A Look at Judaism and Jewish Identity – Part IV: “Struggle at the Jabbok Brook” (Column 339)

I’ll begin with an apology to all those who can’t seem to live without a column of mine every few days (there were indeed reports of a rise in suicides lately) for the long break. The academic year began, and the Zoom grind and administration didn’t allow me to make time for this. So now I hope I’m back.

Where We Stand

In the previous three columns I wondered what could be a definition of Judaism (as opposed to Jewishness). Bottom line, I reached the conclusion that Judaism in its moral and religious sense has a (touchstone)[1] that is very simple and has no alternative: conduct according to halakhah. Jewishness is ethnic belonging to the community obligated by halakhah (even if not actually observed), determined by the mother (or by conversion). Regarding the definition of Judaism on the national plane, we saw the situation is more complex. The differences between the planes stem mainly from the fact that discussion of Judaism as a religion and moral framework is normative (what a Jew ought to do so that we define his way of life and thought as Jewish), whereas discussion of Judaism as a nation is descriptive-factual (what Jews do, what their culture is, and how they think and conduct themselves).

To wrap up, it’s nice to bring here the words of the nick “Shuv Ani,” who wrote in a comment to the previous column:

After countless arguments with secular leftists you finally prompted me to look from their perspective. For us believers, it’s easy to view Jewish history as a history of faith or commitment to Torah and halakhah. A secular person who thinks all this is nonsense looks back at his forefathers, and what distinguishes his people in his eyes is persecution and therefore non-aggression; the ability not to compromise your belief against the world’s prevailing thought; study (of Torah in the past), whereas the secular person sees in this a preference for education over comfort or wealth accumulation. He sees his forefathers as a cohesive people with values of helping the weak and the needy, while the nations around them generally prefer their own good (of course there are exceptions). Any such exception—like the Righteous Among the Nations in the Holocaust—is precisely the one marked out for conversion. The State of Israel too was founded on an ethos of refugees from the sword—educated people creating a unifying army in which the value of brotherhood and aid stands foremost. Today, with science advanced, he believes that heresy is the true Judaism: helping the refugee and the needy, work and not idleness, a nation of slaves going free, a people that smashes idols. Occupation with old, dark texts—that is not Judaism in his eyes. And therefore, although the religious person—certainly the ultra-Orthodox—looks like his great-grandfather, he does not represent his forefathers in essence at all. His forefathers were like that when it was progressive and revolutionary, whereas today the very observance of outdated halakhah is irrational. Thus, the very halakhic observance that in your eyes defines Judaism is, in his eyes, anti-Judaism. Therefore such secular people loathe the ultra-Orthodox; it appears to them the very opposite of Judaism. They want a state that cares for the weak (a welfare state), that helps the refugee, that does not conquer another people; a progressive state whose people do not engage in studies they consider nonsense and do not maintain ancient rituals. All this more or less describes the Jews in history among the nations (or at least the ethos the Jews created for themselves), at least the relation between them and other nations according to the knowledge that existed in the past. Of course not every person in the world must be like that. Whoever wants to be the spearhead of humanity in compassion, education, innovation is welcome to join, convert, and be a Jew. And therefore many such secular people relate to the religious as idol-worshippers (which to religious ears sounds absurd)—at the very least, they do not behave as Jews. Of course I, as a religious person, disagree, but why can’t one claim that this is the definition of Judaism?

Although his words were presented as criticism of me, I agree with almost every word. He is entirely right when he speaks about defining Judaism as a nation. The only problem with his words is the problem I pointed out in the previous columns as well. When looking for a touchstone for Judaism, it’s absurd to locate it in weakness or persecution, since these are not values but descriptions of a situation (which are also not unique to Judaism). But even concern for the weak and non-conquest, although these certainly are values, are not touchstones. There are many gentiles who act this way, and many more who think this is how one ought to act. There’s nothing here that distinguishes Jews. Of course there are also Jews who don’t think this way and also don’t think this is how one ought to act.[2]

One who wishes to be the spearhead of humanity in compassion, education, or innovation need not convert, and not even join the Jewish people in any other way. He need only lead and advance processes of compassion and education where he is. This statement by “Shuv Ani” is not only baseless in itself, but also entirely detached from reality. To claim that the new secular person, who defines his Jewishness detached from religion and halakhah, sees such condescending and disconnected chauvinism as the foundational Jewish principle in his view—this is a real joke. I think I don’t know a single secular person who thinks so.[3]

To sharpen further, I’ll repeat that even if all secular people did think so, it still wouldn’t be relevant to the discussion. I explained that here I seek an answer to the normative question “what is Judaism,” and this has a true or false answer. One who does not base it on halakhah, even if such a person exists, is simply mistaken. This is in contrast with the factual question “what do Jews think or do,” which is a descriptive question and therefore can receive different answers depending on whom you ask and at whom you look. Several times in the past (see, for example, Columns 244, 247, and more) I already explained that in fundamental questions the existence of disagreement does not mean my claim is untrue. If there is a good basis to my words, then one who says otherwise is simply mistaken. Alternatively, anyone wishing to dispute my claim must bring reasons and arguments, not merely point to the fact that there are those who think otherwise.

