Al Reguel Ajat

Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson, in his essay “A Presentation of Process Theology”, explains how the philosophy of ancient Greece and medieval Europe influenced our thinking with concepts that do not correspond to Judaism. Thinking that God is omnipotent, which means that He has all power, that He is omniscient, that He has and must have all knowledge of what is, was, and will be, and that He is omnibenevolent, that God is absolute goodness, are not concepts of Judaism.

Rabbi Artson explains: Believing that God is omnipotent implies that there is no power outside of God and that everything that happens is by His will. Sometimes we like what happens, sometimes we don’t, but we accept that everything that happens comes from God. When something bad happens and we don’t understand why, such as a baby’s terminal illness, the explanation that this way of thinking gives us is that God must have had a legitimate reason, which we don’t understand, for causing, or at least not preventing, that bad thing from happening. This conclusion leads us to abandon our moral compass and our sense of what is good or bad, and blame ourselves or our loved ones when misfortunes occur. Not only did something terrible happen, but the victim feels guilty as well. Judaism doesn’t agree with this concept of «omnipotence.»

Brad Artson continues: The philosophical presumption that God is omnipotent has been reinforced by many Bible translations that refer to God as «The Almighty,» a mistranslation of «El Shaddai,» which actually means «the God of the Mountain.» The Torah has terms for «great power and unfindable strength,» but it has neither the concept nor the term for omnipotence. Neither the Prophets nor the Talmud have such a term. There is no term in classical Hebrew or Aramaic that implies a being capable of doing absolutely everything.

We have a similar problem with the second “omni,” says Artson. Omniscience assumes that God knows everything, including the future. Nothing is hidden from the all-knowing God. But if God knows the future, there is no longer room for freedom of choice, neither for God nor for his creatures. God knowing his own future decisions takes away from God the freedom to change his mind. But the Torah and the Midrash present us with a different God, a God who gets angry, who loves, who grieves, who gets frustrated, who is surprised, and who repents.

Rabbi Artson concludes: a God who possesses unlimited power and knows everything that will come could have designed a different world. He could have softened Pharaoh’s heart without needing to send 10 plagues. An omnipotent and omniscient God who knowingly creates such an imperfect world is not a good, omnibenevolent God. Therefore, for Judaism, God does not have these «omni» attributes: God does not know the future, for the future has not yet been decided; God does not decide everything, for He leaves nature to its own devices, in addition to giving man the power to choose; and God Himself suffers when He sees the evil in the world that He cannot change. God is not «omni.»

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Bradley Shavit Artson: «A Presentation of Process Theology.»

In principle, Judaism supports and encourages organ donation to save lives (pikuach nefesh). According to Jewish law, halacha, saving a life nullifies almost all of the commandments in Judaism, with the exception of those prohibiting murder, illicit sexual relations, and idol worship.

There are three biblical commandments that guide how to handle the remains of a deceased person: «Nivul Hamet,» a rule that prohibits unnecessary mutilation of a corpse and is the basis for why autopsies are generally prohibited; «Halanat Hamet,» the commandment that prohibits delaying the burial of a body; and «Hana’at Hamet,» which prohibits deriving any benefit from a corpse. In all three cases, pikuach nefesh, saving a life, nullifies them.

Ultimately, the critical issue with organ donation is defining the moment of death. There is a debate in the Talmud about the definition of death. One view is that death is indicated by the irreversible cessation of breathing. The other is that death occurs with the irreversible cessation of the heartbeat. [Tractate Yoma, 85:A]. Most of our sages’ commentaries lean toward the former. Furthermore, modern medicine has established that the brainstem controls breathing, and if the brainstem is not functioning and dies, a person can never breathe on their own again.

Do we define death as the cessation of brain or heart activity? As long as a person’s heart is still beating, organs can be routinely harvested, even if brain activity has ceased. However, once a heart stops beating, organs are deprived of oxygen, and it becomes more difficult to successfully remove and transplant them. If Judaism defines death as the cessation of brain activity, organ transplants are a viable option for Jews. If we define death as the cessation of heart activity, then removing an organ before this point would be murder. Pikuach nefesh does not nullify murder. One cannot kill someone to save another’s life.

