One People

Many of the traditional texts that are employed to discuss the notion of Jewish unity and togetherness highlight ideas that are extremely powerful. A shared covenant, a call to be “a light unto the nations” a “kingdom of priests,” and a “holy nation;” notions of shared responsibility, shared pain and shared purpose. Indeed, many of these ideas are so potent, one wonders why our oneness is in such trouble nowadays.

Because the truth is it is in trouble. Denominational differences, political differences, ideological differences, geographical differences, cultural differences are all becoming so pronounced that sociologists of world Jewry increasingly claim that Jewish peoplehood is in a serious state of decline. The reasons for this are many and varied, but two in particular stand out.

First, we simply don’t trust the concept of collectiveness in the way we may have done in the past. There were just too many examples in the 20th century when collective and unifying ideals were used to exclude others, discriminate against others, and, in the worst excesses, commit genocide. Second, and partly in response to the first point, we live in an age of rampant individualism. We prioritise the right to self-fulfilment, to pursue our own dreams, to be true to ourselves, and to be free from any ideas that seek to coercively impose themselves upon us.

Yet the ideas of oneness, unity and community are absolutely central to Judaism. Judaism is not a solitary pursuit – it cannot be done alone. And the moment we embrace the notion of the collective, we inevitably have to compromise somewhat on our individual freedom. So how do we live with both individual freedom and collective responsibility? How to we square the circle and live both as individuals and as members of a collective?

In thinking about this question, I have been drawn to a remarkable text from Pesikta D’Rav Kahana, a midrashic tome dating back to the fifth or sixth century CE. Discussing events at Mount Sinai, it writes the following:

"How is it possible that 600,000 Israelites stood at the foot of Sinai and one Voice addressed an entire people, yet every individual was convinced that the Voice was addressed to him personally? Rabbi Levy answers, 'The Holy One appeared to them as a mirror. A thousand might look into the mirror, but it will reflect each of them. Do not marvel at this, for God spoke to each person according to that person's capacity. Do not wonder at this, for when the manna came down from heaven, each and every one tasted it according to their capacity – the young, the old, the sick, the healthy. So too with the Voice of God: 'the Voice of the Lord in its strength' means the Voice is heard according to the power of each individual. Do not be mistaken because you hear many voices. Know that I am He who was and is One and the same.'"

The suggestion appears to be that, even though everyone present heard exactly the same words, and even though, according to the account in the Torah they responded by saying “n’aseh v-nishma” ("we will do and we will obey"), each individual actually heard something slightly different. Even at Sinai, even at that foundational moment in Jewish history, there were differences between one Jew’s experience and another’s, between what one person heard, understood and committed to, and what another heard, understood and committed to. Yet every one of those interpretations was authentic, real and true.

Fast forward to 2010, and we are comprised of 13 million people, living throughout the world, each of us with a different understanding of Judaism’s core message based on the ideas and values we have received, experienced and understood. Yet, every one of those interpretations is surely legitimate, as it is based on reality as comprehended and internalised by each one of us. As the midrash claims, each one of us has heard the voice of Judaism according to our capacity – and perhaps opportunity – to do so.

If we could adopt this view, we might be able to rebuild our sense of shared responsibility and shared purpose based upon it. Such a position would claim that every Jew’s understanding of Judaism contains within it an element of that One Voice that spoke to us at Sinai. If we remove ourselves from the conversation, we remove a piece of the Divine word; if we silence others eager to participate in the conversation, we do likewise. It is, therefore, the dialogue between us – the imperative to share our own thoughts and to listen intently, respectfully and openly to those of others – that will allow us to genuinely reconstruct the Voice of God, and to hear most authentically the command that emanated out from that place all those millennia ago.


(This is a d'var torah given at the recent Limmud conference as part of its "Chavruta" programme on the theme of "One.")