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Chosenness in Jewish Tradition
W. Gunther Plaut

This article, and the following on CHOSENNESS IN CHRISTIAN TRADITION by Gregory Baum, are addresses that were delivered at the Fourth Annual Conference on Christian-Jewish Relations, February 1978, under the chairmanship of Rev. Peter Gilbert, director of Christian-Jewish Dialogue, Toronto. They were printed in THE ECUMENIST, Vol. 17, No. I, Nov.-Dec. 1978, and are reproduced here with the Editor's permission.

A Holy Calling

On the eve of a holy day, a Jew opens his prayer book, and as he lifts the Cup of wine, he repeats: 'Blessed art thou, 0 Lord, our God, king of the universe, who has chosen us from all nations, who has lifted us above all tongues, who has sanctified us with his commandments . . . chosen us from all nations . . . lifted us above all tongues . . . sanctified us with his commandments." Within the purview of this prayer lies the traditional self-understanding of the Jew, and the Jew's understanding also of the meaning of history. As an expression of modernity some fifty years ago, when a new Reform prayer book was being written, this part of the prayer was left out. But now that, again, another edition of this prayer book has appeared within the Reform movement, that phrase has reappeared.

I use this as an introduction to let you know that the way in which we have understood history has not always been the same, but that by and large until the advent of the modern age, it has followed a perceivable line, that it has had its reverses, and now is being reinterpreted. It is to this waxing and waning of the concept that I would address myself.

The traditional view of election might be said to be this: Jewish history through all its manifestations reflects one single conviction—that Israel was God's chosen. Already from the days of Abraham was Jewish history thus limned: his descendants were to be as numerous as the sands by the sea; they would be a blessing to all mankind through ages of hope, despair, agony and victory. This ancient promise was seen in evidence, and historians of the people faithfully recorded its slow but inevitable fulfillment. If Israel is faithful, so this idea goes, God's plan can be put into effect. If Israel truly becomes a kingdom of priests, a holy nation, the world at large will see salvation. New this interrelationship between Israel, the people, and humanity as a whole is the crux of this self-understanding. For in this conviction, everything that happens to humanity, and to Israel especially, stands in direct relation to the great promise—a promise repeated to the patriarchs, confirmed at Sinai, and attested by generations thereafter: Jewish history is world history condensed to its quintessence. It is the hub of events. If all is well with Israel, the world is well. If Israel is ailing, humanity is sick. It is in this way that an old Jewish folk-saying can be interpreted. At first glance it appears as enormously self-centered, but it must be understood in this light. My dad (may he rest in peace) always used to ask in connection with any kind of world problem: "Is it good for the Jews?" He didn't mean to say that if it is good for the Jews nothing else matters; what he meant was that if it is good for the Jews, it's good for the world; if it's bad for the Jews, it's bad for mankind. This means, in a direct way, that human history is the responsibility of the Jew, for it is ultimately the Jew to whom the fate of humanity is entrusted. God and man wait on the perfection of the Jew.

The above may be seen from one angle as a grand conception, from another as an unreasonable assumption, and from a third as a preposterous idea—yet there it is. How else is Israel to understand that even today, when Jews constitute a fraction of one percent of humanity, we still speak of "Jew and Gentile"—this infinitesimal group of people, scattered among humanity, set up—even in parlance—against the whole of humanity? It is self-centered; it glorifies Jewish choice, Jewish potential, Jewish hope. It magnifies at the same time—and this must not be forgotten—Jewish failing into proportions of world catastrophe. But make no mistake about it—a grandeur of conception is always and forever a position of utter responsibility. It may appear ludicrous to hear a numerically insignificant section of humanity proclaim itself a guardian of human faith, but at the same time this strange people is willing to assume all the burdens that such a task implies. If it is to be ignominy, let it be so; if it is to be dispersion, it must be endured; if it is to be martyrdom, it must be borne. The promise of reward is vague and distant. Meanwhile, in this conception, a loving God—like a good father—chastises his beloved children with punishments of love. He is harsher on them because they aspire so high—because divinely and humanly "noblesse oblige". This, then, is the traditional view, coalesced to be sure into a few words—oversimplified perhaps, but essentially as 1 have described.

