Ofer Chizik: Does Liberal Judaism Have a Future?

From 'Young Zionist Voices': Towards a New Future for Non-Orthodox Jews

David H.—In the following essay from Young Zionist Voices, Ofer Chizik explores the degraded state of liberal Judaism—both in the Diaspora, where synagogue attendance is suffering and categories like “Jews of No Religion” and “Just Jewish” have compromised Reform’s once-dominant status; and in Israel, where the legally sanctioned Orthodox monopoly creates a crisis of legitimacy for liberal Judaism among religious and secular Israelis alike. The answer, he argues, lies in developing a “unified heart” for the movement as a whole.

Ofer Chizik is a journalist, Reform rabbinic student at Hebrew Union College, and Ph.D. candidate at the Ruderman program for Jewish American studies at the University of Haifa. He also writes and edits for Yedioth Aharonoth, focusing on foreign news, World Jewry, and interfaith relations. Ofer also served as the spokesperson and media director for Hoshen, the education and advocacy organization of the LGBTQ+ community in Israel, and as the spokesperson for a Knesset member. Ofer was also a Journalist at GLZ radio, where he received two GLZ editor-in-chief radio awards for excellent journalistic work.

The following is an exclusive reprint from the anthology Young Zionist Voices: A New Generation Speaks Out, edited by David Hazony. Copyright © 2024 Wicked Son. Reprinted with permission.

Does Liberal Judaism Have a Future?

The lessons of October 7 reach to the very heart of non-Orthodox religious institutions—and not just in the Diaspora.

Ofer Chizik

It all started when the rabbi taught us that “women are the Evil Inclination.” I was thirteen. A secular boy taking post-Bar Mitzvah classes at an Orthodox synagogue in Israel.

I had enrolled out of the belief that only there could I deepen my understanding of my Jewish heritage. But when the rabbi presented a Judaism that had no place in it for the women closest to me—my mother, my female teachers, my female friends—something in my identity snapped. For many years after, I took a step back from the Jewish world. For a decade I didn’t set foot in a synagogue.

And then, almost by accident, came the revelation: During my Master’s Degree studies, I visited Manhattan, where I discovered American Judaism, and in particular, the versions of it collectively known as “liberal Judaism.”

It was a short trip: ten days that included an assignment to attend a Friday night service. That one assignment revealed to me my own Jewish identity. For it was there, in New York City, that I understood for the first time that there was more than one way to be Jewish. For the first time in a decade, I felt like I belonged in a synagogue.

Today, three years later, I live in constant fear that the amazing, profound Jewish identity I discovered might yet shatter completely—whether in Israel or in America.

***

The Jewish people faces immense challenges in the coming decades, but I think the greatest of all is the preservation of Jewish identity. Not the arcane, regressive version I encountered at the age of thirteen, which discriminates against women and LGBTQ+ people. I am referring instead to the Jewish identity in its most basic and vital aspects—connection to the Jewish people, and an understanding of why it’s important to be Jewish at all.

I look at my Israeli friends: Most of them are ultra-secular, completely disconnected from Judaism. They won’t go to shul on holidays, some of them won’t even join a Seder on Passover. Their weddings will surely be officiated by an Orthodox rabbi, because “that’s how it’s done.” But they won’t understand the text or ceremony, and it won’t bother them that they don’t. They’re Jews because they live in Israel, but in substance, their identity or connection to Jewish identity means little to them.

At the same time, I look at my American friends—educators and rabbis who were trained to transmit Jewish knowledge to future generations. The sad truth is that their audience is dwindling. Fewer and fewer Jews in North America understand why it’s important to be Jewish.

In Israel, the challenge is clear: Everyone here is taught from birth that Judaism is something binary—either you lead an Orthodox Jewish life, or you choose secularism, utterly devoid of Judaism. There’s really no middle ground: Even Israeli traditionalism (“masorti”) is defined through an Orthodox lens.

When we are never exposed to synagogues that don’t discriminate against women; when we have no public transportation on Shabbat; when we’re not allowed to have hametz in hospitals during Passover, even discreetly; when they tell us how to hold funerals, Bar Mitzvahs and weddings; when Jewish identity is expressed through compulsion—how can anyone who believes in freedom and equality feel close to it? It is in the Jewish state that we are most forcibly pushed away from Judaism; it is through the Jewish state that our already small Jewish people is made even smaller.

Meanwhile in America, things are no less complicated. Just as we in Israel are pushing Jews away, in America the Jews themselves are pulling away. The sad fact is that whereas the synagogue was once the central institution for cultivating Jewish identity, few Jews still attend; “Jews of No Religion” are becoming increasingly prominent in America. Jewish education in America, whether day-school or after-school programs, is often prohibitively expensive. Parents feel less connected to their Jewish identity, less connected to their community or synagogue, less connected to their faith—and their children even less so.

No less troubling is that fewer and fewer American Jews, especially among the younger generation, feel a connection to Israel. This connection, however, is crucial for global Jewry not just because of Zionism, but because Israel has been a major factor in preserving and building Jewish identity in the Diaspora over the last three-quarters of a century. The fact that the younger generation is growing apart from Israel means one more anchor of identity will weaken in the coming generations.