“Struggle at the Jabbok Brook”

At the beginning of the first column in the series (336) I mentioned Ehud Luz’s book,[4] Struggle at the Jabbok Brook, which deals with the attitude toward power in the Jewish tradition from its earliest sources to our day. He uses the attitude toward power as a prism through which he looks at Jewish identity in general, and in particular at the metamorphoses it has undergone through the generations. In general, the book is very interesting and I have much to remark about it, but here I wish to focus on the book’s introduction, titled “Identity and National Morality,” where he presents a conceptual and philosophical framework within which the discussion proceeds. This is a unique text in the sense that it proposes a grounding for the claim about the existence of national values—i.e., that there are evaluative dimensions within national identity. He conceptualizes and formulates very common arguments that lie at the base of almost every discussion of secular or national Jewish identity (such as the “return to the Jewish bookshelf.” See on this at the end of the column). His innovation is mainly in the attempt to present this within a systematic framework. Therefore I wish to examine here, systematically, his introduction. I’ll describe his words with a critical eye, of course, in light of what we saw in the previous three columns. The sections below are divided according to the divisions of his introduction, with occasional additions of my own.

Before I begin, I’ll draw your attention to his general trend, and I suggest you read my words with this trend in the background. All along the way Luz contends with a dichotomous conception that sets in opposition particularism (chauvinistic nationalism) versus morality which is by its nature universal. This is essentially what I’ve been arguing in this series as well: either halakhah or universalism. Luz tries to break this dichotomy and claim there is a possibility of particularistic morality (and for our purposes, a value-laden Jewish identity that is not halakhah). For example, in his view a liberal democratic state need not be detached from its particular national heritage and commitments. In a certain sense there is here an attempt to present a moral thesis of secular and even left-wing nationalism, and I shall try to show why, in my view, he fails—foreseeably.

As I explained in the previous columns, a secular thesis can present characteristics of the nation descriptively, but it cannot present a national evaluative substrate (particular moral values). On this I entirely agree with his opponents, that the particular, in its essence, is not moral. My claim is that the only way to create a value-laden particularism is to engage in non-universal values—that is, not in moral values. In short: morality by definition is universal (though not necessarily universalist), and therefore the evaluative definition of Judaism must be religious (and not through moral values). As I argued previously, Judaism is commitment to halakhah.

What Is Culture

At the beginning of the introduction Luz writes that culture is a kind of language in a broad sense. It has a symbolic system that includes shared gestures, signs, and codes of behavior, through which individuals communicate with one another and with previous generations. His main claim is that even in our era, in which many have abandoned their religious commitments, the heritage (primarily religious) still influences their values and their mode of conduct. As in Max Weber’s Protestant thesis, Luz argues that secularization preserves in its ethos several important elements of the previous religious phase. Catholic secularism is not the same as Protestant, Muslim, or Jewish secularism. The secular phase is presented as yet another, or different, interpretation of those ancient Jewish sources, and in that sense constitutes an authentic continuation of the previous interpretations.

There is no doubt he is right that at the base of many debates in Israel today, all sides participating make use of elements connected to our ancient sources and history. The question whether this is a continuation of what was before is more complex, and I shall address it below. In particular his words apply to the question of the use of force, its limits, its justification, and the attitude to the very need to use it. This is his main thesis in the book.

From here on, his introduction is divided into short chapters, each treating one conceptual aspect of the discussion, and I will now go through and comment on them in order.

Nationalism and Liberalism

Luz opens with a distinction between two models of states: a liberal-universal model in which the state creates the nation, and a historical-cultural model in which the nation creates the state. In the liberal model the concept of “nationality” is identical with “citizenship,” and the state serves only functional needs—namely, a framework intended to protect citizens’ rights and provide for their needs—without any cultural or evaluative features. The individual is an autonomous person subject to universal laws, not a member of any particular culture.[5] By contrast, in the historical-cultural model the state is a tool for expressing national culture. The citizen is expected to participate in that particular culture.

Of course there is no state in the world based on a pure liberal-universal model. The United States is quite close to that model, and therefore citizenship and the constitution receive a status of rare strength there compared to other values. But most states are somewhere in the middle; despite proximity to the historical-cultural pole, Luz argues this does not prevent us from regarding such states as liberal and open. The State of Israel is relatively close to this pole, since it has goals connected to the Jewish nation, such as its preservation and even some expression of its values and cultural heritage. At the same time, there is in Israeli society a struggle regarding these two poles about where we should situate ourselves between them. This question lies at the heart of quite a few of our political polemics.

