
attended spirited debate about the truth of their respective faith’s claims. The newfound interest
in textual study among Christian scholars in twelfth-century France led to direct and indirect
adoption of Jewish methodology anchored in the school of Rashi. From Abelard to the scholars
at Saint-Victor, there was a brief yet productive period of cross-cultural cooperation and
intellectual impact. This was, again, purely in the realm of understanding what the text said, not
its message.
However, for most of the common era, dialogue and an awareness of a somewhat shared
textual legacy was buried beneath discrimination, persecution and dispersion. On a broader
societal level, Jews and their “others” typically viewed each other with suspicion, and the notion
of common cause was an unfathomable idea.
In a sense, this should have changed dramatically in the eighteenth century. With the
promising development of the republic, first in France and then in America, the principles of
justice, equity and civil rights for each member of the polity were understood to be grounded in
what is commonly called “the Judeo-Christian” tradition. While this hybridization does more to
obfuscate than clarify, there is something to it. The basic mores of the Tanakh inhere, at their
base, a desideratum of a just society with consideration of the rights of all people. For the first
quarter millennium of this country’s history, this understanding of a common ground was chiefly
the bailiwick of secularists; religious groups tended to amplify differences and overlook common
ground. (There were remarkable exceptions to this disconnect, such as the decade from 1955 to
1965 when traditional Jews walked, arm in arm, with Southern Baptist blacks, demonstrating on
behalf of full rights for all Americans).
What we are seeing in the last quarter century is a newly discovered affinity between
Jews and Christians. I am not arguing that we have a panacea, nor that complete harmony here is
even desirable—but the sense of common cause has become significantly heightened, especially
in response to “wokeness” and its many disturbing tentacles, reaching into education, language,
roles, and so much more. Observant Jews have been surprised to find themselves on the same
side of political, legal and social divides with traditional Christians (and, in some cases, devout
Muslims). Whether arguing for religious exemptions from local zoning laws, more protection for
individuals to act upon their religious convictions, or a general reaction to the excesses of
“wokeness,” peoples of traditional faith are finding more that unites them across inter-religious
lines, without dismissing that which divides them.
One caveat is prudent here. Whereas the traditionalist wings of both Jewish and Christian
faith communities have only recently found significant common ground, the near opposite is true
in the liberal wings. Ecumenical ventures abounded in the latter half of the last century, and
parallel developments (including expanding clergy roles to women, opening opportunities for
leadership to gay and transsexual members) could be traced to that mid-century “brotherhood.”
This has all but disappeared in the last decade, most notably since October 7 when the entire
world of progressive politics has turned an angry back on Israel and the Jewish people.
Before moving on to the third marvelous development of our times, I’d like to circle back
to the beginning of this section. In addition to the relatively newfound fraternity between
traditionalists in both circles, Jewish scholars are now sought after at Christian Bible
conferences, not just as academics but also as purveyors of God’s message “from this inside.” It
seems that the first two blessings of our confused era have impacted on each other and as
traditional Jewish minds have opened up to academic scholarship to enhance our understanding
of Tanakh, the lines of dialogue about that Book of Books have also opened up; there is a
genuine interest on the part of Christian students of the Bible to read it through legitimate Jewish
eyes.
The second, most welcome development that we are experiencing in our lives at this
current moment is a newfound sense of collegiality, common cause and healthy environment for
dialogue between traditional Jews and Christians—and this further impacts upon and is impacted
by the first welcome phenomenon. Doors open in several directions, allowing the doors of the
yeshiva and the academy to cautiously nudge open as the opacity of the walls separating the
kehillah and the Christian faith community become a bit more translucent.
The Blessing of Intrareligious Fraternity
Sectarianism and schismatics are no stranger to the Jewish body politic. The phenomenon
of Jewish groups splintered with rivaling claims to the legitimate tradition—or the “proper”
interpretation and application of that tradition—has existed at least since the middle of the
Second Temple period. Sects have usually had one of three destinies. In very few cases, they
maintain a quasi-identity with the Jewish world while maintaining some vestige of their unique
practices. An example of this is the Karaite community, which continues to exist and identify
with Karaite scholarship and practices. More frequently, the sects ultimately fold back into the
larger, traditional Jewish family and, with few variations, adopt the widespread approach to
practice and creed maintained by the larger community. In other words, the sects, qua sects,
disappear from the social map and become historic footnotes. A variation in this development is
the loss of those members to the prevailing religious culture of the surrounding society. In a few
cases, these sects establish themselves as a distinct religion, drop claims of having the “true”
tradition of Judaism and begin their own faith community.
