There are few concepts as polarizing and divisive in today’s society as that of Zionism. To be a Zionist is, at the same time, a powerful ingroup and a cruel epithet, both a position of justice for Jewish self-determination and a cudgel of social ills. For over two years (or two centuries), Zionism has been the subject of endless debate, and yet few agree on the terms of what we mean when we talk about the practicalities of being a “Zionist.”
At its very core, the emergence of Zionism was a byproduct of the way that Jews were treated in Europe in the aftermath of the 18th-century Enlightenment, and understanding how we got here can do a lot to better understand the challenges that face the American Jewish community today.
In 1791, the French government offered full emancipation to the Jewish community. The idea was that making Jews full citizens of their native land would encourage assimilation and cultural investment, narrowing the gap between the ghettoized Jews and the rest of the public. In practical terms, though, there were two distinct outcomes of the Emancipation movement. On one hand, Jews were welcomed into the larger community, in turn eroding their unique identity within their faith tradition. Or they were rejected by their peers within their country, leading to further entrenchment in their experience as an “other”. In either case, the notion of having a meaningful Jewish identity juxtaposed with a strong sense of national pride and investment proved surprisingly problematic. As Rabbi Donniel Hartman put it in his book, Who are the Jews – and Who Can We Become?, “Thus, Emancipation’s dramatic promise to radically transform the status and condition of the Jews also significantly shifted the meaning of Jewishness and threatened its collective nature…Paradoxically, Jewishness was saved from this predicament by European Emancipation’s failure.”
The result was a movement of Jews who saw the antisemitism around them as evidence that no amount of assimilation would ever truly lead to equality for Jews in the countries where they resided. Thus, Jews would need a land of their own to live out the fullness of their citizenship. If no other country will count us as equals, the thinking goes, then let’s create a place where we can self-govern.
When we fast forward to today, we once again see the tension between fitting in with everyone else and making space for our distinct identity. The American values of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness led many to believe in a form of equality and tolerance that undermined the need for a country all to ourselves. Yet, the dramatic increase in acts of antisemitism and anti-Jewish rhetoric has only further proven the point. Jewish communities are either forced to confront constant hostility or have assimilated to the point that they have very loose connections to their Jewish identity in the first place. In both cases, the result when traced to its inevitable conclusion is the erosion and eventual erasure of Jewish life altogether. In this dangerous paradigm, to be a Zionist is to reject the welcome that secular society has offered, while declaring oneself an anti-Zionist is to alienate the Jew from the centrality of their sense of peoplehood.
This is what makes conversations around Zionism fraught. There are, after all, worthy debates to be had surrounding the mission and purpose of a Jewish state, and how that vision can be brought to life. Yet, when defined by others, Zionism becomes a catch-22, forcing a Jew to make camp between a rock and a hard place. As Jews, we are well-served to reject the false dichotomy that makes us pick between full participation in secular culture or full embrace of Jewish exceptionalism (or even exclusion). Instead, our people must agree to the terms that, in a world of stark black and white, we are vehemently obligated to find shades of gray.
It is possible to believe that Jews would benefit from having a place where Judaism feels native and safe for all, especially in the face of a rising tide of hatred and hostility. It is possible to believe that Jews benefit from having intimate connections with the larger culture in which we live, rather than forcing ourselves to live on the fringes of society. Perhaps most importantly, it is possible and right to believe that Jews should be allowed to embrace their tradition for all the gifts that it offers, while using those gifts to embrace the updates of modernity and universalism. To do that, though, we have to be willing to push back against the false narrative that tells us to pick either our Jewish identity or membership in the larger world.
Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav taught that the whole world is a narrow bridge, and that the most important part is not to be afraid. Throughout history, our people have found ourselves in those narrow places, forced to choose between extreme options. At this moment in time, we must find the courage to declare that our narrowness will not define us, but instead, we are willing to put in the work to find an answer that is true to both our national identity and our spiritual community. Two things can be true at once. It is our sacred calling to find the balance.
Austin Zoot is the Rabbi Educator at Valley Temple in Wyoming, Ohio.