The post-Zionist stance seeks to situate itself near the universal pole and negates the state’s Jewish-Zionist character. It maintains that there is an unbridgeable contradiction between a liberal, peace-seeking democracy that guarantees rights to all its citizens and the aspiration to a Jewish nation-state. It conceives the question of human morality dichotomously: either universal-liberal-humanist morality, or nationalist-oppressive-selfish morality. Opposite it stands the national-nationalist approach that favors particularism. Luz argues that alongside these there also exists a national-liberal approach that does not see a contradiction between the two, and his introduction is meant to propose a theoretical platform on which this thesis can be defended.

There is a tendency to equate this debate with the right–left polemic. It cannot be denied there is some correlation, but at least on the conceptual plane this is not a necessary identification. Luz argues that this dichotomous presentation is simplistic and inaccurate. His main aim is to show that a liberal left is possible and at the same time particularistic-national (this was the traditional left until the post era, and in recent years it has seen a renewed moment).

He brings the words of Yael Tamir, in her book Liberal Nationalism, who explains that not only is there no contradiction between national solidarity and universal human solidarity, but the morality of the community is a condition for the development of a universal sense of justice. Nationalism enables individuals to attain self-development, self-expression, and personal fulfillment; without it we could not become autonomous beings with the right to choose and to criticize the society in which we live. Note that his words here mix a psychological claim—about a person’s development, with which I am not sure I agree—with a substantive claim. Those who see nationalism as contrary to liberalism and universal moral commitment are making a claim on the substantive plane: in their view, preference for members of my nation or community contradicts the equal commitment to every human being as such. They can certainly agree that psychologically national-communal solidarity contributes to a person’s development, even his morality. I suppose they will also argue this is a necessary interim stage (necessity is not condemned), and we should try to free ourselves from it after we mature and our personality is shaped. But on the substantive plane they argue that morality should be universalist (not just universal). Luz continues to argue that the conception of justice underlying liberal nationalism is even more coherent and humane than the universalist conception, since social interrelations sharpen our moral sensitivity and our commitment to the other. Again he mixes planes. The claim appears substantive, but the rationale is practical-instrumental-psychological.

He qualifies the possibility of particularistic-national morality by saying it does not identify nationalism with racist ethnocentrism. The community’s morality, despite its particularism, is not aimed at pushing aside liberal morality. On its face this seems like a self-contradictory slogan. Perhaps his intention is to make a distinction akin to that between citizens’ rights and human rights. Citizens’ rights accrue only to citizens, but human rights accrue to every human as such. A state may prefer its citizens regarding nourishment, education, culture, and security, but it may not murder others to do so (unless they threaten it and its citizens). The right to life is a human right, whereas the right that the state provide me education is a citizens’ right. But beyond citizens’ rights, in Luz’s view it seems one must add national rights as well, and that’s not the same thing. Thus, for example, in Israel, defined as the nation-state of the Jewish people, there are three levels of rights: 1) human rights that accrue to every human as such; 2) citizens’ rights that accrue to every citizen of the state (but not to every person); 3) rights to national-cultural expression that accrue mainly to the Jewish part for whom this state is supposed to exist. His innovation is, of course, the third category (to which universalists object, and even among national-liberals there is a debate about where to draw the line).

He ends this subchapter with the claim that the right to belong to a nation is essential to the human as human. It is not an addition to individual rights but part of them, since an individual’s happiness depends also on his sense of belonging to a community or a people with a shared lifestyle and culture. Therefore liberal nationalism must allow expression of national values in addition to liberal-universal ones. I entirely agree with this.

A First Look: Two Types of Problems in Luz’s Thesis

Here several problems begin to emerge in the picture he presents, and they are quite typical of the positions of Zionist-national left (hence in my view it is so unstable, at least on the theoretical level, and tends to slide toward post-Zionism). I’ll note two main groups of problems that can be treated as inward-facing and outward-facing.

Inwardly, he must define what the national expression of the Jewish people is (who is a Jew and what is Judaism in the national sense). We addressed this in previous columns. What happens when there is a dispute about what Judaism is? (Is it universal morality, a sense of persecution, equality, or commitment to halakhah?) Would we want to entrust to the government and politics the decisions about what Judaism is and what Jewish culture is? That the government decide which culture will be expressed and which will not? What is Judaism and what is not? Personally, I certainly don’t want that.