Worldwide Judaism, especially in North America, stands at a precipitous moment. The
break from tradition, occasioned by the twin “E’s” —the Enlightenment and the
Emancipation—began in the early nineteenth century. The visible fragmentation of the Jewish
community and public dissension between the many groups which fell along various points on
the plane—from maintaining strict status quo tradition to reforming a completely “new Judaism”
—had its own salvific impact and served to force each group to develop clearer ideological
platforms, outlining why its “solution” was the most practical, most ideal or truest to tradition. In
post-World War II America, this fracturing emerged as “denominationalism,” with the Reform
movement claiming the lion share of membership, the Conservative movement maintaining that
their ethos wed a fealty to tradition with a commitment to change and the much smaller
Orthodox establishment placing its emphasis on unswerving loyalty to the ways of our fathers.
Such were the lines and although there were periods of interdenominational dialogue, even
cooperation, by the 1980s the dividing lines had sharpened and the “heterodox” movements and
those identified as “Orthodox” each made policy statements that more clearly defined the lines
which divided and made cross-denominational dialogue—and certainly cooperation—more
difficult.
Which brings us to the current moment in denominationalism. For the past 40 years, each
of the movements has, to a large extent driven by socio-political orientation, pushed away from
each other (“drifted away” is far too mild a description). This sad reality, that a traditionally
oriented Jew now inevitably feels great discomfort and alienation in the pews of a heterodox
Temple, has gone hand-in-hand with a more tragic development. The numbers, both of
membership and, more to the point, of active and practicing members in the heterodox worlds
have rapidly shrunk. The reports of schools closing, synagogues merging, Temples being used
for multiple congregations due to so much excess available space—this is all to weep. Yet, oddly,
both in the aftermath of the clumsy way in which society responded to the COVID-19 pandemic
as well as, far more significantly and emphatically, the grass roots response to the horrors of
October 7, 2023 and its ugly aftermath in the streets and on the campuses of this country, there is
a new kind of “teshuvah” movement. Those affected by this sudden urge to reclaim a traditional
life, to learn more about our heritage and to embrace a stronger identification with all things
traditionally Jewish refer to themselves as “October 8 Jews.” The numbers aren’t staggering, yet
doors have suddenly opened up for Jews who have come to realize what an amazing legacy they
have yet to claim to walk right in and find brothers and sisters with a greater fluency in the
rhythms of our faith to embrace and instruct them. The old models of denominational definitions
are still there—but the walls erected by these definitions are now made up of wobbly stones and
lots of sunshine is coming between the cracks.
One beautiful result, to which many of us involved in “outreach education” can attest, is a
newfound interest among formerly disaffected Jews in reclaiming their “portion of the Torah,”
their right and privilege—and responsibility—to engage in the study of Tanakh as the basis for a
holistic Jewish life.
This third blessing, one which has the potential to heal those rifts which were hatched
200 years ago in western Europe, is, unfortunately, not the result of our own initiative but of a
horror foisted on us. Yet, as the Talmud teaches, we bless and thank God for His gifts, even when
they come at a time and as a result of great pain.
Afterword
I have sketched out three areas in Jewish life, specifically with regard to the study of
Tanakh but each with a much broader back drop. I will briefly reflect on each of these from a
local perspective—that of an observant, traditional and traditionalist teacher and student of
Tanakh.
My own understanding of Tanakh has been immeasurably deepened by the many
opportunities to learn about “the world of Tanakh,” through the many disciplines of the academy
which, a century ago, would have been inaccessible to me. And some of my colleagues, who are
anchored in the world of academia, suddenly find traditional commentaries and approaches to
enhance their own grasp of the text.
The opportunities that I’ve been given to speak to people who share the Tanakh as the
key structure in the storehouse of their faith, has given me the chance to see something that only
a select few would have sense two generations ago—a healthy respect for the text, for its
language and for how our Mesorah has explained it—and tremendously powerful and essentialist
common bonds that our people of faith share, including the sanctity of life, the vitality of faith
and the task to elevate all of humanity.
And, finally and most significantly, the thousands of young (and young at heart) Jews
(and even “October 8 converts, yet another remarkable phenomenon) who are looking for
meaning and substance not in the latest fads of post-Marxist politics, not in the jargons of
“wokeness”—all of which have birthed a poisonous betrayal of the Jews—but in their own
heritage. Thankfully, the Tanakh is being restored to its rightful place, as the foundation stone of
Jewish life, values, nationhood and the message which our people are tasked with bringing to the
world.
We live in amazing times.