Virtually all religious movements within Judaism accept the death of the brainstem as the moment of death, and therefore support organ donation for transplants. Even the Conservative movement considers this action almost a commandment. The only ones who do not accept it are groups of ultra-Orthodox Jews, «Haredim,» who consider cardiac arrest as the moment of death, a position that runs counter to that accepted by the rabbinate in Israel and Orthodox rabbis such as Zalman Nechemia Goldberg.

The belief that a person must be buried with their organs in order to be resurrected from the dead when the Messiah arrives has no basis in classical Jewish sources. The fact is that, at death, all organs, tissues, and muscles decompose. The Book of Ezekiel, for example, relates that the resurrection would be from dry bones. Organ donation is definitely a mitzvah.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: HODS website, Halachic Organ Donor Society, and other sources.

It is written in Deuteronomy 24: “If a man takes a wife and marries her, and if she becomes displeasing to him because he has found something indecent about her, he shall write her a certificate of divorce and give it to her and send her from his house. Once she has left his house, she may go and marry another man.” The delivery of this document, called a “get” in Aramaic, is what makes the divorce effective, unlike a civil divorce, where a judge declares the marriage dissolved.

According to halakha, Jewish law, granting the “get” falls exclusively to the husband. The wife, on the other hand, cannot ask for a divorce; at most, she can ask a rabbinical court to request that her husband grant her the get, but the husband cannot force her. Halakha states that the get must be granted freely; It is only valid when given and received voluntarily; if any kind of coercion is involved, it is void.

Originally, the wife’s consent was not required for the husband to divorce her. This changed approximately 1,000 years ago when Rabbi Gershom decreed that a man could not divorce without his wife’s approval. However, the halachic rule that gives the husband the power of divorce has led to problematic situations, such as the case of the «agunah» woman, literally «bound,» who is one who cannot marry because she has not obtained a get, either because her husband refuses to grant it or because she has disappeared, for example, in combat or in an accident, and her death cannot be reliably certified.

Different movements within Judaism have responded differently to the unequal treatment of women in the case of divorce by halacha. Modern Orthodox Judaism considers the get essential, but has found a mechanism to remedy this difference: the prenuptial agreement. In it, both parties agree to submit to a rabbinical arbitration court, and the husband agrees to pay his wife a predetermined amount daily until the divorce is finalized. This document was drafted jointly by Rabbi Mordechai Willig of Yeshiva University in New York and Rabbi Zalman Nechemia Goldberg of the Jerusalem rabbinical court.

For its part, the Conservative movement also requires the traditional get, but in cases where the husband flatly refuses to provide it, a special rabbinical court can declare «hafkaat kiddushin,» the dissolution of the marriage, thus freeing the wife. The Reform and Reconstructionist movements have eliminated the get requirement and accept a divorce decreed by a civil court as valid for religious purposes. In Israel, divorce is much more complicated, as there are two parallel courts authorized to hear divorce cases between Jewish couples: the Rabbinical Court and the Family Court. Although Israeli law originally gave the rabbinical court jurisdiction over divorce, new laws enacted by the Israeli parliament encouraged these courts to impose sanctions on spouses who refused to grant a get. Thus, the religious and civil spheres became intertwined.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Encyclopaedia Judaica and other sources.

Professor Will Herberg tells us: In modernity, man used reason and science to shape his life and culture, placing everything in human terms, forgetting the divine. The expansion of science and technology fostered the illusion that human well-being was simply a matter of increasing economic productivity and industrial power. «Progress» became the watchword. In morality and philosophy, in social life, even in religion, omnipotent man became the «master» of all things. Intoxicated by his success, he could not imagine any power greater than his own, so everything, literally everything, was permitted to him as an individual or as a collective: he needed to believe in nothing, there was nothing he needed to revere, nothing he needed to fear, he only had the power. The result was a humanity that experienced decades of horrors, one worse than the other, until the Second World War, which demonstrated that the sole use of reason and science, without other values, was not only insufficient, but terribly harmful.

The postmodern generation, shaken of its illusions by decades of uninterrupted horror, sought to find another path in what has now been called the «return to religion,» which so many have hailed as the sign of our times. But this return has not yielded the expected result: the horror continues, now sheltered in a cloak of religiosity. Intolerance toward others has led to new acts of barbarism that we would never have imagined would occur in the 21st century. They replaced the dictatorship of reason with the dictatorship of religion. The old thesis was that reason and science were the way. The new thesis is that religion is the solution to humankind’s problems. Both have failed to achieve a better world.

Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, better known by his acronym «Shagar,» tells us: During Modernity and the Enlightenment, Judaism had to defend itself against secularism, especially from those who thought religion was outmoded. Now, in the Postmodern era, where all values ​​are questioned and there is no longer belief in progress or reason, religion has returned with a vengeful spirit. Fanatical religious groups don’t take criticism seriously, claiming it is just personal opinions that believers can easily dismiss.

What could the new path be? Professor Jean Gebser proposes one: man must integrate his feelings, instincts, and intuitions with reason and logical thinking. Man must use his personal experiences to transform reason and knowledge into wisdom. Wisdom equals intelligence plus experience. And since every human being has gone through different personal experiences, each person will have their own reason, their own truth. There is no single explanation for things, but many, as many as there are men and women in the world. There is not just one Judaism, but many, as many as there are Jews in the world.

It is written in Tractate Sanhedrin 4:5 of the Mishnah: «Man stamps many coins with the same stamp, and they are all alike, but the King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He, has sealed each man with the seal of the first man, yet none of them is like his fellow man.» The Creator and life have made us not so similar to our fellow men.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Works by Will Herberg, Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, and Jean Gebser.

Isaac Adolphe Crémieux was born five years after France granted equal rights to its Jewish citizens, after its Constituent Assembly approved it in 1791. He was born in 1796 in Nîmes to a Jewish family who had embraced the revolutionary cause. He was educated at the Lycée Impérial, where he and a cousin were the only Jewish students. It was he who, at the head of a delegation of Lycée students, addressed the Emperor at the Tuileries court.

Crémieux was a brilliant student. He studied at the University of Aix-en-Provence and was admitted to the Nîmes bar in 1817. As a Jewish lawyer, he was required to take the humiliating «more judaico» oath to enter, but he refused, fought his case in court, and won. In 1827, he won two cases against Jewish lawyers who had also refused to take the same oath, and this eventually led to its abolition. Crémieux thus acquired a reputation as a champion of Jewish rights.

At that time, Napoleon Bonaparte established the first central consistory of the Jews of France. The consistory was the institution that governed the Jewish communities of a province or country. In 1828, Cremieux served on the consistory in Marseille, and in 1930, he moved to Paris, where he became a member of the central consistory. In 1840, he accompanied Moses Montefiore to Damascus to advocate for the release of the leaders of that Jewish community who had been falsely accused of murdering a Christian monk for ritual purposes. The trip was successful, giving the Jewish world a positive sense of support and unity in the face of antisemitism.

In 1840, he was elected to parliament and became one of the leaders of the opposition. After the 1848 revolt, he served in the provisional government as Minister of Justice and promulgated the law abolishing slavery in the French colonies. In 1851, he opposed Louis Napoleon’s coup d’état and was sent to prison. He returned to the government as Minister of Justice and in 1870 signed the famous decree granting French citizenship to the Jews of Algeria.

Cremieux participated in the formation of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and was elected president in 1864. The alliance sought to protect the rights of Jews worldwide, so Cremieux acted in various cases on behalf of the communities in Morocco, Romania, and Russia. The alliance helped several countries grant equal rights to their Jewish communities, as was the case in Switzerland. The alliance also focused on education, establishing Jewish schools in countries of the Ottoman Empire. By 1900, it operated more than 100 schools in seven countries.

Through his actions, Crémieux demonstrated that it was possible to combine a sense of Jewish pride with a deep involvement in the affairs of his country. But in his personal life, there was an incongruity with his public life: in 1845, he allowed his wife and children to be baptized. He cared for the Jew outside and neglected the one inside. Cremieux was «a light in the street and darkness in his house.»

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Simone Mrejen-O’Hana: “Isaac-Jacob Adolphe Crémieux, Avocat, homme politique, président du Consistoire central et de l’Alliance israélite universelle,” and other sources.

Emmanuel Levinas (1906-1995) was born in Kovno, Lithuania, to a middle-class Jewish family where Yiddish and Russian were spoken. He received a secular education in a Russian-speaking school and later entered a Jewish secondary school where he learned Hebrew. At 17, he moved to France to study at the University of Strasbourg and a few years later enrolled at the University of Freiburg, Germany, to study with Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger.