Outwardly, not for nothing does he refrain from addressing what happens when the planes conflict. I assume very few people dispute the general picture he describes. Who disagrees that every person has basic human rights and no one may harm them without necessity? Who disagrees that every citizen has citizens’ rights? And almost everyone will agree that if citizens feel a need for national expression, that too is a right that accrues to them like any right of an individual’s self-expression. The arguments begin only when there is a contradiction between these planes. What happens when the national expression of the Palestinian minority contradicts the national expression of the Jewish majority? What happens when the national minority is in a long, bloody conflict with the nation of the majority and sides with its enemies outside? Even then, is every restriction on its national-cultural expression wrong?

In short, this general description is delightful and pretty, but too theoretical and therefore consensual. It actually sweeps all the real problems under the rug. It recalls the claims of Buchdahl and other seekers of a secular Judaism discussed in the previous columns, who set Judaism on such a universal basis that no Judaism remains. The picture Luz proposes is also agreed upon by almost all humanity, and therefore it fails to focus the debate and contend with the positions he seeks and purports to contend with. Admittedly, this is only a conceptual introduction, and later he tries to cash this description out, but already here, in my opinion, lies the seed of the trouble.

To clarify the picture that reconciles nationalism with liberalism, he moves to discuss the concept of “national morality.”

National Morality

In this subchapter Luz brings two conceptions of morality: the Kantian, which deals with the “ought,” entirely detached from the “is,” and therefore has a universalist character and does not recognize partial circles (such as community, love, friendship, family, nation, etc.); and, on the other hand, Hegel’s model, which sought to merge the “ought” with the “is,” including the relation to the partial circles above. In Hegel’s morality, tradition and family and the customs embedded in them have great importance. The individual finds the moral meaning of his life in the communal life and traditions to which he belongs. Again he returns to the instrumental importance of community and partial circles on the way to universal commitment.

Here too I feel a certain vacuum. What are those values rooted in particular heritage and tradition? Fundamental moral values are more or less universal (the disputes are at the margins and are not necessarily the result of tradition but of disagreements). Does he mean traditional dress, honor-killings, refraining from eating pork, speaking a certain language, or other things? I see no essential connection between any of these and morality and values, and it seems to me that even the instrumental connection is flimsy. None of these are values—at least not in the moral sense. It is, at best, a homonym (if we’re speaking of other kinds of “values”), or simply a mistake (when not values at all).

At the end of the subchapter he adds another significant layer to his structure that can also illuminate the difficulty I just noted. He argues that morality need not have special values in order to be national. Human fundamental values are universal in character and quite similar across societies. The particular tradition only tints those universal values with its own colors. Luz writes that a living particular tradition is one that grants a rational justification to universal moral values. I really did not understand this claim. How does a particular tradition provide a rational justification better than universal ethical justifications? This sounds to me exactly backwards. If anything, one might say that such a tradition wraps them in different myths—through the stories of forefathers and greats, etc.—helps to internalize the values, and even gives them a particular tint. But again, this is, if anything, instrumental value.

Beyond that, a tradition can also offer special interpretations and forms of application. In addition, the hierarchy among the universal values may differ. Some societies will see human life as the supreme value; others will emphasize equality, justice, freedom, and so forth. All these are agreed-upon values, but the hierarchy among them (the scale of values) may vary from society to society. But here again arises the question: who is right? Is the scale of values not binding truth? Is it arbitrary? Does the fact that I was born and live within a certain tradition supposed to determine for me how it is right to act? Why? The question is how one ought truly to act, not how the society in which I live thinks one ought to act. The scale of values is part of the ethical system itself, since a collection of values without a hierarchy among them is not a full-fledged ethical system. Therefore I do not accept that a person should adopt the scale accepted in the tradition in which he lives and acts. He is supposed to form a scale according to what seems to him right and correct. Hence, even with respect to the hierarchy among values one must argue and persuade, but in the end there is a correct hierarchy and an incorrect one.

The Moral Value of Loyalty

In this subchapter Luz details further his instrumental claim. He explains that belonging to a community develops in a person a commitment to the other out of loyalty to his fellow community members. For most human beings, loyalty to all humanity cannot be a significant moral motive and certainly cannot overcome narrower loyalties. He cites Niebuhr (an American Christian thinker), who claimed that purely rational and intellectual ethical rules cannot serve as a significant moral motive. One can bring studies showing that the main motivation of soldiers to risk themselves in battle is their friends, not the values for which they fight and the public they protect. Without the emotional drive of loyalty there will be no dynamics of implementation. This can arise only from forces whose sources are in religion, tradition, and history, which create loyalty to society and its tradition and motivation to defend them and act by them. For my part, I am unsure of this claim on the factual level, since people detached from the traditions in which they grew up are not necessarily less moral than others. To the contrary, sometimes moral considerations lead people to adopt universalist positions that estrange themselves from particular traditions. But for our purposes, what matters is that even if this were true, it would still be instrumental rather than substantive.[6]

Luz himself writes there that loyalty indeed is not a substantive yardstick by which to evaluate moral behavior. A person who is not loyal to his community (at least if he has not declared himself part of it and loyal to it—for example, a person who is an avowed universalist) is not necessarily an immoral person. But he argues that loyalty is a catalyst and motive for ethical behaviors, whose determinants are universal values. Loyalty to the community is not based on the community’s being better or more worthy than others, but because it is mine.[7] In his view, one cannot create commitment toward an amorphous group without concrete features (almost like monotheism, which is commitment to a God without face and form). Commitment must address a defined group; therefore universalism is doomed to fail.

