Return of the Aggadic Jew

Is Judaism, at its core, about The Law or The Story?

Ruby Namdar

It’s exhilarating (and good for my mental health) when someone else writes what I’ve been thinking for decades.

From An Aggadic Jew: Liberate the Power of Jewish Storytelling, by Ruby Namdar, part of Jewish Priorities: Sixty-five proposals for the future of our people:

… In modern times, when “identity” is something fluid and intensely personal, rather than being dictated from above, the aggada has become even more important. [The aggada are the stories, parables, legends, and fables that were interlaced among the analytical discussions of halacha, or Jewish law, in the Talmud.] Today, the story is the central tool for any discussion of identity — both the individual story, as derived through the various forms of psychotherapy; and the collective story, as told by historians, sociologists, journalists, politicians, and ideologues who weave the fabric of meaning that unites us as a civilization.

Along these lines, the Jewish story — as is reflected in the narratives of the Bible, the aggada and midrash, as well as modern Jewish literature, which to me is a direct continuation of these ancient narratives — is the most important tool for identity available to us as modern Jews.

We live in a time when our search for meaning comes well before any search for norms dictated from without. The ancient Jewish texts, which tell our eternal story, are a gold mine of meaning which, despite their age, remain surprisingly relevant. The freedom of thought, boundless imagination, and disarming intellectual honesty of our sages offer an amazing source for inspiration and a wonderful model for us to imagine a Jewish future built on the same values, images, and compelling stories that were the bedrock of our ancestors’ Jewish identity.

The “aggadic Jew” may have never fully disappeared, but it is nonetheless vitally important to declare, loud and proud, his return to the center stage of Jewish identity in our time.

Amen, Brother Ruby.

I’d only add that the Hebrew Bible begins with the Story — Creation to Eden to Babel to Abraham to Jacob to Moses — which leads us to the revelation at Mt. Sinai and the giving of The Law. The Story begets The Law, not the other way around.

That said, I’ve become convinced that the Jewish Story and the people who tell it would never have survived, and cannot continue to survive, without the Law.

The Story and the Law need each other. But which laws apply to me?

On the seventh day…

I grew up in the Reform movement, which jettisoned most Jewish laws long ago, replacing them with humanistic values and universal ethics. Reform Jews tried to transform a people on a mission into a religion like many others. Look at us now! Choirs! Organs! Mixed seating! Shrimp cocktails! We’re not so different from the rest of you anymore! Needless to say, this approach hasn’t worked very well.

As an adult, I migrated to a Reconstructionist shul, which cryptically teaches that tradition and law have “a vote but not a veto.” Shabbat? Kosher? Prayer? Your call! (Something essential is still missing, I’m afraid.)

Now in my 60s, I find myself moving slowly toward a more traditional (Orthodox?) understanding of Jewish laws and rituals. They matter.

For example, I’m beginning to grasp why the Fourth Commandment is carved into stone — a rock upon which so much else depends:

“The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space,” wrote Abraham Joshua Heschel. “Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation, from the world of creation to the creation of the world.”

By dwelling within the Sabbath’s “architecture of time,” Jews have had a way to connect with G*d without the Temple in Jerusalem. Once each week, all over the world, Jews gather in an eternal sanctuary without walls or windows, unfurl the Scroll, and continue to tell the Story of where we’ve been, where we are, and where we might be going.

The Sabbath has been our (legal) anchor in time which has prevented the Jewish people from drifting into oblivion.

Or as Ahad Ha’am famously said: “More than Jews have kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept the Jews.”

It’s genius, really. Almost a miracle: One day in seven set aside for us to stand in awe not at what we have accomplished, but at the blessings we have been given. A day to give thanks, individually and collectively, that we are alive and have arrived at this moment. And a day to remember that even when the darkness descends and threatens to suffocate us all, there is reason for hope because we are not alone.

… Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim: זִכְרוֹנָם לְבְרָכָה