But Jews as a whole no longer hold to this view that my forefathers held for so long. A number of circumstances contributed to the watering down of these ideas, if not their abandonment altogether. There was of course first of all the Enlightenment, with its idea of equality—equality not only of nations, but of religions as well. One religion was deemed to be as good as another. Israel's religion was deemed to be good for Jews but not necessarily good for everyone. But even more so, the idea that one nation should deem itself chosen above all others appeared to run counter to the trend of times and was, so many Jews believed, counterproductive in their drive for civic equality. Who, they feared, would wish to give equality to a people that did not believe in it?

Then there was the holocaust which shook to the very foundations the idea of a loving God. With martyrdom made so utterly monstrous, its devastation so far beyond both belief and description, theological interpretation suddenly seemed out of reach, and the mouths of Jews were stilled. Even the believers were silenced.

And third, in a strange way, the rise of Israel itself has had its telling effect on the weakening of the traditional view. Not because there are not enough believing Jews in Israel or in the diaspora—there are, for though the idea be weakened, there are still many who steadfastly hold to it—but because the major drive that seems to under gird the existence of Israel today is to be accepted as one of the nations. And the moment one says that—to be like the other nations—one has shaken the foundation of the traditional temple.

And so, not surprisingly, since the days of the Enlightenment a number of secularist views of the "why" of Jewish existence have arisen and attempted to abandon altogether, or to reinterpret significantly (often to the point of disappearance), the view of chosenness and of election as a workable and operative self-view of the Jew. Let me deal with this a little more at length because we live in an age celebrated by Harvey Cox as jubilantly secular, and by others viewed more pessimistically, but an age in which the Jews will be viewed not only by others but also by themselves as a natural people.

Secular Chosenness

I will deal briefly with three secular self-views by the Jew, and all these views have one thing in common: they recognize ultimately in their parlance that the idea of chosenness turned out to be a survival device of the Jew. This is the way in which he was psychologically and therefore physically able to stand up to oppression, persecution, expulsion and ignominy. The first of these groups may be described as the "nationalists", represented by such figures as Moses Hess, Peretz Smolenskin, Achad He am, Simon Dubnow and the political Zionists. These people looked at world history and saw that nationalism was the crest of a new wave of civilization. Nations defined the content of politics and the shape of culture—nations did not need to justify themselves. Men are endowed with certain inalienable rights, the Jeffersonians had declared, and the conviction that each national group had the right of self-determination became a hallowed international principle even before Woodrow Wilson enunciated it so memorably. Truth is not new. It was considered self-evident as a part of some pervasive natural law. Now, with over 150 nations forming the United Nations, humanity seems to have given formal assent to nationalism as humanity's normal and expected basis for organizations. That, at the moment of its greatest success, this world outlook will have to give way to larger concepts that will of necessity once more limit our national self-expressions could of course not have been foreseen some generations ago. So with nationalism rising to its full eminence, Jewish nationalists, especially in Eastern Europe, demanded recognition for national Jewish aspirations. They did not find it relevant to ask why Jews needed or ought to survive; they were what they were and that sufficed. Jews had ethical and cultural bonds all their own—they cherished them; they were entitled to sustain and develop them; they spoke Yiddish; many loved their new Hebrew as a literary tongue, and language too came into the vortex of cultural treasure. Some looked for autonomous national life within some East European state, others searched for fresh territory in Australia or Uganda, but the majority looked to Palestine where Jews could establish a new society in the old land. Political and cultural Zionism were the godchildren of nineteenth-century nationalism, and present-day Israel still exhibits strong traces of the old philosophy which eschews all need to ask for a "why" of Jewish existence.

