The tradition, as I have done before, is to write on the 4th of July — especially on the semiquincentennial, the 250th anniversary of this country’s independence — about the hopes and ideals upon which this nation was founded; perhaps about the complications and shortcomings in the lived reality of that American story, but ultimately about the optimism that can get us through any adversity. And I want to say: I do feel all of that. No matter our challenging circumstances, I do feel that we, as a collective, have the capacity to weather any storm and to build a brighter future.
But I don’t want to sugarcoat the challenges we face.
Writing as a rabbi, I’ll focus for a moment on the Jewish place in the 250 years of the American story.
It is quite possibly the case that nowhere else in the 2,500 years of Jewish diasporic experience have Jews thrived and been welcomed into society as much as we have in the United States. Those 2,500 years encompass the millennia during which Jewish communities have lived outside of our ancient and ancestral homeland, striving to foster Jewish living, learning, and culture.
This doesn’t mean there hasn’t been antisemitism, or barriers to entry for Jews here; of course there have. Books have been written about it. The experience of the transatlantic liner, the MS St. Louis, carrying more than 900 Jewish refugees from Germany in 1939, only to be denied entry by the United States and be sent back to Europe, is but one particularly heartbreaking example.
That said, the level of Jewish prosperity and participation in civic society in the United States has been profound. As Jews, we have simply not experienced this level of sustained success and security anywhere else in our diaspora history. To offer just a few supporting points, the U.S. Jewish population is about 8 million, making it one of the two largest Jewish communities in the world, alongside Israel. On average, Jews in the United States have higher levels of education and income than Americans overall. Nearly six in ten Jewish adults are college graduates, including 28% with postgraduate degrees, compared with about three in ten U.S. adults overall and 11% with postgraduate degrees. We have access to civic democracy. Article VI of the U.S. Constitution says that “no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office or public trust under the United States,” and we Jews avail ourselves of that opportunity. At least 30 members of the U.S. Congress are Jewish, representing about 6% of the body, compared with just 2% of the overall population.
In a sense, that is what begs the question: Is the anomalousness of the American Jewish experience thus far actually a new normal, a roadmap for sustainable Jewish prosperity in the diaspora, or has it indeed been anomalous and effectively unsustainable?
We witness legitimate debates about Israel, the future of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and the causes and effects, often devastating, of recent wars in the region. We alsowitness what the former Soviet dissident, Natan Sharansky (who spent nine years in a Russian gulag) called the three D’s of antisemitism: delegitimization, demonization, and double standards applied to Israel, in disproportion to its role in the world and in the American experience.
But the capacity for engagement remains high. By no means need we cede space on matters that affect our community, as Michael Koplow argues — on matters of antisemitism, or on the broad array of issues that affect Jews, our neighbors, and our loved ones. Determined engagement on the place of the Jewish community in American life remains a promising path.
Of course, by no means is the question of Jewish safety, security, and prosperity in America the only metric for whether “the American experiment” is succeeding. There’s certainly much to celebrate about the American experience. I continue to believe that we, as a country, are capable of healthy civic discourse. I believe it’s a blessing, in comparison to some chapters of human history, that I’m able to write these words — as a matter of free speech, as a matter of technological capacities to exchange ideas, and as a matter of the capacity to question the direction of the country.
And there is much that evokes deep sadness and a sense of injustice: significant inequality across race and socioeconomic status remains; immigrants are demonized and walled out; and questions abound about the fairness of our democratic systems.
Still, on the whole, a central understanding of Jewish life, as represented by our invoking of the Exodus from Egypt twice each day in our liturgy, is our understanding that we (however you understand “we” in this circumstance) have been here before, and we can make it through again. We always have.
I celebrate the history that brought us to this moment, even amidst its challenges; I embrace the present and our instinct of l’chayim — to life! — even amidst its hardships; and I remain hopeful for the future, even while knowing the path will never be easy.