He then explains that a sense of belonging cannot grow if my group of belonging has no special qualities that distinguish it from other communities, so that they preserve its meaning for us and thus can create within us the motivating force for ethical conduct. When those qualities fade (universalism blurs them, in particular in the global village era), it is harder to create identification and commitment. It’s important to understand that his words again indicate that the purpose of those qualities is not their own evaluative significance, but their being means—that is, again an instrumental rationale. Even if he is right that without loyalty to tradition it is hard to create identification and moral commitment, the upshot of his words is that he too understands that only the universal values have substantive value.

A Practical Note: The Importance of Circles of Belonging

From another, more practical angle, one can argue as follows. There is a sense that universal human commitment is more moral and that it would be proper not to give preference to narrow reference groups around me. This is the essence of universalism. Even if this sense is correct (as noted, I am not sure), and even if Luz, Niebuhr, and Hermann Cohen were not right—that is, even if one could develop moral commitment without recourse to narrower identity circles—in practice it would not work. A person committed to all humanity, who also feels such a deep commitment, cannot, in practice, take any concrete action. There are so many suffering and miserable people in the world—whom will you save? In whom will you invest your resources, like money, effort, and time? In such a situation people will generally do nothing—not because of an absence of moral commitment altogether, but because there is no reasonable way to realize it. This is indeed only a practical problem, but it is very important.

Here I am not claiming that universal commitment is not moral or that it is not more correct and proper, but that it is not applicable. A model of expanding circles of belonging, according to which each person is supposed to care—with decreasing levels of commitment—for his family, his community, his people, the citizens of his state, etc., will function better than demanding that a person act for all humanity at the same level of commitment. In the expanding-circles model each person has a circle of intimates who will actually care for him, whereas if he expects assistance from the entire world there is a fair chance he will not receive it.[8]

The question of the relation between these circles (to what extent one may care for the narrower circle at the expense of the broader ones) resembles the question of the relation between human rights and citizens’ rights that I touched on above. In general I’ll say these are not absolute and unqualified priorities. A person may not murder another person, nor even rob his property, to save himself or his family; but he is not obligated to care for others as he cares for the nearer circles.

It’s important to understand that even here I am not speaking of adding values to the basket of universal values, but of a hierarchy among people and groups with respect to the implementation of those very universal values. This is not a different ethics but different models of implementing the ethics.

Narrative and the Political-Moral Discourse

In the next subchapter Luz arrives at another meaning of national morality. His claim is that within the discourse conducted in the tradition of a particular community, the universal values are tinted with a particular color that distinguishes it. The narrative of that community is created over the course of its history and is transmitted through the heritage of the generations, tinting universal morality with hues unique to that community. It’s important to note that the term “narrative” does not appear here in the relativistic sense common in postmodern thought (where they claim that different narratives express different conceptions and there is no truth or falsehood), but in the sense of different languages and hues that express the same set of values. Like different coordinate systems (Cartesian and polar, for example) describing the same geometric form. Every action we do is interpreted as part of the historical course of the community and joins its story (or: its “siper”).

The stories a society tells itself and others are the basis on which its historical consciousness and intergenerational cohesion grow. They contain words and metaphors that accompany the mode of thought of the individuals who belong to it, and they give a connotation to every thought and action taken by them, as well as to the actions and thoughts of others as perceived by them. A person is the tavnít nof moladto (the “mold of his native landscape”)—not only in the geographic sense but also in the communal, cultural, and historical sense. Political loyalty to the community and its heritage are strong motivations for value-laden action on its behalf, but they are also the substrate for understanding and implementing universal values. A general political and ideological doctrine can develop general concepts such as “tyranny,” “democracy,” “socialism,” and “capitalism,” but all these receive concrete meaning only within the particular ethos and heritage of the community; hence the realizations of these values in practice depend on them. Without the ethos that includes concrete images and stories, when people become alienated from their heritage, even those universal values revert to being empty and alien for them.