He returned to France, where, after earning his doctorate, he taught Jewish students from traditionalist families at the Ecole Normale Israelite Orientale in Paris. In 1930, he married Margarita Levi and became a French citizen in 1931. In 1939, already in the midst of the war, he was recruited by the French army as a Russian and German interpreter, but a year later he was taken prisoner, spending the entire war in a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany. Meanwhile, his friend Maurice Blanchot helped him secure refuge for his wife and daughter in a convent, thus avoiding the Holocaust, a fate that sadly eluded his relatives in Lithuania.

After the war, he was director of the École Normale Israelite until 1961, when he joined the University of Poitiers as a professor of philosophy. He then took a position at the University of Nanterre in 1967, and finally, in 1973, he was appointed professor at the Sorbonne.

As a philosopher after the war, Levinas dedicated his life and work to the reconstruction of ethical thought. Unlike his colleagues who were focused on the study of being, on «ontology,» he argued that the study of ethics was more important than knowing what «being» is. Levinas said that the purpose of Judaism was not to produce good Jews, but good human beings, and good Jewish human beings are therefore good Jews. Judaism’s mission in the world is to help produce a good and just humanity. Being religious is nothing other than this: kindness to others and a just world for all.

For Levinas, the truly religious person is one who makes ethics and justice their true purpose. They are the ones who put the mitzvot «ben adam lechavero,» the commandments between man and his neighbor, before the mitzvot «ben adam la makom,» the commandments between man and God. This «neighbor» is what Levinas calls «The Other.» For him, being a moral person is alleviating the suffering of «The Other» and being responsible for it without expecting reciprocity. Without «The Other,» man cannot be ethical. Tarzan becomes an ethical man until he meets Jane.

Levinas describes the religion of children as one in which we expect God to help us or save the innocent, where God is a dispenser of favors or a magician. Many people prefer the irresponsibility of children, who like to obey orders and be told what to do, as if such formality were all that God demands. On the other hand, adult religion is when humans accept their responsibility in the process of improving the world, without waiting for someone superior to command them. Childhood is one thing; adulthood—bar mitzvah—is another. In the Talmud and other Jewish texts, Levinas consistently discovers this call to moral responsibility and justice. For him, ethics is not only a component of Jewishness; it is Judaism at its highest.

By Marcos Gojman

Bibliography: Articles by Allan Brill, Peter Steinfels, Richard A. Cohen, Julia Urabayen, and others.

Albert Einstein, one of the most brilliant minds humanity has ever known, not only dedicated his time to the study of physics, but also to topics as diverse as the role of religion and its relationship to science. In an article he wrote for The New York Times magazine in November 1930, entitled «Religion and Science,» he stated the following:

What are the needs that have led men to think and believe in something? For primitive man, it was above all the fear of hunger, wild beasts, disease, and death. At that stage of humanity, the human mind imagined beings with superior powers, whose will was the one that decided whether these fearful events would occur or not. Therefore, man tried to secure the favor of these beings with actions and sacrifices that, according to the tradition of each group, would make them favorable to him. It was a religion of fear.

But in more advanced societies, the desire for guidance, love, and support led men to believe in a social or moral God. This is the God of Providence, who protects, eliminates, rewards, and punishes. The God who, from the believer’s perspective, loves and cares for the life of the tribe or, in this case, of humanity. The one who comforts when there is pain or unfulfilled longing. The one who preserves the souls of the dead. This is the social or moral conception of God.

The Jewish Bible admirably illustrates the transition from the religion of fear to the religion of morality. The religions of civilized peoples, in principle, are moral religions. Although truthfully speaking, all religions are a varied mixture of both types, with this distinction: that, at the higher levels of social life, the religion of morality predominates.

Einstein continues: There is a third stage of religious experience which I call the cosmic religious feeling. The individual realizes the futility of waiting for the favor of a Providential God and appreciates the sublime and marvelous order revealed both in nature and in the world of thought. The beginnings of cosmic religious sentiment already appear in many of the Psalms of David and in some of the sayings of the Prophets.