If I may break the trend of thought for a moment, I would like to share with you that I have just finished reading a book which expresses this more brilliantly and more persuasively—it didn't quite persuade me, but persuasive it is—a book by Billet Halkin: Letters to an American Jewish Friend. His powerfully argued thesis is that Jewish existence in the diaspora is doomed. It is useless to be a Jew in the diaspora—so go to Israel and live there. But why? For what purpose? Not becuase of fulfilling that ancient demand made to Abraham and reaffirmed at Sinai and a thousand times thereafter, but simply because there one will live like everyone else. In the end Halkin says he hopes that if the Jew is given that opportunity, he will once again produce great cultural contributions for humanity. In many ways Ilalkin is today the very persuasive spokesman of the view which I have just set forth (and at the same time of a view which has nothing to do with our subject)—namely, of the uselessness of diaspora living.

The second group are the socialists. At first they drew their inspiration from the classical writings of Marx and Engels, which meant that nationalism like religion was decried as a tool of exploitation; consequently national Jewish survival was of no particular concern to the socialists. They opposed the study of Hebrew as a device to bring antiquated and reactionary ideas back into Jewish life. Their goal was the salvation of humanity—a goal for which all past values had to be sacrificed. But, there were some socialists who combined their political philosophy with a fervent Jewish nationalism long before Josef Stalin (of unhappy memory) raised the concept of revolution in one land to international communist respectability. Through their writings and in their labor they laid down the foundations of a Jewish labor movement and a cooperative enterprise upon which much of present-day Israel is built. These were the ideological foundations of the kibbutzim. These people revived the latent element of Jewish messianism in secular garb. Jewish ethics and social vision could reclaim the desert—reclaim the ghetto—warped urban Jew—and at the same time set a magnificent example to the world. It was a bold commitment to the future, and it was undertaken without recourse to esoteric questions of meaning.

All these men and women are "humanists". That is, they derive their values from human existence and not from any supernatural source, but at the same time there are some, and they belong to the third group, whohold religious convictions in the broad sense and therefore are described rather awkwardly as "religious humanists". They are found primarily in the diaspora, and they form the third group. Their most vocal advocate today is Mordecai Kaplan.

The personal, caring God of the Jewish past recedes into a vague, general, universal "force that makes for salvation". In the sight of such a force there can be no choosing and no chosen ones, but Jews can and must continue, on their own, to choose the ethics of their tradition voluntarily as a religious avocation, and this will set them aside as well as assure their survival. In this view, if Jews will practice Judaism, with its splendid proven ways and ideals, they will guarantee their own existence. It is a survivalist philosophy centered on Israel as a core. It is Judaism without supernaturalism. Its adherents share a burning conviction that their people survived in the past and will survive in the future only because of a national will to survive. They are Jews deeply committed to Jewish values, and hence it seems it is needless to ask "Why?" We are Jews—within us courses a collective stream of ethical genius. It is our task to release it, to bring its beneficent potential to flower in the life of both Jew and Gentile. It may be hard to be a Jew, but it is also good to be a Jew. How poor I would be if I, born into this glorious heritage, would let it wither or would eschew it altogether. How poor the world would have been without my people; how poor it would be without it in the years to come. Live, and do not ask "Why liver Our premise is not God or psychology; our premise is the living Jew, scion of an old people, who is now and always called upon to take up the greatest vocation on earth—to be himself at his best. He is not chosen, nor is he superior; he is not one who is raised above all tongues, but he can choose to become, if not superior, then at least equal in excellence, to the nations of the world and thereby fulfill himself and make his singular contribution to humanity. This contribution is one which nobody else can make, for only the Jew can give to human life that special modality which has distinguished him from the beginning.