Of course, after October 7 all this became more complex. Alongside the many horrors there came a miracle: Our brothers and sisters around the world mobilized to support Israel, in an incredible display of responsibility and solidarity. Within the first month, it is estimated, nearly a billion dollars were raised. Since then, the number of American Jews also taking part in communities and Jewish activities has been rising, and in Israel, too, there’s a rise in the number of young people wanting to connect with “something Jewish.”

The danger, however, is that this may be fleeting. The anti-religious and anti-peoplehood trends in the United States are still felt in liberal spaces; in Israel, Orthodox compulsion directs young Jews to participate in only a very specific kind of Judaism. You can’t build a strong liberal Jewish identity on the back of a single catastrophe; without a coherent set of values, without a strong connection to Israel, without a developed and unified ideology—this storm may only serve as a temporary cover for our endemic weakness.

Moreover, October 7 proved that the challenge of religious-national extremism is as strong as ever. In order to survive as a religious movement, we need to have a response. What is our liberal-Jewish answer to Islamist-nationalist violence? What are the limits of our liberalism? How far can we push the envelope in a way that preserves our identity both as liberals and as Jews?

***

At the heart of this crisis lies the fact that, even after nearly two centuries of liberal Judaism, we still haven’t figured out how to fashion a unified heart in our liberal-Jewish identity: a uniform set of values, and possibly a uniform set of practices. In the Orthodox camp, it’s clear who’s in, who’s out, and how to be in or out. These principles are discriminatory and hurtful, and I don’t want to live by their light. But it’s easy to preserve Jewish identity when you pray three times a day and marry only other Jews, because you’re obligated to. It’s easy to stay Jewish when others are defining “Jewish” for you.

We have chosen a harder path. We believe more in the journey than in the destination, and as such we have neither the ability nor the desire to tell others how to live. Free choice and individualism are the fundamental basis of our Judaism. We have taken it upon ourselves to be tested always and constantly—so that people will follow our path out of choice rather than inertia or compulsion.

In Israel, however, this approach is destined to fail. The lack of a separation of church and state results in a built-in weakness, and what we offer is insufficiently compelling to compete with the Orthodox propaganda aimed at us. Most secular Israeli Jews are not only unfamiliar with liberal Judaism, they have been indoctrinated into antagonism. In America, on the other hand, the situation is no better; the younger generation distances itself from Judaism. For them, too, what we offer is not sufficiently compelling to preserve the centers of Jewish strength—synagogues and communities.

As early as the foundational Pittsburgh Platform of 1885, “justice” and “righteousness” formed a central part of the liberal-Jewish theology, which with time took on the broader framing of Tikkun Olam. To be clear, Tikkun Olam is rightfully a central basis of our liberal-Jewish identity. But there are additional bases which we have neglected to a significant degree. Today, they seem to be missing in our effort to forge a liberal-Jewish identity that can stand the test of time.

What is to be done? At the level of ideas, we need to draft more explicit principles and to communicate them publicly—a vision along with policy, which express themselves in praxis that affects ordinary people: equality for women, for LGBTQ+ people, for minorities, free choice and free belief—these must remain central to our outlook.

But we need to understand what exactly are the core values that stand behind these principles. Over the generations, our agenda has evolved: At first, liberal Jews like Rabbi David Einhorn fought for an end to slavery. Later we fought for the rights of immigrants and workers, and after that for the civil rights of African-Americans, and later for gay rights. Today we fight against the structural injustices across society as a whole.

On the one hand, evolution is necessary. History changes, and with it change the evils we face. The mandate of the Pittsburgh Platform, “to solve, on the basis of justice and righteousness, the problems presented by the contrasts and evils of the present organization of society,” must be preserved. But on the other hand, we have seen that when we run after every cause without testing it against a defined set of values, we risk confusion, enmity, and sometimes even the enabling of antisemitism.

***

Our vision, therefore, must place a greater emphasis on boundaries—not to exclude, but to preserve. These boundaries ought to be very broad, but they have to be finite. In the American context, it is essential that we demonstrate greater commitment to Israel, the Jewish people, and the Hebrew language.

We must find new paths to reach our audience. Though I truly hope this is not the case, we may have to admit that the golden age of the American synagogue is over. In Israel, we may have to admit that we’ll never break through just by building new congregations. We must pull together to rethink the question of how to reach our natural audiences anew.

We must also educate: In Israel, to expose the younger generation, from early years, to the third way, the liberal-Jewish way; in America, to show young people the blessings and the importance of peoplehood. And we must find innovative ways to connect liberal Jewish youths in Israel with those in America. This will require resources, and above all taking initiative and responsibility for our people.

The challenge is immense, and our opponents are many. From Jewish anti-Zionists, who do not understand that Jewishness is based also on solidarity; to so many Orthodox Jews who want to reject millions of Jews because one of their grandparents was, God forbid, not-entirely-certifiably Jewish. And those are just the rivals from within.

It is complicated to build a liberal-Jewish future. But we must try—if not for the future of the Jewish people, then at least for the thirteen-year-old boy who just wanted to learn something about his own heritage.