Living a Jewish Life, Revised and Updated: Jewish Traditions, Customs, and Values for Today's Families

Introduction

YOUR REASONS FOR WANTING TO EXPLORE JUDAISM ARE uniquely your own. Perhaps they have something to do with the desire for a more examined life, or a need to acknowledge spiritual or religious feelings. Maybe you’ve been inspired by a loved one, teacher, friend, or work of art. Perhaps you’re looking for ways to provide your children with a sense of their place in a religious, ethical, and cultural tradition. Whatever your motivation or background, the first goal of Living a Jewish Life is to open the door to that tradition; the second is to help you make Jewish choices.

The book is divided into four sections: Home covers the heart of Jewish life, everything from the contents of kitchen cabinets to the books on the shelves, to the observance of Shabbat—the Sabbath—the most important and sweetest of all Jewish holidays, to the joys of raising Jewish children. The Cycle of the Year describes the Jewish holidays. The Life Cycle describes Jewish rituals and customs that mark major life transitions, from birth to death. The final section, Community, includes information about institutions and concepts that are essential to living a meaningful Jewish life and to the continuation of the Jewish people.

Living a Jewish Life takes a descriptive rather than a prescriptive approach to Judaism. There are no shoulds. And because Jews do things—virtually everything—in different ways, this book is filled with menus of choices about the hows and whys of modern Jewish life.

That said, Living a Jewish Life does have a point of view and even an agenda, which is to encourage readers to make Jewish choices and explore Jewish options. There is a lot of practical information in these pages; however, the how-tos are not presented as ends in themselves but as opportunities to explore the whys. What is meaningful about lighting candles on Friday night? Why would I forgo shrimp? How can I make the wedding canopy my own? Why would I and how does one join a synagogue?

Answers to questions like these are dynamic; they change over time, informed by study, discussion, and experiences in Jewish classrooms, sanctuaries, concert halls, and museums. For liberal Jews, the answers to these questions are not fixed, but open, dynamic, and personal. The answers come from many sources: through the study of traditional Jewish texts, such as the Torah; the literature of Jewish law (halachah) and imagination (Midrash); through the sweep of Jewish history; through discussion with teachers and peers; through a sense of God’s presence; and through personal reflection and experimentation.

A complete menu of Jewish choices would be encyclopedic, overwhelming, and outdated before the ink dried. Living a Jewish Life focuses specifically on the range of practice in the twenty-first century, mostly in North America, and through the lens of liberal Judaism.

Liberal Judaism

Liberal Judaism is an umbrella term that includes Jews who identify as Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist, post-denominational, egalitarian, humanist, New Age, or just Jewish. Although there are substantial differences among them, all share an acknowledgment that their Jewishness is a choice. In other words, they practice Judaism not necessarily on God’s authority, or because their parents would be horrified if they didn’t, but because they find meaning, joy, and strength in Jewish practice and community. Living a Jewish Life is an expression and a celebration of the diversity that comes with this choice. It coexists with Orthodox Judaism, which also covers a range of practices, beliefs, and institutions, ranging from the Orthodox Union,¹ to ultra-Orthodox Hasidic communities (including Lubavitch/Chabad), to the open Orthodox movement that ordains women rabbis.²

Diversity in Jewish practice is nothing new. It began with the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E.,* when Jews were forced to leave the ancient land of Israel and settled across the four corners of the earth, where their practice incorporated local cuisines, melodies, forms of dress, and their interpretation of Jewish law—so, for example, Sephardi Jews eat rice on Passover, while Ashkenazic Jews don’t (or at least, they did not until 2015, when the Conservative movement decided they could).

Liberal Judaism—which is more than two hundred years old—is heir to this long history of diversity and evolution. For most of its history, Jewishness was not a religion, race, or nationality, but an all-encompassing identity. Jews lived in tight-knit communities, some in dense urban neighborhoods, some in small towns like the shtetls of Eastern Europe and Russia. Birth, education, marriage, family, work, recreation, commerce, worship, and death took place within this shared culture and community.

In many countries, Jews were prohibited employment in some professions and businesses, denied the right to own property, and heavily taxed. Many communities were marginalized, poor, in danger of losing whatever rights they had, and at risk of violence from hostile neighbors.

In Europe, this started to change with the advent of eighteenth-century Enlightenment thinking and policies that supported democracy, tolerance, and separation of church and state. Ghettos were unlocked, as were the doors to the great universities. Jewish men shaved their beards, Jewish women removed traditional head coverings. Jews worked and even socialized with Christians.

