America’s Bicentennial: A Torah Perspective
In this column, we dive into the rich history of Jewish Life, the precursor to Jewish Action. Published by the OU from the 1940s to the 1980s, Jewish Life offers a unique window into the vibrant evolution of American Jewish life during the 20th century.
The article below appeared in the Fall 1976 issue of Jewish Life.
The Liberty Bell in Philadelphia will be viewed by millions during this Bicentennial year, as the United States of America celebrates its two-hundredth birthday. Most will read the inscription on it: “Proclaim liberty throughout the land, to all the inhabitants thereof.” Few will know its source—Seifer Va’yikra, the Book of Leviticus. The founding fathers, steeped in the Bible, chose this phrase because they felt the idea of liberty and freedom had its roots in the Hebrew Bible. “The Hebraic mortar cemented the foundations of America Democracy”—a sentiment voiced by the 19th century Irish historian, William Lecky—would have brought a nod of agreement from the gentlemen gathered in Philadelphia two hundred years ago. They may not have been as extravagant in recognizing their debt of gratitude as Heinrich Heine who wrote: “Since the Exodus, freedom has always spoken with a Hebrew accent,” yet they did choose these words of the Bible to express their dream of liberty and vision of human freedom.
The Roots of Liberty
As Americans we join in the celebration of the Bicentennial. As Jews we should examine the common roots of liberty we share with our fellow citizens. As Orthodox Jews we should define the concepts of liberty and freedom from the Torah perspective and compare them to the original ideas of the early statesmen and political theorists of 1776.
The first idea we will examine is “hakoras ha’tov,” the debt of gratitude we owe to the United States of America and the importance of recognizing and appreciating the benefits we enjoy. The second concept we will examine is “nisayon,” the test and the challenge to which we are put when living in such a free and open society. And we will then contemplate our role as the “Eternal Stranger,” even when we enjoy full rights and opportunity as citizens of the United States.
The word for ‘liberty’ in the Hebrew text inscribed on the liberty Bell is “d’ror,” an uncommon word, as compared to its synonym “chairus,” which appears quite frequently in Biblical, Talmudic, and other classical Jewish sources. The Talmud (Rosh Hashonah 9:) states: “all agree that d’ror is an expression of freedom.” The etymology is traced to the word “dayar,” to reside: “One who is free to reside where he wishes and transport merchandise throughout the state at will.” Freedom of movement is the yardstick of liberty as the Sages understand it, a concept shared by political thinkers since earliest times and embraced by the early American colonists. Ibn Ezra, in his commentary on Torah, links the word d’ror to that of a “small bird which sings only when free but when captive refuses food and pines away,” a translation which anticipates the famous “Give me liberty or give me death!” The bird called d’ror is further described by the Sages as one that accepts no mastery, cannot tolerate confinement, and rejects control.
Freedom and Restraint
Attractive as freedom and liberty may be to man, all intelligent people recognize the fragile character of freedom and the ever-present danger of liberty deteriorating into license. Both freedom and liberty are defined as “an absence of restraint, a release from compulsion” and “the power to choose what one does or says,” a power which can be abused unless there is an inner force of restraint, an element of discipline and a spirit of responsibility.
Since the Exodus, Judaism has recognized the need for a sober, careful approach to this great gift of chairus, while resisting its intoxication. This is manifest in the drinking of wine on the Seder night, when we celebrate the Festival of Freedom. We drink with order and moderation teaching ourselves to be disciplined and contain our spirit of freedom.
Judaism’s sensitivity to the potential dangers inherent in undisciplined freedom, was profoundly appreciated by the architects of American freedom. There is a parallel spirit of prudence and an understanding of the imperative of restraint and control both in Torah Hashkofah and in the classical American attitude. The words of Edmund Burke, the eighteenth century English statesman and political philosopher would find an echo of affirmation in the two communities with which we identify. Burke speaks of the need to put chains on one’s appetites if we are to insure that our liberty and freedom not be transformed into license and anarchy. “Society cannot exist unless a controlling power upon the will and appetite is placed somewhere, and the less of it there is within, the more there must be of it without. It is ordained in the eternal constitution of things, that men of intemperate habits cannot be free. Their passions forge their fetters.”
The Decalogue and Natural Rights
These eloquent sentiments are a remarkable reflection of the Mishnah in Avos which states, regarding the Decalogue: “Read not that they were graven (charus) upon the tablets, but rather that it was freedom (chairus), for no man is free but he who occupies himself with Torah.” Ultimate freedom is the free acceptance of Torah, of G-d’s commandments, the discipline of the Almighty. These are the controlling powers upon will and appetite of which Burke speaks—the true guarantors of freedom and liberty. Perhaps the more thoughtful men who dream of a truly free society—yet one that would be responsible and disciplined under law—sensed that the origins of liberty were indeed to be found in the Bible and the Talmud.
