Timothy Stoner

A LIFE APART (Why Jewish Fundamentalism is thriving in America)

Posted on 21. Mar, 2010 by Tim Stoner in Blog, Culture, Essays, Movie Recommendations

I watched this marvelous documentary on Hasidism in America-A Life Apart. It was directed by Menachem Daum and Oren Rudavesky in 1997. The documentary’s most haunting image was its first.

The Bobov Hasidim Rebbe’s great grand-daughter is getting married. An entire street in Brooklyn has been closed off for the occasion. The veiled bride, resplendent in white from head to toe, appears and the cantors’ voices break out in a stately, anthemic chant. A solitary voice, in arresting tones, announces her entrance: “Blessed is she who has now arrived.” Seven times she marches around the groom who is bobbing in prayer as he hold his hand over his eyes, so he will not look on her too early.

Then something magical happens.

The one voice is joined by two others and they are now no longer in unison. They are singing a blessing. Their voices rise and fall, each one wanting to outdo the other, not impelled by pride but an overwhelming, exuberant joy. The cantors have become caught up in something that is too large for them. It is something holy and transcendent. It makes you want to weep. The three parts break apart like the brilliant, cascading explosion of a Roman Candle on July Fourth and hang in the air, held up by something you imagine can barely make out. Ecstasy. Simple, ethereal, unpolished, yet so real you can taste and smell it. God is here somewhere, you just know it and He is blessing this young man and his beautiful bride who are covenanting themselves to each other for life.

Baal Shem Tov was its founder- between 1700 and 1760. He emphasized three virtues: prayer, joy and charity. Instead of teaching Judaism with a stick–“you must do this or God will punish you” the Baal Shem taught that the worship of God was meant to be a joyful, passionate encounter. Whereas sadness creates a barrier between man and God, he believed that it was joy and gladness that opened the gates of heaven. Through simple stories he conveyed his teachings in ways that illiterate peasants could easily understand. Baal Shem Tov launched a movement that moved away from the intellect as primary to a religion that encouraged an exuberant and ecstatic experience of God.

Not surprisingly, it was vehemently rejected by traditional Judaism, and the Hasidim were excommunicated and ordered to be persecuted. They disagreed with its enthusiastic worship, its emphasis on the miraculous and its elevation of prayer over study. The rabbis also distrusted its mystical and Messianic bent. The earthy joyfulness which contrasted radically with the scholarly intellectualism of traditional Rabbinic Judaism found broad appeal. It soon became the dominant form of Judaism in Eastern Europe.

In the documentary a story is told that underscores its haunting attraction. It was Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, Baal Shem Tov was praying. He stopped abruptly and soon the congregation grew restless. Suddenly, an illiterate young shepherd, unable to restrain himself, pulled out a flute and played a single heartfelt note. The congregation was scandalized at this breach of decorum but, as the sound died out, the Rebbe began praying as though nothing had happened. When asked about it he said, “I sensed the gates of heaven were closed to our prayers, but that one, pure note, sounded by the shepherd boy, pierced through the heavenly gates and only then were our prayers permitted to follow.”

The Hasids came to the United States not for the American Dream but to practice and to be what they had always been and practiced. Menachem Daum, one of the directors, explains that well into the project they realized that the documentary was not really about Hasids in America at all, but about Hasidism versus America. The Hasids do not consider themselves American, nor do they identify with Israel. “Their primary identity is the worship of the Lord” explains Professor Arthur Hertzberg of New York University. H recites the warning of the Rabbi Grodzensky in 1939 as the Nazis were threatening to swallow Europe. Here we are in grave danger to our bodies, he wrote, but in America, “you are in greater danger to your souls.”

The fundamental antipathy between this religious sect and America’s core values is illustrated by a story of a Rebbe who had just emigrated from Europe. He walked out onto the side-walk in New York, in his traditional black robe and fur hat. A moderate Jew came up to him and said, “Rebbe, you’re going to ruin America for us.” The Rebbe responded, “I have not yet ruined America for you, but I will.”

The basic temptation that the Hasidim had to overcome was the stunning breadth of opportunities available to them in America. They had to make the extremely difficult decision to deny their children these cultural and economic benefits. “Here they were in the feast of America and had to decide that they were not going to enjoy the feast that for the first time was readily available to them,” comments Professor Hertzberg. Since higher education in America is based on a secular relativism which questions all truth claims, they would not send their children to university. This meant that their children were not going to be doctors, lawyers, or MBAs from Harvard. This meant that they and their families would remain poor, or at best middle class.