This new reality presented Jews with a choice between turning inward and rejecting the opportunities and benefits of the secular world, or abandoning their traditions, and even converting to Christianity. Alarmed by the threat of total assimilation, German scholars and rabbis created new forms of Judaism to reconcile modernity with tradition: the Reform movement was born in 1819, Orthodox Judaism in 1821. The Reform movement removed the obligation to keep kosher and created prayer books in local vernaculars, which minimized the importance of Hebrew. Orthodox Judaism maintained most personal obligations—daily prayer, keeping kosher—but permitted secular education and modern dress for men and, to some extent, women. Both movements posited a kind of double life: Jewish at home, but just another person in the street in public.³ One was a Jew in much the same way that the neighbors were Presbyterian. For many, what had been an all-embracing view of life shrank to nominal affiliation with once-in-a-while or even once-a-year observance. For a time, liberal Judaism seemed to mean doing less in the way of ritual, study, or commitment.

Within a few decades, many of these reforms were challenged by those who felt they’d gone too far: Conservative Judaism sought a return to many of the personal obligations Reform Judaism had rejected. Ultra-Orthodox Jews rejected the Modern Orthodox embrace of secular education and turned inward, avoiding contact with the outside world.

These movements—and others (notably Reconstructionism, founded in the United States in 1922)—have evolved and continue to change. Today, Hebrew is included in all Reform prayer books, and people wear prayer shawls in synagogues that once forbade them. Orthodox Jewish women teach Talmud and hold jobs in the secular world.

In a cultural shift in the United States during the 1960s the notion of a melting pot—in which ethnic, national, and religious differences disappeared—was replaced by the idea of a mosaic, where differences add to the richness of the whole.

Today, Jews are fully at home in the secular world and participate fully in the public life and light candles on Friday nights, study Jewish books, and are active members of synagogues and other Jewish institutions. This perspective also adds Jewish dimensions to seemingly value-neutral choices: from donating blood to planning vacations, from allocating charitable donations to ordering lunch.

Less is no longer more. Liberal Jews embrace once-rejected traditional customs and rituals at home, in synagogues, and in other settings; traditions such as wearing tallit and kippah, signing a ketubah, immersing in a mikveh, and keeping kosher are choices on the menu. These and other mitzvot and customs are reimagined, reinterpreted, and reclaimed not only because they belong to the Jewish canon, but because they make living a Jewish life more beautiful and meaningful. These choices are also informed by contemporary insights and movements—feminism in particular.

Liberal Judaism today is characterized by a commitment to the full equality of women in all aspects of religious and communal life. It welcomes Jews of all gender identities and abilities, embraces Jews-by-choice and Jewish-adjacent family members and friends. Liberal Judaism in North America—which originally was largely of Ashkenazi/European/white ancestry—is increasingly culturally and racially diverse, committed to learning from and celebrating the history and cultures of Mizrachi (Middle Eastern) and Sephardi (Mediterranean) traditions, and those of Jews of color. There have always been deep divisions in the Jewish world, and today is no different. While disagreements persist, the ethic of unity, Klal Yisrael, reminds us that we are all one people and responsible for one another.

Liberal Judaism approaches ancient texts, customs, and rituals with reverence for the past, confidence in its own authenticity, and a profound, public commitment to the prophetic call for justice for all people.

Fueled by the dialectic—the tension and resolution—of learning and choosing, liberal Judaism continues as a tree of life, or, in Hebrew, an etz hayyim.

Hebrew

Knowing Hebrew is not a prerequisite to living a Jewish life. Any home ceremony can be performed entirely in English. (It goes without saying that God understands no matter what language you’re using.) It is, however, the Jewish lingua franca—something that unifies Jews through time and space. It remains central to Jewish study and prayer, and some Hebrew words are used among observant Jews as if everyone understands their meaning: etz hayyim is a case in point. If you’ve never run across that phrase before, the language can feel like a locked door.

Fortunately, there are many keys to that door. Not only do prayer books include translations—because language should not be a stumbling block to understanding—but many also contain phonetically transliterated Hebrew to encourage participation and practice. This is not cheating. It’s okay to try out the words before you’re entirely sure of what each one means; that’s how children acquire language—by listening, repeating, and practicing. And because music is a great aid in language acquisition, it’s helpful that so much of Jewish liturgy is sung or chanted.

You can get more comfortable with Hebrew by listening to music and watching Israeli films and TV shows (with subtitles, of course). Some parents learn along with young children as they learn the aleph-bet (the Hebrew alphabet) and everyday phrases (My name is . . .) through songs and games. You can keep a copy of the blessings for welcoming Shabbat (in Hebrew, with transliteration) along with your candlesticks and read them aloud on Friday evening. Singing the words makes it easier to memorize them; it also subtly changes the emotional temperature in the room.