Thus, for example, you can speak about self-sacrifice for an idea, but you need stories like the Binding (of Isaac) or Trumpeldor in order to cast them into a living, concrete pattern and to motivate people to action. Therefore collectives attach great importance to inculcating this heritage via various myths. In the second book of my quartet as well, That Which Is and That Which Is Not, I noted the role of myth and ethos in understanding everything—from science to ideology and moral values. Memory takes an active part in establishing our present.

But after all, it’s important to understand that ultimately we’re speaking only of color differences. We all preserve the same value system; it is simply phrased in different languages. I educate my children according to the Binding of Abraham and Isaac, and my Muslim colleague does so via the Binding of Ishmael or the stories of the Qur’an. But if this is the situation, then there is no such thing as national morality. There are different languages for phrasing the one and only universal morality. This scale cannot have intrinsic value, for there is no significance to the language in which you phrase your ethical principles, so long as you keep the proper values. The language and the particular myth are the tools by which we develop universal commitment, but the claim about their importance is a factual, not a substantive, claim—not a value claim. In what I’ve described there is no justification for intrinsic value in learning history or the national myth. On the contrary, in a certain sense it’s a bit of a waste of time (this applies especially to myths that are not examined for historical credibility), but necessity is not condemned. Therefore there is nothing in this description to justify a claim about the existence and validity of national-particular values. If someone wants to claim that there are national values and that they are part of a person’s ethical system, he must point to such values and argue why they are important and binding in themselves (and not only instrumentally, namely in that they help inculcate and implement universal values).

All along the way Luz tries to explain that there is national morality and to present the moral importance of particular culture, but from his words the opposite conclusion clearly emerges: there is an uncondemned necessity to resort to norms that are not important in themselves, because without commitment to them one cannot create commitment to the true values—that is, to the universal ones. These matters, of course, connect to the conception I have presented more than once here, that there are no truly particular values, and therefore there is no Jewish morality or Georgian morality. There is correct morality and incorrect morality, and the correct morality binds all humanity. Of course there are disputes about what that morality is, but that does not mean there is communal morality. My claim is that a person is not supposed to conduct himself differently just because he is Jewish or Georgian. He must conduct himself in the way that to the best of his understanding is the proper ethical way—even if his understanding is shaped, among other things, by the narrative of the community in which he lives and acts. There is certainly room to think about these values within a particular conceptual framework as described above. Its influence on the ethical result, insofar as it exists, is in my view marginal.

Moral Critique of Tradition

In this section Luz explains that tradition is a necessary component in the internal discourse of every society. If we wish to preserve the society’s cohesion, we must discuss moral questions on the basis of a given tradition shared by the whole society; among other things, we must consider regarding any position whether it continues the society’s tradition and heritage and whether adopting it allows the continuation of that tradition and heritage.

Again, a consideration of social cohesion enters the discussion, which is alien to moral considerations. If the answer to a moral question requires a sharp deviation from tradition that will not allow its continuation or social cohesion, should we, for those reasons, adopt an immoral position? Not plausible. Of course, if there are several possible answers, one may say we will choose the answer that allows maximal continuation and cohesion. Therefore Luz’s description is at the very least overstated. A more accurate description should say that moral questions should be examined by moral considerations that are, in essence, universal. The illustrations and connotations for the discussion can be drawn from the society’s ethos, myths, and history, but that is not the essence. Only after exhausting the moral discussion may we bring in the side-considerations of cohesion and continuity to choose among equivalent options. Mixing such considerations into the formation of the moral position continues the same mixture we saw above between describing the “is” and the normative “ought.”

He then continues and infers from the above that every social-moral critique of our community must rely on a new and creative interpretation of tradition (and not replace or destroy it). He ignores the question: what should I do if my critique is of the tradition itself? If I don’t know how to present the position that seems proper to me as a straightforward interpretation of tradition, must I lie and forcibly push my position as a possible interpretation of tradition? This recalls the vacuous statements we hear daily in our environs that capitalism is “not Jewish,” or socialism is “not Jewish,” or that an anti-democratic act is “not Jewish,” tolerance is “not Jewish,” power politics is “not Jewish,” and so forth. These ridiculous claims divide into two types: either taking a universal value I believe in and presenting it as the essence of Judaism (though it has little connection to Judaism, and I don’t adopt it because it is Judaism but because I personally believe in it); or presenting a traditional value with no connection to morality as a moral value (eating pork or not keeping Shabbat are not moral).

Luz opposes the liberal-rationalist perspective for which Habermas is one of the chief spokesmen—according to which critiques of our community can rely only on a universal yardstick that does not take particular traditions into account. Against this he claims an internal critique is possible—i.e., proposing another interpretation of tradition. Here he raises practical considerations (such a universal critique will not succeed and will not be effective) alongside substantive considerations (that morality is realized only within a particular framework or paradigm). With the first, factual in nature, I tend to agree; the second, in my view, is an error.