Chmenness and Faith

Now rather an attractive way of looking at myself—I must admit it, I like to look in the mirror and see the man of potential—and, seeing him, say to myself: "I am indeed part of a great and worthwhile enterprise." Accepting oneself is psychologically necessary, but can one hold truly (and here I will enter a brief critique of these secular views) that Jewish values are so unique, so decidedly different from the best in other cultures and traditions, that they must be preserved at any price? That Jewish poetry and fiction is singular beyond duplication? That Jewish family life is sui generisi> That Jewish ethics is a phenomenon of rare distinction? And that all in all this people needs perpetuation for its own sake and for the sake of the world at any price? You can see where, at this end of the secular view, the circle is closed; and he who holds that view stands side by side with the traditionalists, even though they don't see each other as they speak. True, Jewish values are unique (I am not going to deny this). Their peculiar grace is hard to detect in isolated instances—it is felt rather than seen—but has not every people its distinctiveness?

What is there in Jewish uniqueness to make it worth ignominy and martyrdom and the threat and actuality of holocausts? True, Jewish writing is unlike the writing of other cultures—there is nothing quite like the poetry of Bialik or the stories of Sholom Alechem. There is, in fact, nothing like Yiddish for expressing the spirit of a diaspora now largely gone. But of course there is also nothing like Milton, or Pushkin, or like English or Russian or any literary tongue. True, there is something special about the Jewish family and about Jewish ethics. But the people of old who were so virtuous did not experience the kind of disturbances now so common. At best we can say that Jewish tradition still harbors the potential for outstanding ethical performance; but, one asks the secularists, is it alone in that? No, Jews did not survive because they have or had better human, hygienic or social attributes and habits. They did not survive and have not survived because they are or were more stubborn as a breed than others. They did not survive because their sociological structure favored continued existence. They survived because (and here I speak of the view that I hold as that which does justice to Jewish existence) they beltved—no less, no more. They believed in their covenant with God. They believed in his faithfulness. They of ten believed in their own superiority and their exclusive religious prerogatives. They did not develop their faith as a support for survival—in the past it was always the other way around. Jewish existence made sense, was possible only, and persisted only because Jews believed in their divinely determined status.

And so, the old chosenness refuses to go away. There is, I think, today a renewed recognition that the Jewish way has always related to God. Sectional histories may tell fascinating tales and appear unique in color and texture, but they all belong to the same priestly kingdom—the same hope, the same expectations. Jewish history posits a caring, choosing God. Without this knowledge, at least the way I see it, man can know nothing of Israel's history. Here precisely, I think, lies both the difficulty and the partial failure of purely secular approaches to the fate of this people, for they deal with what Arthur A. Cohen has called "the natural Jew". But the natural Jew's natural history would only be one part of the whole. It is the supernatural Jew whose presence must be accounted for. He is the vital part of the eternally vital people; his eye is fixed on matters beyond economics and politics (though often perforce he is myopic). Ultimately, he must speak of purposes and goals. Ultimately, he must always speak of God.

The view I will propose further on requires some added emphases which heretofore have had less than prominent attention. One is a renewed emphasis on that which the secularists, especially Mordecai Kaplan, have taught us—namely, the choosing quality of the Jew. This goes back into the midrashic days when a number of midrashim tell of God offering the Torah to other nations, but only Israel being willing to accept it, sight unseen, burdens not understood, future unexplored, rewards unasked for. And in that sense, Israel chose God, chose to say "yes" at Sinai, chose to enter the covenant and to take up the promise and the burden of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. But there is also another tradition which to me is just as relevant. This is expressed in the midrash which says that God makes it clear to Israel that the people do have a choice. He says to them, "If you accept the Torah it will be well with you. If, however, you will refuse to accept the Torah I will take this mountain and put it like a kettle over you, burying you underneath." But then, is it not always so when you touch the hem of the garment of the Ineffable? If you touch the presence of the Almighty you are no longer totally free. When you stand face to face with God, freedom is limited and choice becomes, in the view of this midrash, a matter of being or not-being, of life or death. There is also a need to reinterpret our relationship not only to ourselves, but to others—our relationship to other religions, especially Christianity. It was done, I think for the last time, nearly fifty years ago by Max Brod, who wrote a book in which he dealt with Judaism, Christianity and paganism.