Religious geniuses of all times have distinguished themselves by their cosmic religious sentiment, which does not accept any dogma or a God conceived in the image of man. For Einstein, religion is the feeling of awe caused by contemplating the marvelous order of the universe and believing in a Creator of that order. For him, science and religion are not polar opposites, as many religions preach, but rather complementary. Science explains how the world works, and religion tells us where we should direct it. Science gave us nuclear energy, and the ethical values ​​of religion guide us to use it for peaceful and non-destructive purposes. As Einstein said: Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.

Compiled by: Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Albert Einstein, The World as I See It.

The ethical foundations of Judaism, the mitzvoth between man and his fellow man, «Ben Adam Lechavero,» are undoubtedly one of the pillars of Judaism. These values ​​were embodied in the Torah, reinforced by the prophets and biblical writings, commented on by the sages in the Mishnah, and discussed by the rabbis in the Talmud. An example is the following:

Mishna 1, chapter 9, of the Talmudic tractate Bava Batra says: «If a man dies and leaves sons and daughters, if the inheritance is of great value, then the sons inherit, but the daughters must be supported. And if the inheritance is modest, the daughters must be supported, and the sons may go begging.»

Rabbi Shlomo Ben Abraham HaCohen, known as the Maharshach (1420-1602), a native of Monastir, Macedonia, explains the scope of this mishna a thousand years later. In his book She’eilot U’teshuvot (Questions and Answers), the Maharshach addresses the following case: Reuven and his wife died in a plague. They left behind two orphaned daughters. The leaders of the community where Reuven and his wife had lived sent the orphans to another city where their uncles lived, who kindly welcomed their unfortunate relatives. The uncles sent a message to the community leaders, asking for Reuven and his wife’s assets in order to invest the funds and make some profit to support the girls. They pointed out that the girls were in need and that no one else was willing to help them.

The community leaders responded that they did not agree to sending the assets to the uncles, since Reuven had requested burial in the Holy Land, which was considered a great mitzvah. Therefore, they planned to use the assets to pay for the costs of transporting his remains to Eretz Yisrael. The uncles countered by arguing that the Mishnah in Bava Batra clearly teaches that if a man dies and leaves little property, those assets should be used to support his daughters. In this case, the father and mother had died leaving little property. Therefore, these assets should provide for the daughters’ support. No one had the right to take the assets and use them for another purpose.

Since the two parties could not agree, the dispute was brought before the Maharshah. The Maharshah ruled that, since only minimal assets remained, those assets should go to the daughters for their support. He pointed out that even if the father had explicitly said, «I do not want my property used to support my daughters after I die,» we would still not heed his instructions, since the Sages legislated that a person’s property must be used to provide for his daughters after his death. Even if they wish to use their property to fulfill a mitzvah, it does not take precedence over the laws of the Sages. Therefore, the Maharshah decided that the property should be sent to the uncles. The support of the daughters takes precedence over the mitzvah of being buried in the Land of Israel.

Both at the time the Mishnah was written and a thousand years later, caring for women is one of the ethical principles that remains in force, unlike changing customs. Ethical values ​​in Judaism are immune to the passage of time.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Various sources.

Sefer Ha’Agadah, the Book of Legends, is a compilation of Aggadot compiled by Hayim Nahman Bialik and Yoshua Hanna Ravnitzky beginning in 1903. They obtained most of them from the Mishnah, the Talmud, and many other sources. One example is the following:

The story is told of a king of Persia who was about to die. His doctors told him: «The only thing that can cure you is the milk of a lioness. Drink it and you will recover.» The king asked: Who can go get some lioness milk? One of them told him: «If you wish, I can go, but first you must give me ten kids.» They gave him the kids, and he went to a lion’s den where a lioness was licking her cubs. On the first day, he kept his distance and threw a kid to her, which she devoured. The second day, he moved a little closer and threw her another kid. He did this every day, and by the end of the ten days, he was so close to the lioness that he could play with her and stroke her nipples, which he took advantage of to express some milk and continue on his way.

Halfway home, the doctor fell asleep, and in his dream, he saw the parts of his body arguing with one another. The feet said, «Of all the parts of the body, there is none like us. If we hadn’t walked, the body wouldn’t have been able to get any milk.» The hands replied, «There is no part like us. If we hadn’t stroked the lioness, we wouldn’t have gotten any milk.» The eyes argued, «We are more important than you. If we hadn’t shown you the way, none of this would have been achieved.» Then the heart spoke, «I am worth more than any of you. If I hadn’t advised you, you wouldn’t have succeeded in your task.»