Viewed from above, the process Luz describes is a purification of the existing tradition by such interpretive critiques until bringing it to universal moral purity. If so, through the back door he admits the bitter truth that the moral “ought” and “ought not” are universal. The particular traditions are to be purified by critiques so that they attain full alignment with universal yardsticks. In the end, morality is universal; all the rest is not morality.

In a certain sense, even the very concept of “internal critique” that Luz proposes is an oxymoron. If you want to change a system, you do so on the basis of another system (unless you found a contradiction within the system, but that is not usually the case). If you start from a certain system, you will get that system’s conclusions. Of course several interpretations of a system can exist, but the choice among the different interpretations is generally not made by considerations of congruence with the tradition itself but by considerations arising in the environment in which the interpreter operates. Therefore the debates about the different interpretations are not decided by logical tools (interpretation A contains an internal contradiction or contradicts principles of the system and thus is rejected), but by tools of personal taste and the norms of the interpreter and the society in which he acts. Hence, contrary to Luz’s claim, the liberal-rationalists are right in their claim that the substantive part of the critique can be done mainly (and perhaps only) from the outside.

The Postmodern Critique

In this subchapter Luz opposes the Marxist assumption of postmodernism (see Column 178 and on), according to which every ideology and evaluative position is based on the interested considerations of those with power and hegemony whose purpose is to oppress and limit others. They merely cloak interest in an ideological garb, which serves as a forceful instrument to promote their goals. Those postmodernists feel that exposing these schemes and deconstructing ideologies are important tools meant to advance equality and proper social relations and to prevent the forceful takeover by ideologues.

I am unclear about the alternative Luz proposes or how his words differ from their approach. It seems he intends to claim that ideology reflects tradition and a worldview, not necessarily interests. Well, I of course agree with that. But in light of my words above I also qualify this agreement. So long as we’re speaking of universal moral values, there is “right” and “wrong” beyond interests. Here constructive critique can indeed be carried out, and even if it doesn’t use logical or scientific tools it has a place (this is the conception I called “synthetic” in my books). But the smuggling in of considerations of cohesion and continuity is, in my view, indeed interest and not value—or at most means with instrumental value, i.e., an uncondemned necessity for creating moral commitment (as he himself argued above). Adding such considerations to the value-plane discussion is indeed a scheme, for it has no reasonable philosophical basis. This is not about right and proper but about what is useful or advances my aims.

Denial of the Subject and the Undermining of the National Narrative

In this section Luz notes that postmodernism is based on moral motives, but it has a heavy price: it blurs national identity and any other particular identity. Of course within it there is room for different narratives and full legitimacy to hold any narrative you wish, but the price is seeing the narrative as subjective discourse with no basis in the sphere of what is truly right and proper. Such a national narrative cannot endure; therefore those with a postmodern conception easily slide to a universal identity, and the particular identities are blurred and even vanish. The attempt to protect the particular leads to throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

Here too I side with the postmodernists. I agree with Luz that a person needs a particular identity—personal or national—but I do not agree with the evaluative dimension he tries to pour into it. It is a need like any other, not a value. Denying it indeed is neither helpful nor just. But turning that need into a value is indeed problematic, and in this I think the postmodernists are right.

On Conservatism

The gist of Luz’s words about the importance of tradition is essentially an argument in praise of (moderate) conservatism. From here on, Luz returns to the important instrumental value in traditions and the danger of destructive critique of them. I have already expressed my view that such arguments mix the useful with the right and the instrumental with the substantive. I’ll only recall what I wrote in previous columns dealing with conservatism (217, 249, and 263): I explained that I oppose sweeping approaches like conservatism or innovation. Both approaches share the notion that ideas should be examined using external measures, such as whether they preserve existing positions and conceptions or whether they change them. To my judgment, positions and conceptions should be examined by the question whether they are true. Let the researchers later say whether my approach is conservative or innovative. Considerations of conservatism or innovation ought not take part in examining and shaping the positions themselves.

I’ll finish with his last subchapter, in which he returns from theory to application regarding Zionism.

Zionism and the Jewish Historical Myth

Here Luz argues that despite the secularization Judaism underwent, and despite the secular character of the Zionist movement and its leadership, Zionism too is only an interpretation that continues Jewish tradition and heritage from time immemorial. He opposes the claims that the Zionist leadership’s use of the sources was manipulative (to draw in the masses and justify their claims), and argues that there was a sincere use of the sources to create a new Jewish identity that is but a different interpretation of the sources and therefore a continuation of previous phases of Judaism. He concedes that in the background of the processes there were many foreign influences, such as the awakening of nationalism in the world, and that these influences were also due to processes of assimilation; but in the end they were absorbed into Jewish tradition and created a new phase that continues it (a kind of Gadamerian “fusion of horizons”).