Not only in the realm of controlling freedom and disciplining liberty did the Founding Fathers reflect Torah concepts, but also in another important area. Modern day political scientists constantly stress that a democratic society draws its authority from the people and the rights of all men are protected by legislation and the State. In the early period of this nation, however, our leaders, imbued by a religious spirit, understood that it is not in the hands of man alone to grant freedom but that there is a higher authority which dictates the dignity of all men. The warm wise words of George Washington in his celebrated letter to the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island, certainly reveal his awareness of the character of liberty, as Jews have always understood it. “It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it were by the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens.”
Man’s Inherent Rights
These sentiments must strike a responsive chord in the minds and hearts of Jews, who can readily appreciate the concept that man’s inherent rights to freedom come from G-d and not from the toleration of man. That Jews, by and large, accepted the charge given to them to behave as good citizens is a matter of historic fact. To conform to the American society’s standards and civic conduct was not difficult for in many ways they corresponded to our basic values. The work ethic, the merit system, and the idea that rights carry with them duties—all basic early American principles—evoked an enthusiastic chorus of consent and approval from the Jewish community. These were all values cherished by Jews, and therefore welcomed as part of the fabric of American society.
In general the United States proved to be a country functioning in a political climate conducive to compromise and conciliation, inhabited by people basically decent and fair, a society fundamentally moral, lawful—and above all, one that has no fixed classes, no aristocracy, and no blatant bias sanctioned by the government. True, discrimination has been practiced, certain doors of opportunity were closed to Jews, and the United States has not been immune to the virus of antisemitism; but compared to other countries and nations, we Jews have rarely, if ever, been granted such freedom, liberty and opportunity as we have enjoyed in this country during the past two hundred years. The Jewish People, destined to spend the major part of its history as a nation in exile, learned very early how correct Jeremiah was when he admonished them during the Babylonian exile: “Seek the peace of the city and pray unto the Lord for it, for in the peace thereof shall you have peace.” Upon this statement the Mishnah bases its laws: “Pray for the welfare of the government,” an admonition which Jews guided by Torah have always followed, even when the government has been a difficult and oppressive one, for it was still preferable to anarchy and lawlessness. How much more so when the element of hakoras ha’tov is present, as is the case of the Jewish community in the United States.
Our Sages are emphatic in teaching us to be grateful, and to express our thanks to those who have been good to us. It is sinful to be an ingrate; lack of appreciation is a serious transgression, unethical and inexcusable. “Do not cast stones into the well from which you drink” is the apt admonition of the Talmud. If the Torah commands us not to abhor or reject an Egyptian “because you were a stranger in his land” and he took you in, how much more so should we resist rejecting a country that has treated us far better than did the Egyptians! The quality of gratitude is so dear to us that Moshe Rabbeinu during the period of the ten plagues was not permitted to bring forth the lice and the frogs nor transform the waters of the Nile into blood because the water and dust had helped him; hence he had no right to smite them. If this be true of inanimate objects, how much more so of human beings and institutions of government! Without rhapsodizing about “The New Jerusalem,” as did the early Jewish Reformers, we are still mindful of how much we owe to this country as we mark the Bicentennial year.
Divine Providence
Let us go beyond hakoras ha’tov toward the United States and dwell upon the need to express our gratitude to the Almighty and His Providence manifested in the very discovery and development of America. Our history is replete with persecution of our persons and wanton destruction of our communities, but it also records the emergence of places of refuge when we most needed them. In the wanderings of the Jews, various countries became havens as others expelled us, but never have we witnessed the establishment of a state such as the United States of America which was prepared to absorb millions of our brethren when conditions elsewhere became untenable and most doors were closed to them. The Jew of faith profoundly believes that “the Guardian of Israel never slumbers” and the special protection of the Almighty manifests itself at all times, insuring the survival of K’lal Yisrael. The Torah Jew looks upon the evolution of the United States from an underdeveloped “New World” of colonists into the leading world power as part of a Divine plan, not only to preserve the remnant of Israel who came here hundreds of years ago, but also as the “healing before the malady;” a “city of refuge” before the Holocaust which was to come; and a bastion of support and reservoir of assistance for the State of Israel which was destined to be born. If one Yoseph says “for G-d did send you before me to preserve life,” what shall millions of Jews say when they consider in retrospect their coming to this country or that of their parents and grandparents. Rabbi Samson R. Hirsch has written: “We are G-d’s finger in world history, the historical exclamation point.” It was destined that the United States, together with its Jewish citizens, become G-d’s instrument in the survival of World Jewry, in the securing of the beginnings of the reborn State of Israel, and in insuring its ongoing viability and vitality. For this we should be thankful and grateful as we observe the Bicentennial Year.
