By Rabbi Matt Derrenbacher
Rabbi Matt Derrenbacher
On the Shabbat before Rosh HaShanah, we read:
You are standing here today, all of you, before your G-d, the Holy One of Blessing: you communal leaders, you elders, you officials; every Israelite. You children, you women, and the stranger within your community, from woodchopper to water drawer… (Deuteronomy 29:9-10).
During the Hebrew month of Elul, we are invited to engage in the process and rituals of teshuvah, of returning to who we are and who we want to become in the coming year. So, on the last Shabbat before the New Year, when we gather, we are reminded that teshuvah is both an individual and communal act and aspiration. The more honest and true to ourselves we can become, the more fully we can show up when we build relationships in community.
Unfortunately, in our modern secular society, communities have become increasingly fragmented, and as a result, more insular. Like secular society, Jewish community and Peoplehood are not immune to fragmentation. The Torah recognizes the potential for communal fragmentation, so it reminds us, time and again, to build community: a place where we can recognize and celebrate difference. Community is a place to call home, to feel a sense of belonging, and to be invited to grow alongside one another. Martin Buber, in his work, Between Man and Man, suggests that when we commit to building intentional community, we are committing to building a life lived toward one another. This living toward one another, then, serves as an act of rebellion against our societal tendency to live against one another. Kehilah is our Jewish rebellion against fragmentation.
One of the things I love most about Judaism is that we don’t have a single, centralized power or set of dogmas. We have Torah, halachah, rabbinic and scholarly authority, but we don’t have one rabbi who is akin to the position of a Pope. It is up to each individual Jew and each Jewish community to wrestle with the texts and traditions entrusted to us. The Talmud and other rabbinic literature show us that there has never been just one way to express ourselves Jewishly in the world. For example, the machloket between the schools of Shammai and Hillel preserves Shammai’s teachings, even when the halachah generally sides with Hillel. Rabbinic literature doesn’t simply erase the voices that do not become normative; it preserves them, allowing generations of Jews to continue wrestling with competing interpretations and practices. Our tradition reminds us that Jewish communities have different minhagim, traditions, and ways of living into their Torah.
Difference becomes most apparent in relationship, and Buber asserts that there are two different ways of experiencing relationality: ‘I-It’ and ‘I-Thou.’ The ‘I-It’ mode describes a relationship that is essentially instrumental and transactional, where we approach the other as an object to be used, measured, or managed. We stand apart from it, cataloging its qualities and weighing its usefulness to us. The ‘I-Thou’ mode, in stark contrast, encounters the other not as an object, but as a whole person, directly and without agenda. It is the difference between knowing aboutsomeone and encountering them.
Our secular world is increasingly pushing us toward the ‘I-It’ model of relationality: cashiers are being replaced by kiosk screens, face-to-face conversations are replaced by online posting and commenting, and the list goes on. Innovation and efficiency are important parts of how we continue to grow and develop our modern world, but the danger comes when our increasingly frequent encounters with ‘It’ teach us to turn ‘Thou’ into ‘It.’ Social media encapsulates that transition perfectly. People write inflammatory and hateful things online to an ‘It,’ things that they would never imagine saying to a ‘Thou’ standing directly in front of them. Living in intentional community is a direct rebellion against casting the other as ‘It,’ allowing us to reclaim our humanity.
The Talmud teaches us that all Israel is responsible for one another (Shavuot 39a). To live in intentional Jewish community, then, is to choose to stand with one another even when we don’t practice in the same ways, believe the same things, or understand Torah through the same lens. It is to choose to struggle with Torah and engage with mitzvot, however each of us understands and lives out the idea of mitzvah, while recognizing that the person beside us in our community is engaged in that sacred struggle, too.
As we prepare to enter the holiest time of the year, it is my prayer that we can stand together, physically, spiritually, or both, in a way that helps us accept, celebrate, and love one another. In doing so, we can continue building the kind of Jewish community where everyone, regardless of style of religious practice or cultural expression, can feel at home. May 5787 be a year of renewed hope, health, and the joyful expression of Jewish life as we choose to live toward one another. Shanah Tovah!
Matt Derrenbacher is Assistant Rabbi at The Temple.