Many synagogues offer introductory Hebrew classes for adults. These tend to be focused on the language of the prayer book to foster comfort with worship services and to shed light on what is written in the Torah; like all languages, Hebrew loses a lot in translation.⁴ The best way to learn modern Hebrew is by spending time in Israel and/or attending an ulpan, an intensive Hebrew-language instruction course developed for immigrants to Israel.

Of course, Hebrew isn’t the only Jewish language. There are three other languages written with the Hebrew alphabet that are part of Jewish history and culture: Aramaic is an ancient Semitic language, the language of the Talmud, which was also Jesus’ spoken tongue. Yiddish, spoken by the Ashkenazic Jews of Eastern Europe, has its origins in Middle German. It includes words from Hebrew, Russian, and other languages, and has infiltrated American popular culture. Ladino has Spanish roots and like Yiddish, also uses words from Hebrew. It is spoken among Jews of Mediterranean (Sephardic) background. Yiddish and Ladino cultures include a rich literature of music and poetry. Yiddish language classes are taught in community and academic settings; Ladino offerings are not as common.

Every non-English term in Living a Jewish Life—Hebrew, Yiddish, or Ladino—is defined when it first appears on the page, with a glossary and index for reference. But as with any language, some words don’t translate well. For example, tzedakah is commonly translated as charity, which means voluntary giving. But tzedakah comes from the Hebrew tzedek, which means justice and is a divine mandate—also known as a mitzvah.

Mitzvah

Many English-speakers understand mitzvah as a good deed: holding the door open for an elderly person might be called a mitzvah. However, mitzvot (plural) are the foundation of Jewish ethics and religious practice. The Torah is said to contain 613 mitzvot, including celebrating Shabbat, giving money to the poor, and refraining from eating pork and shellfish. Some of the 613 mitzvot pertain to the ancient Temple in Jerusalem and are no longer binding, but those that remain are studied, interpreted, and put into action, which is the traditional methodology of Jewish choosing.

The word mitzvah derives from a military term for command, which implies that God is the commander in chief—problematic for anyone who doesn’t believe that sanctity of the Bible rests on a divine author. The Hasidic masters discerned a relationship between the Hebrew word mitzvah and a similar Aramaic word that means together.⁵ Thus, a mitzvah can be understood as an act that unites people with one another and with God, and thus brings holiness into everyday life.

Choosing mitzvot is an ongoing process. Over the course of a lifetime, practices that once seemed impossible and alien can become deeply meaningful; others that were dear to you may become impossible. In the words of Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf,

I try to walk the road of Judaism. Embedded in that road there are many jewels. One is marked Sabbath, and one Civil Rights and one Kashrut and one Honor Your Parents and one Study of Torah and one You Shall Be Holy. There are at least 613 of them, and they are of different shapes and sizes and weights. Some are light and easy for me to pick up, and I pick them up. Some are too deeply embedded for me, so far at least, though I get a little stronger by trying to extricate the jewels as I walk the street. Some, perhaps, I shall never be able to pick up. I believe that God expects me to keep on walking Judaism Street and to carry away whatever I can of its commandments. I do not believe that God expects me to lift what I cannot, nor may I condemn my fellow Jew who may not be able to pick up even as much as I can.⁶

A rapidly changing world throws up new ethical challenges, which means new opportunities to think about actions in terms of mitzvot. Is a Jewish doctor fulfilling a mitzvah if they help a patient with a terminal illness who wishes to die? Do Jews have a communal obligation to address climate change? "There will be mitzvot through which my forebears found themselves capable of responding to the commanding God which are no longer adequate or possible for me, just as there will be new mitzvot through which I or my generation will be able to respond which my ancestors never thought of."⁷

Every mitzvah is the occasion for reflection and for choice, and liberal Jews take on mitzvot for many reasons. For some, there is a compelling argument for following a particular discipline or practice simply because it has been and remains a part of Jewish identity. Many commit themselves to fulfilling those mitzvot that are consistent with a personal sense of right and wrong, such as giving to the poor and working to fulfill the prophetic call for justice. Some keep mitzvot a way of maintaining a relationship with what is holy in life: "While I have and retain the freedom of choosing my specific means of response at a given moment, the essential fact of my life will be my intention to respond [to God through mitzvot]."⁸

Some mitzvot may require you to set aside rational expectations. The Bible presents this kind of challenge when God offers the Israelites the Torah without explaining what that would mean for them. The response of the people was We shall do, and we shall hear.⁹ In other words, they promised to act first and hear (understand) later; to leap before looking, to say yes before knowing what their choice would require of them.