A “Gutt’er Golus”
The blessings of a free country and open society, however, are for Jews coupled with problems and challenges. If we are destined to be in exile, we have always prayed for a “Gutt’er Golus,” a comparatively pleasant one. Still history has taught us that the good, comfortable Golus carries with it difficult nisyonos testing our loyalty and strength of Jewish commitment more intensely than periods of persecution and exclusion. Tolerance, acceptance, and the opportunity to join as equals in an alien society, have proven to be dangerous and debilitating, eroding Jewish observance and destroying Jewish identity as time passes. Historically liberal conditions have resulted in acculturation, followed by assimilation: American Jewish history—far from being an exception—is an unhappy example.
The greatest problems confronting the American Jewish community in the early colonial period, and continuing beyond the revolutionary one, were of a twofold nature: education and marriage. The paucity of competent Jewish educators and the lack of spiritual leadership resulted in a generation marked by abysmal Jewish illiteracy even among those who retained their Jewish identity and synagogue affiliation. The small Jewish population made it difficult to find Jewish spouses; while living in the midst of overwhelming numbers of gentiles made intermarriage extremely difficult to resist. Concerned Jews understood these threats to Jewish survival, as witness the plan of Mordecai Manual Noah, American-Jewish diplomat and journalist, proposed in 1820, to purchase Grand Island on the Niagara River for the purpose of “having same settled by emigrants of the Jewish religion from Europe.” His name for this proposed colony was fittingly “Ararat,” city of refuge for the Jews. Indeed, in 1825 the foundation stone was symbolically laid but the plan was aborted and he later turned his energies toward urging the return of Jews to Palestine. Noah may have been motivated more by a nationalistic spirit than by a serious concern for religious Jewish continuity but there were others who were so motivated. The need to stem the tide of assimilation was voiced by a visitor to these shores in the early 1800’s, Julius Stern by name, who conceived the idea of establishing a Jewish colony in the western territories, and subsequently even a state, which could become part of the United States. Although the purpose for such settlement was to break the mold of the Jewish peddler and merchant, and to turn Jews into farmers and mechanics, Mr. Stern strongly suggests that the paramount benefit will be the ability to keep the Shabbos and other Mitzvos, which are so difficult to observe in a non-Jewish environment.
The Boisterous Sea of Liberty
The famous statement of Jefferson that “Liberty is a boisterous sea, timid men prefer the calm sea of despotism” has a strange but striking parallel in the American Jewish community. When Jews are denied entrée into the community at large and forced to live in ghettos, even timid, weak souls can retain their Jewish identity and loyalty. When we are allowed to chart our course on the open sea of freedom, only the hardy and strong are able to ride the boisterous sea of liberty.
The Jewish experience has ever been one in which we fear the embrace of the Gentile world no less—and perhaps even more—than their enmity. The two hundred years of American Jewish history, marked by its acculturation, assimilation, and alarming intermarriage rate, has demonstrated that this fear is not unfounded nor exaggerated. As we celebrate the Bicentennial and express our gratitude for the gift of freedom we also are aware of the tremendous losses we have suffered because so many could not withstand the test of freedom. The Almighty gave us the opportunity and the challenge to live our lives unhindered as Torah Jews. Those who grasped the chance and rose to the challenge will mark this two-hundredth birthday with a fuller measure of happiness than those who failed to do so and lost their way while pursuing a happiness that eludes them, because they have abandoned what America never demanded of them: the right to be themselves.
A Unique People
In spite of the erosion of Jewish loyalty among large numbers of American Jews—which reveals our vulnerability in an open society—this acculturation and defacto assimilation cannot conceal our special character as a unique people. Though many may attempt to submerge their identity, society will not permit them to become invisible Jews. Those who have abandoned Jewish observances, which mark us as different from the majority, are not fully accepted as equals even by their liberal, non-Jewish friends. A sense of isolation and rejection grips all Jews in Exile, unless one is prepared to desert his faith and embrace another—a step which modern secular Jews shun, unlike earlier periods when baptism was considered a Jew’s passport into society. Although accepted as citizens in this good land with full privileges and rights, we are still strangers and outsiders. Novelists and playwrights have so depicted the Jew, and although this lends an aura of mystery and attraction at times, nonetheless ours is an anomalous condition we cannot ignore as the Bicentennial is celebrated. Since the time of Abraham the expression “a stranger and a sojourner” applies to his descendants, even in a “Gutt’er Golus.”