I am a pupil of Franz Rosenzweig, who died just fifty years ago. In his Star of Redemption he deals with this problem, and his view has given me light and understanding. I, who believe in choke, in chosenness, will not hold him responsible for what I am about to say, but I will in two sentences outline his views. He views Judaism as the keeper of the flame, and Christianity as the one that took the flame and brought the torch unto the nations. To be sure, the flame at the core and the flame in the torch will not be the same fire because they burn to different timbers, but they do have in common both the source and its fate. Further, I admit freely that oppression does terrible things to people, and did so to our people. Oppression, of course, can sometimes compress the essence of a nation or of a human being so that its quintessential quality becomes hardened as coal becomes diamond; but oppression also warps and misshapes. It is true that the idea of chosenness was an aspect of our survival, but it also meant that, all too often, we believed that indeed we were superior and that the prayer "who has chosen us from every nation", "who has lifted us above all tongues", was borne out in history; for all a Jew had to do was look above him and see the raging, ravaging, pillaging and mindless mob bent on blood and rapine, to cast him more securely in that conviction that he was indeed superior, even though it did not always fully answer the physical needs of the moment.

Election and Uncertainty

But I go further. There is also need to speak again of what chosenness does mean. If one can no longer hold with the old view which I set forth at the very beginning, one can recognize that in history indeed there is no record of any other people who, at the crucial moment of their existence, together chose a national goal which was not land, not expansion, not political might or military power, but service to an unseen God experienced in a moment of revelation, a moment that has not been equaled in history in that way: a whole nation however large it may have been saying "yes" to the uncertainty of fate. It is this which is the crux of my view—one Jew's view—of chosenness, election, the covenant and its meaning. Fifty years ago Werner Heisenberg revolutionized the thinking of physicists and philosophers with his principle of uncertainty. Today in many ways it has become the very foundation of understanding. It has many aspects. For one, when we try to look at the very core of things, be it through an electro-microscope or with the help of lasers of various kinds, the very act of looking alters the nature of that at which we look, so that reality is not fixed nor is it fixable And one can only guess at it. For this reason, calculus plays a basic role in the physical sciences today.

I conclude my disquisition with this: We are what we are, even though we do not fully know why we are. We know that we are messengers of God, albeit for tasks not always fully understood. At best we can say that perhaps it was the task of the Hebrews at Sinai to establish the possibility of a people giving itself to spiritual roles. Perhaps it was the task of the prophets to establish the principles of social righteousness, to make clear that secular power was subservient to ideals and spiritual demands. Perhaps it was the task of this people to stand up against the all-encompassing strength, the enveloping beauty and appeal of Hellenism and say no to it—to say no again, at the cost of its political existence, to Roman might and even to Roman law. Perhaps it was the task of this people to give birth to Christianity, or later to be godfather to Islam. Perhaps in the Middle Ages, in the time of the Renaissance, it was the task of this people to be the bridge twixt antiquity and what was then modernity, twixt the culture of Islam and the culture of Christendom. Perchance it was because of the Jew that the issue of human equality was debated in parliaments that ranged from Paris to Quebec. Perhaps it is the task of the Jew today, through Israel, to make sure that humanity is saved from self-destruction; for it is my belief that the original thought-pattern of tradition will not be cast lightly to the wind. The people of Israel are crucial to humanity and its survival politically, spiritually, and culturally. The state of Israel assures that there will be no second holocaust, for if there were to be yet another holocaust (may God forbid it) Western civilization and with it Christianity would find their feet to he of clay and their future impossible. In that same way it may yet turn out to be that the resistance of the Jew in the communist orbit is the avantgarde of humanity's battle for the possibilities of heterogeneity in the face of the all-encompassing power of the state that makes for forcible conformity. Jews may be forgiven for doubting their status, but they cannot as a people escape it. Individual Jews have choices; the Jewish people have none. The people remain the messenger, waiting for God, waiting for history, looking at the past, and wondering—looking at the present and perchance doubting, but going on nonetheless into a future not yet understood, uncertain in its nature. It is a path that must be trod.

Copyright: The Ecumenist