I won’t expand here either, since he repeats rather trite arguments. I’ll only recall what I wrote in the previous columns—that perhaps one can define a Jewish culture with a tie to the Bible and the sources, but one cannot define a Jewish evaluative system detached from the religious dimension and especially from halakhah. Reviving the Hebrew language and restoring the political autonomy of the Jewish people—even if these are values and not needs—are universal values. Every people wants a homeland and its own language; therefore Jews too have such a need, and acting to fulfill a need can perhaps be considered a value—just as giving charity that fulfills the poor person’s need constitutes a value for the giver. But there is nothing uniquely Jewish here. It’s the same value as for any other people. To say that Jewish identity is defined through the desire to speak Hebrew and renew national independence for the Jewish people is empty of evaluative content and perhaps even circular. If the intention is a state for the descendants of Jewish mothers, then it is not circular, but there is also no evaluative dimension here; it is a mere need. And if the intention is to establish a state that will conduct itself in a “Jewish” way—well, so long as you haven’t defined what that “Judaism” is, you haven’t said anything. As stated, one cannot propose a reasonable definition of value-laden Jewish conduct (as opposed to cultural features, which are descriptions, not values) detached from halakhah.

He ends the introduction by referring to the new morality created by Zionism in this interpretive process (including the attitude toward the use of force). And I, of little account, wonder what exactly this morality contains. What differentiates it from the morality of any other group? Does such a creature really exist? I have already explained why, in my view, the answer must be negative, and I will not repeat it here.

It seems to me that Luz essentially bases Judaism on the “Jewish bookshelf.” Whoever resorts to Jewish sources—no matter what he does to them and with them—has a Jewish identity. This is essentially the approach currently called “return to the Jewish bookshelf” (see in the second column in this series, 337, on Tikkun Leil Shavuot), and I cannot see how one discerns an evaluative dimension in it. If people need to be connected to such and such sources—good for them. This is certainly a legitimate need. But how can this be seen as a value?! (For example, how can one criticize those who don’t feel this way and have no such need.) We have returned again to the question whether conservatism can be considered a value. In my view, not only is it not a value, but conservatism is not even a legitimate consideration when forming a position on any matter. At most it is a useful means (if at all). Not to mention that there are quite a few gentiles who resort to the Bible and Jewish sources, and no one imagines regarding them as Jews because of it.

In conclusion, Luz purports to offer an evaluative definition for the new Jewish identity, and not only a national-ethnic definition. His claim is that it is an interpretation that continues the evaluative identity that existed in the past (Judaism, not just Jewishness). As I explained throughout this series, in my eyes this claim is utterly baseless. The same problematic features I saw in the reformist identity proposed by Buchdahl in the first column (336) I see in the proposals for secular identity, which Luz tries—unsuccessfully, in my opinion—to present in a systematic expression.[9]

[1] I added the parentheses because of misunderstandings that recurred in the comments. Judaism has other characteristics, but no other touchstones.

[2] See, for example, this column by Rabbi Ila’i Ofran, with which I of course completely disagree.

[3] As I explained in previous columns, quite a few of them say similar things: “my Judaism is persecution, compassion, education, collectivism, equality,” and so on—but none of them will see any of these as a touchstone. None will say that if you want to be compassionate or educated you must convert. These are characteristics, not exclusive definitions (touchstones).

[4] The son of the former Speaker of the Knesset, Kadish Luz. His earlier book based on his doctorate, Parallel Lines Meet (on religion and nationalism in the Zionist movement in Eastern Europe), was also very interesting in my view.

[5] He can of course be part of such a culture, but it is not necessary and certainly not a condition for being a citizen of the state.

[6] Luz brings here Hermann Cohen’s distinction between first-order virtues, such as justice—which are directed toward every person or toward the concept of humanity in general—and second-order virtues, which are directed toward members of the community or some narrower circle (family, couplehood, friendship). The first are driven by thinking grounded in universal rational considerations; the second by emotional motives (such as love and loyalty). In Cohen’s view, the second serve as a supporting basis for the first. Again, there is no claim here that they have value in themselves, only that they are an important instrument for ethical conduct. The ethics itself is universal. This parallels the distinction I made above between human rights and citizens’ rights.

[7] See on this in Column 269, where I dealt (following Sarah Stroud) with the ethical status of friendship and the paradoxes it raises.

[8] See Columns 188, 266, and 51. In Column 188 I describe a blessing I wrote for my nephew Ori’s bar-mitzvah, written against the background of a difference between the families. Ori’s family (my sister’s) is no less committed to morality than we are, but they hold a universalist conception. My claim against them is not that they lack moral commitment (that would be untrue) but that a universalist conception simply works less well.

[9] See in this article a description of another attempt to present a secular interpretation of the sources, by Yehuda Amichai.