Judaism is, at its core, a tradition of thought and debate. Many of its central texts were not simply handed down by God, but discussed, written, and preserved by his people.
In the story of the Tanur Shel Achnai, we famously declare “Lo Bashamayim Hee,” or “It is not in heaven,” affirming that Jewish law and interpretation are entrusted to human reasoning, rather than determined by divine intervention. Volume upon volume of Jewish texts preserve the fierce debates of our greatest ancient scholars, whose arguments with one another shaped transformative developments in Judaism that continue to endure today.
As iron sharpens iron, each generation has refined the next, deepening our capacity for philosophical thought and for making decisions rooted in both tradition and intellect.
Throughout my life, I have watched Jewish leaders carry forward this practice. As a child sitting on my father’s lap during high holiday services, I only loosely grasped the sweeping philosophical ideas expressed by Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis at Valley Beth Shalom Day School. Over time, I came to better understand the depth and power of the sermons delivered by his successor, Rabbi Ed Feinstein.
Their ideas captivated and inspired me to think more deeply about my own Jewish tradition and history.
But behind that fascination grew quieter feelings of confusion, frustration, and pain, all catalyzed by a seemingly simple question:
If the Jewish people have always been so deeply rooted in intellect and human understanding, why have we so often remained vulnerable to discrimination and hatred? In other words, if we are so thoughtful, why have we been exposed to so much pain?
The answer, I’ve come to believe, is not that Jewish intellectualism has failed us, but that it has remained confined to thought and debate rather than action. Rabbis have always been able to inspire great ideas, but inspiration or awe has never been enough to effectively protect the Jewish world, sustain a culture, or shape a brighter future.
As a people, we have at times struggled to translate the philosophical ideals of Jewish peoplehood into tangible reality. It is only with the establishment of the State of Israel that these abstract values have been fully transformed from ideas into a lived experience. In our Zionist state, the principles of Jewish peoplehood and self-determination are embedded into a physically thriving nation. It is far from perfect, but it is tangible and felt. That is the beauty of a Jewish state.
However, within the Jewish diaspora, we have often lagged in our ability to concretize our ideals, particularly when it comes to confronting antisemitism. In the aftermath of October 7th, the fight against Jewish hatred has become one of the most widely discussed concerns among rabbis and Jewish leaders across communities.
Unfortunately, despite this surge in rhetoric, there remains a clear absence of coordinated action. When one of the world’s largest Jewish communities, New York, faced waves of antisemitic and anti-Zionist demonstrations on Columbia University’s campus, where were our collective voices?
As similar incidents continued to unfold across college campuses, was our response bold, public, and morally responsible? Or was it confined to sermons delivered from behind the safety of a podium?
While many organizations and individuals have taken meaningful action, these efforts often remain fragmented and lack a unifying framework that can mobilize Jewish communities around a common set of actions.
Now, as war in Israel continues, it is my belief that many religious Jewish communities have yet to apply their principles of fighting Jewish hatred into effective strategies. Has it always been this way? It is difficult to say. But, our long history of suffering and expulsion seems to suggest that in most cases, it has been.
Perhaps it is too much to ask of our clergy and rabbis to both inspire us with philosophical ideals and, at the same time, organize the communal action needed to bring those ideals to life.
For that reason, I believe that Jewish communities, from the smallest of Havurot (small communities) to the largest of cathedrals should adopt a new role in their various hierarchical or loosely fitted leadership structures.
This role can be called the “concretizer.”
The concretizer’s role in a Jewish community will be to fully grasp the philosophical ideals expressed by rabbis or other thought leaders and translate them into concrete events, gatherings, or ceremonies that put those ideals into action. The concretizer will be in charge of mobilizing their communities to take part in these programs.
In the context of combating antisemitism or anti-Zionism, the concretizer would take the principles articulated by a rabbi and turn them into sets of actionable steps. For example, after a sermon on rising antisemitism, a concretizer might organize a community-wide teach-in, coordinate transportation to a state capitol advocacy day, and partner with nearby synagogues for a joint public demonstration.
More than just a translator of lofty philosophical ideals, the concretizer will serve as the vital link between the wisdom of Jewish leadership and meaningful engagement with the broader world. In doing so, the concretizer will draw on the principles of Tikkun Olam and Or Lagoyim, applying Jewish values to initiatives that strengthen and serve both their local non-Jewish communities and the wider society.
Additionally, concretizers across the Jewish world should maintain regular contact, especially when they are close in proximity. To maximize their efficacy, they should collaborate across communities to organize events that meaningfully translate the values taught in our synagogues into action.
As the role of the concretizer spreads across Jewish communities, participation in the programs they organize should come to be recognized as central to Jewish communal life. It is only with this shift in culture that the role will become effective.
Perhaps my proposed “concretizer” will not be taken seriously by any communities. As always, many will resist change. But one thing is certain, something must be done. Sooner or later, one generation must rise to the challenge, evolving Jewish communal life in a way that places our values into action and says “Dayeinu” (enough) to injustice and hatred we face.
I hope the concretizer will not remain merely an idea, but become the bridge between thought and action, the symbolic foot the Jewish people firmly plant in the world, standing for our values and our resolve.