As we were watching the documentary, Patty and I were both struck by how incredibly cute were the Hasidic three-year olds prominently featured crossing the ritual threshold from “little boys” to “quite nice, bigger boys.” This is when they receive their first hair cut. The front locks and the back and sides are shorn except for the distinctive, long strands next to the ears. In public, he will now wear the yarmulke, and when he is older, the shreimel, a broad-brimmed, black, fur-trimmed hat. The “nice, bigger boy” has now been given entrée to the exquisite privilege of learning the Hebrew alphabet in preparation for a life-time of studying the Torah (pronounced “Towra”).

But first there is another equally important ritual. After the hair is cut and the child shakes the hands of all who’ve participated in his rite of passage, his father wraps him in a prayer shawl and carries him out of the house like a little mummy. He is driven to the Yeshiva, in the dark, where he will begin his studies. This covering up has to do with the belief that when one embarks on a holy quest the forces of impurity do their utmost to interfere. The folds of the prayer shawl protect him from these forces. He is now ready to be taught the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. With each holy letter pronounced obediently, the three-year-old eats a little candy—so that learning the Torah will always be equated with sweetness. That little nugget would be worth the entire price of the DVD had I purchased it rather than renting it from the public library. Mostly, though, the documentary left us feeling a bit sad and perplexed—so much joy, so much passionate devotion, so much dedicated, disciplined and costly obedience—so much to be admired—so much to emulate. Yet, there had been no sentimental glide over its real deficits: a subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, spiritual elitism, an implicit superiority. There is that virtually inevitable disdain, that tendency to hitch up the bottoms of the long black coats to avoid being contaminated by the cultural pollution.

For the most part it is not personal. Neither is it aggressive, reactionary or unkind like other religious, fundamentalist movements tend to be. “We don’t have anything against you personally. We have something against you culturally. We don’t want to share in your way of life. We find it (spiritually) dangerous.”

In public, the men are in a constant state of offense because of the immodest dress of the women they must pass in the street. So, they avert the eyes. They are grieved by the impurity that assaults them from magazine covers, media and sensual clothing of those outside their community. So, they venture out only when it is essential and prohibit their young from watching television or going to movies. Dresses are at least four inches below the knee because they believe that a woman should not draw a man’s attention to her body. What should be attractive is her inner life of beauty. It is her character of nobility, purity and compassion that should be attractive, not her sexual charms. These are reserved purposefully for her husband who will enjoy them joyfully.

As the older girls walk the street there is this strength and confidence that exudes from them. These are young women who are centered. They have a solid sense of being, of belonging. They walk with purpose and the kind of aloof dignity that you see in the aristocracy. It really isn’t arrogance, it is–to use an older word–self-possession. They are not adrift in a chaotic world of brokenness, confusion and faddish competition. They are not desperately looking to be affirmed, to be told “you are so hot!” They have quiet grace that speaks ten thousand words. 

What is their highest aspiration? To be a mother with many children, all of whom love God and keep His commandments. They are educated for their role as Jewish mothers, a role that is regarded by the community as more essential than that of the father. That is why they are excused from prayer and Torah study in the synagogue. In order to accomplish this task, the principal of the Ger Girl’s School explains that “We try to keep them separate from those outside influences that would damage the purity of their souls.” 

“Who says running Westinghouse is important? a Hasidic wife asks. “In a 100 years who’s going to remember who ran Westinghouse? But your children and family are a legacy forever.” When she was in the hospital she watched a little TV. She was shocked she says. “I am surprised that women can watch TV all day and not become mentally ill.”

The documentary answers the crucial question: how did this radically counter-cultural movement manage to not only survive but thrive in secular America? The reason? Because of the strength and dedication of their Rebbes–those supremely focused, fatherly, charismatic and courageous leaders who devoted themselves completely to passing on the fire. They were and remain the glue that bonds the entire community. The Hasids speak of their Rebbes with a tenor of love and respect, mixed with awe, that is remarkable. Rather than idolizing morally bankrupt sports and music stars, they and their children admire men whose lives are actually worth emulating.

This led me to wonder: where are the Protestant Rebbes? Perhaps our growing drift and decreasing virility can be traced directly to this vacuum. Hasidism exemplifies the impact and necessity of godly spiritual fathers who combine single-minded zeal, gentle but indomitable authority, with a passionate, unembarrassed devotion to God. The Hasids have their Rebbes, the Catholics have their Pope—we, Protestants, have neither. And, as the center disintegrates, this historic deficit is becoming increasingly troubling and increasingly damaging.

Another reason to lean toward Rome.  

Tags: culture war, Fundamentalism, Hasids, holy, Jews, joy, Judaism, leadership, modesty, passion, personal encounter, Pope, Rebbes, separation