There is no way to know what will come of taking on a mitzvah. Sometimes it yields one of those profound human experiences that are endlessly described but ultimately are knowable only by living them, like becoming a parent, or burying your own parents. Both of which, by the way, are mitzvot.

Getting Started

It’s helpful to think about starting to make Jewish choices the way you would approach any new, life-enhancing discipline, such as taking up a new sport or learning to play a musical instrument. In other words, it will take time, practice, and patience.

Especially patience. Without patience for the inevitable awkwardness and mistakes at the piano or on the tennis court, you can’t improve. Making new Jewish choices requires a suspension of the kinds of standards (for competence if not excellence) to which adults tend to hold themselves. You have to cultivate what Zen Buddhists call beginner’s mind, or in the words of the Baal Shem Tov, For any of us to come to the understanding that we are common and unlearned is the accomplishment of a lifetime.

Making Jewish choices is countercultural and there isn’t much support for liberal religious practice in American culture. Even with an idea as familiar and appealing as a day of rest, trying to explain that you don’t go to the theater or to basketball games on Shabbat can make some people suspicious or defensive: When did you get religion? And if you’re too Jewish to go out with me on Friday night, why are you eating that cheeseburger? Because liberal Jews tend to undertake mitzvot over time, people might perceive inconsistencies in your practice: the fact is, not everyone who lights candles on Friday night maintains a kosher home; not everyone who keeps kosher goes to synagogue services; and so on. Configurations of mitzvot vary and change. Over the course of a lifetime, practices that once seemed alien can become deeply meaningful, while others that were once central no longer feel relevant. Liberal Judaism’s response to mitzvot is personal and open-ended: This is how I do Judaism. It’s not that my way is the only way or the ‘right’ way. But it is my Jewish way—for now.

Starting to make Jewish choices as an adult can feel awkward for people who were born Jewish; there’s a sense that you should already know when Passover begins, what the Talmud is, and how to read Hebrew. Being uncomfortable in synagogue or worrying about the proper direction for lighting Hanukkah candles might confirm your suspicion that you will never be Jewish enough.

Starting to make Jewish choices as an adult can feel even more awkward for people who were not born Jewish, who may be overwhelmed by the sheer amount there is to learn: history, customs, traditions, words. And you may fear that no matter how much you learn, you will never be fully accepted, never feel completely at home.

Those feelings are probably inevitable. Try to remember: whatever your starting point, it’s likely that the person sitting next to you at the lecture, or concert, or service, also feels like an imposter. Even more important: there will always be people who are eager to help you learn and thrive. You have a lot of company on this journey. You are not alone.

Home

AT ITS BEST, A JEWISH HOME IS A MIKDASH MA’AT, A LITTLE sanctuary.

A sanctuary does not look or feel like other places. A sanctuary is a place of safety and welcome, where guests are greeted, the hungry are fed, and the weary find rest; where loving partnerships are nourished; and where children learn and thrive. In a sanctuary, the usual criteria for success and failure are not important; what matters is not what you do but who you are.

You can create a mikdash ma’at for yourself and your loved ones by bringing Jewish choices into daily life, from the books on your shelves and the food in your kitchen, to the household budget for charitable giving and, especially, by treating the people who mean the most to you with intention and joy. Everything that supports the health of a household—from game night to family therapy to singing together—is a mitzvah.

The following pages include ways to make your home into a mikdash ma’at, a welcoming place of books and beauty. Although every Jewish home is unique, the chapter Your Little Sanctuary describes some of the goals, practices, and objects that make a home Jewish. "Shabbat is an introduction to Judaism’s foundational spiritual insight and to creating a meaningful day of rest. Good Deeds describes the Jewish view of charity and social justice, which begins at home. What Jews Eat explains the hows and whys of keeping kosher. Jewish Parenting" discusses a Jewish approach to raising children.

No sanctuary is perpetually filled with all the beauty or meaning it might contain. But the ongoing process of making Jewish choices can help create an island of peace and a safe harbor in this demanding, noisy, and sometimes frightening world.

Your Little Sanctuary

WITH THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SECOND TEMPLE IN JERUSALEM in 70 C.E., the focus of Jewish religious and ritual life had to change and the Jewish home became the new center of Judaism. However, mikdash ma’at, this little sanctuary, is not a museum but the place where human needs are met.

Home is the