Finally, the tongue spoke and said, “I am more valuable than any of you. If it weren’t for speech, what would you have done?” At that point, all the parts of the body united and responded to the tongue. How dare you compare yourself to us, you who are housed in a dark and lonely place? The tongue replied, “Today you will recognize my power.”

The man woke up and, without forgetting his dream, continued on his way. When he arrived with the king, he said, “Here is the dog’s milk I got you. Drink it.” The king was enraged and ordered the doctor to be hanged. On the way to the gallows, all the parts of the body trembled. Then the tongue said to them, “Did I not tell you that there was nothing of substance in you? If I save you now, will you admit that I have power over you?” They all nodded. At that, the tongue said to the executioner, “Take me back to the king,” to whom it said, “Why are you punishing me? Lionesses can also be called bitches. Take the milk.” The king drank it and was healed. The doctor went away in peace, and the body parts accepted the power of the tongue. It is written in Proverbs 18:21: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue. And whoever loves it will eat its fruit.” (M. Yalkut)

In the introduction to the book, Bialik and Ravnitzky say: “The Aggadah is the principal literary form of the Jewish people, the most classic expression of their spirit. It is the product of the creative force of many generations of rabbis. It is like a beautiful palace where the Jewish spirit and soul permanently reside.”

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Sefer Ha Aggadah, compiled by Hayim Nahman Bialik and Yoshua Hanna Ravnitzky.

Identity is the way individuals and groups of people define themselves vis-à-vis others. Professor Yedidia Z. Stern explains that Jewish identity, like many others, is made up of religious, national, social, and cultural elements. Previously, these elements were fully integrated, but two major changes in modern Jewish history have disrupted that integration. The first is the secularization of Judaism. For more than two centuries, being religious has ceased to be important for a significant group of the Jewish people. The second change is the State of Israel. For the first time, the Jewish people are a majority in a place where Jewish politics are discussed, people serve in a Jewish army, live within a Jewish legal system, and all of this occurs within a Jewish public space.

But Professor Stern points out that Israeli society, and the Jewish people in general, are experiencing a kind of cultural dualism. On the one hand, there is traditional Jewish culture, based primarily on religion, and on the other, there is the secular liberal identity, defined by national, social, and cultural factors. Israeli President Reuben Rivlin, in a famous speech he gave in June 2015, commented that Israeli Jewish society is divided into three main groups: the ultra-Orthodox, the Religious Zionists, and the secularists. Stern says that each of them has chosen a different path to resolve the problem of cultural dualism, although all share, to a greater or lesser degree, elements of both cultures.

The ultra-Orthodox group has opted for the religious component of traditional Jewish culture, and therefore seeks to isolate themselves from the secular society that surrounds them, as they constitute «God’s little domain on Earth» and do not want any integration with other groups. However, this isolation is relative, as they live within a secular society and take advantage of what that society offers, although they minimize their participation in it. On the contrary, secularists have opted for Western liberal culture and have abandoned the ancient Jewish traditions, which are absent in their education, their art, their philosophy, and in general, in all aspects of their lives. Nevertheless, secularists experience their Judaism by speaking Hebrew, using the Jewish calendar, commemorating the holidays in their own way, etc.

The third group, the religious Zionists, function in both cultures, but without blending them. When it comes to education, studying Torah, or discussing philosophical problems, they are in traditional Jewish culture. When it comes to learning a trade, working, going to a show or the market, they are in secular culture. Their identity functions in both cultures without integrating them.

President Rivlin failed to mention a fourth group who, although small, are the only ones who have managed to merge the two cultures. They are traditionalist Jews who celebrate the holidays without being observant and who enjoy non-religious Jewish culture. Liberal movements such as Conservative and Reform Judaism belong to this group. Can one survive as a Jew being only secular or only religious? It seems not, since in reality, no group is 100% secular or 100% religious.

By Marcos Gojman.

Bibliography: Yedidia Z. Stern: Religion, State, and the Jewish Identity Crisis in Israel.