“I Am an Ivri”
Avraham Avinu was not a “Jew” but an “Ivri.” This name indicated that he had taken up his position ideologically—”me’aver echad,” on one side, opposed to a world and its values which was on another side, separated from him by a wide chasm. When Yonah is asked a number of questions as to his land of origin, occupation, and other vital statistics, he answers simply “I am an Ivri—a Hebrew.” This answer is one that Jews have given to this very day for it indicates what their position and role is in an alien world. “I am different, unique and stand aside, a condition which I cannot escape even if I so choose since it is so ordained and the world insists upon enforcing it”.
Reb Chaim of Volozhin succinctly captured this idea when he said to a group of early Maskilim who were prepared to embrace the world enthusiastically while abandoning much of their heritage, “You may as well still make kiddush, because regardless of your actions the world will still make havdalah.” Torah Jews appreciate this keen observation and while living as patriotic Americans they still recognize their isolation and aloneness. The Torah Jew, however, unlike his secular brother, does not look upon this status as an unrelieved burden. On the contrary, he considers it a mixed blessing for it serves as a constant reminder that we are “a people who dwell alone,” which is our normality, contrary to the belief of secular Zionism that this is an abnormality which a Jewish state would correct. Time has proven them wrong, just as it has demonstrated that the refusal of society to accept us without reservations, has retained the wall of separation between Jew and Gentile, thereby insuring Jewish identity, tenuous as it may be. If to the non-Torah Jew this is a negative and painful reality, to the Torah Jew it is one more manifestation of the prophecy that we will not be allowed to become as other nations, for if need be, the Almighty will rule over us with a strong, wrathful and jealous arm. The United States is a wonderful, most welcome city of refuge but it is still not home. This is not an embarrassing “dual loyalty,” it is a realistic appraisal and our secret of survival.
“Dual Loyalty”
We Jews have developed the skill of balancing our patriotism toward the United States with a profound love for Eretz Yisrael. Our loyalty to the “home of the brave” is unaffected by our fierce devotion to our Land. Two hundred years of American independence can be appreciated and saluted, while we remain true to the two thousand year old vow, “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem…”
The Talmudic commentary on the verse inscribed on the Liberty Bell almost prophetically expresses this thought. “When ‘freedom’ exists in Eretz Yisrael, then it shall also function outside Israel, but when it is absent from the Land it cannot function elsewhere” (Rosh Hashonah 9). The words of the Sages are of course referring to the laws of the “Yovel” (Jubilee), but they touch an emotional chord of response in the souls of Jews for all time.
1976 is a year in which thoughtful Torah Jews should not treat lightly the Torah concepts of freedom mirrored in the minds and hearts of the Founding Fathers. The establishment of the United States two hundred years ago launched a state which has granted us a special refuge and established itself over the years as a staunch strong friend of our People. It has put our Jewish loyalties to the test but has never demanded that we surrender them. It tolerates, or perhaps even understands and accepts our primary love and devotion to the Promised Land which pre-dates “The New Jerusalem” of America. For all this we are grateful, and in keeping with Jewish law and tradition, we express our gratitude while praying that Providence continue to bless this land.
As we review the history of the past 200 years we appreciate the special Hashgocha which has guided the development of this country and how it has affected our destiny as well. Considering the major upheavals that have occurred in the world during the past two hundred years, we marvel at the growth and stability of the United States which indeed seems to be the beneficiary of a special kind Providence. This thought was humorously expressed by A. Guiterman, a poet, in a clever quatrain:
Providence that watches
over children, drunkards and fools,
With silent miracles and other esoterica,
Continue to suspend the ordinary rules,
And take care of the United States of America.
There is much truth to the idea expressed by Mr. Guiterman and we Jews can attest to the fact that the Almighty has indeed given special attention to the United States, using this country as an instrument for the benefit of K’lal Yisrael as well. However, we also sincerely believe that this is not our final destination, but a station enroute to our eventual redemption. G-d in His infinite wisdom and mercy has granted us this historic station, allowing us to recoup our losses, gather our forces, and strengthen our spiritual resources as we stand ready to cross the threshold to the Geula Shelaima, the ultimate and complete redemption of the People of Israel and the Land of Israel.
Rabbi Ralph Pelcovitz (1921–2018) was an outstanding expositor of Orthodox Judaism and longtime rav of Congregation Kneseth Israel, the famed “White Shul” in Far Rockaway, New York.