Let me tell you about the mess here. A young couple, both of whom happen to be male, announced via a community newspaper that they intended to wed in the near future. A little while later, that newspaper's editor announced that, due to the reactions of "a group of rabbis" whose number and identities remain unpublished, its first same-sex wedding announcement would also be its last. Once the reaction of the broader community made it clear what a boneheaded move this had been, they issued yet another statement that acknowledges their poor management of the situation without committing them to anything in particular.
Now let's examine the fallout:
A couple about to begin their life together have, regardless of their wishes, had their wedding transmuted into another border skirmish in the American culture wars.
A generally respected publication has been made, as one commenter to the final statement put it, "the laughingstock of the entire Internet for a day." They can reverse their editorial decision, but they are unlikely to regain the good faith of their constituents.
An oppressed minority group lately noted for its spectacular teenage suicide rate has been told once again, in a loud and clear voice, that the stories of their lives violate the basic standards of decency for public discourse.
Another minority group, extremely diverse and widely misunderstood, have been branded in the public square as a bunch of bigoted, hypersensitive would-be theocrats.
The publisher says that we should "take a step back and reflect on what this series of events has taught us about the community we care so much about, and about the steps we must take to move forward together." I'm not sure what it's taught us about the community. The only lesson I would expect anyone to carry away from this mess is that the best damage control is not the kind where you pick up the pieces afterwards, but the kind that involves thinking a day into the future.
It seems almost trite to attack Robert Fisk for poor logic and unsupportable claims, but sometimes the need still arises. Shortly after the first reports of the flotilla clash, Fisk published an opinion piece that leaves me puzzled over his journalistic philosophy:
You only have to read the gutless White House statement – that the Obama administration was "working to understand the circumstances surrounding the tragedy". Not a single word of condemnation. And that's it. Nine dead. Just another statistic to add to the Middle East's toll.
It seems that in Fisk's world, waiting until one has the facts straight is an act of cowardice, while the brave are distinguished by their drive to speak and act in ignorance.
This attitude is a common one among Israel's knee-jerk critics—as opposed to its thoughtful critics, in which category I would like to think I fall—and has been cultivated extensively by the propaganda wings of Hamas and other terrorist organizations. Palestinian advocacy groups are far better than Israeli ones at exploiting the 24-hour news cycle, ensuring that their version of any given event is the first people hear, and therefore the one deemed most trustworthy. Any variations on the original narrative become "spin" in the eyes of the consumer, even if the original narrative is thoroughly, factually debunked.
So, how exactly does one respond to a notable journalist's exhortation to ignorance and non-thought?
It's only natural that the Anti-Defamation League responded to Newt Gingrich's recent spurious comparison between the Obama administration and Nazi Germany. I am more than a little surprised that the former Speaker of the House didn't see that coming, if in fact he did not. (Could he have planned this? Notoriety is still publicity.)
The question we should be asking is, where are the ADL when Jews make public comparisons of the President of the United States to Adolf Hitler? Barack Obama's stance toward Israel has provoked just such language, and Abe Foxman has been, so far as I can tell, silent. If the accusation is never legitimate, then it is never legitimate.
It's been my observation for a few years now that a particular brand of Zionism seems to have supplanted Judaism as a proving ground for many American Jews. To put it another way, the willingness to hold the hard line for Israel is seen as the sole measure of a good Jew, with anyone at the other extreme of the political spectrum being labeled with that most overused of epithets, "self-hating Jew."
As a member of the Jewish clergy and a moderate-to-liberal Zionist, I have found myself this past year in the odd circumstance of feeling that my Jewish credentials were being questioned by various laypersons whom I have served. I say "odd" in part because my nominal affiliation is with the Conservative Movement, the branch of organized American Jewry that boasts the greatest divide between what the clergy ask of the laity and what the laity actually do. When I dwell on it for too long I start to get upset at the situation: My entire life is distinctly Jewish, from my grooming habits and dress to my diet and the way I plan my week. While I don't style myself a talmid ħakham, I think there's little doubt that my knowledge of Judaism is both broader and deeper by far than that of the average American Jew. Yet I seem to grow reticent whenever the settler movement comes up in conversation with a congregant until I know precisely what that congregant's views are, and I quickly find myself worrying—not without reason—that my own perspective on hilltop settlements, their builders, and their builders' motivations, will render me a less reliable Jewish authority in someone's eyes. It is entirely likely that the someone in question would be unable to find his way out of a paper bag if the directions were printed in Hebrew, and there lies my point: Judaism isn't really what's under discussion here, but rather Zionism, which is allowed to dictate the terms of Judaism.
As the above link clearly shows, it's not just a problem for American Jewry. The South African Zionist Federation, in forming its conditional plan to protest in front of a synagogue on Shabbat and disrupt a family celebration, has clearly demonstrated that it places the State of Israel above the Torah and the mitzvot. It is deeply troubling for me, as an observant Jew and a Zionist, to see Jewish observance and morality cast off in the name of Zionism.
I love this lecture, and have already added the phrase "Big Placebo" to my repertoire of derogation. The one part of it that sets me off balance is Specter's attack on "the Organic Elite" for objecting to the production and use of genetically modified food crops. I don't object to it because his argument is incorrect, but because it pokes a hole in the way I think of myself, of my environmentalist sensibilities, and of my own eating habits.
I opt for organic produce whenever it's practical to do so, and am cognizant of the fact that I could probably extend my threshold of practicality a bit without bankrupting myself or adversely affecting my diet. I tell myself that this is not an ideological choice, but a practical one: organic foods tend to be less ecologically harmful than their more fully industrialized equivalents, and there is some evidence to indicate that organically grown fruits and vegetables may be more nutritious. The organic label is not a cure-all for our badly maladjusted food production and distribution apparatus, but it is a prudent investment in a slightly healthier world.
So I tell myself. One of the things I occasionally forget about the organic food movement, and one of the things that leaves me feeling oddly right-of-center in certain crowds, is the status of genetically modified organisms, or GMOs. As far as I can tell—figuring out the exact standards for organic certification requires more digging than it ought—organisms whose genomes have been altered through lab work are unfit to be certified as organic, while those whose genomes have been altered through selective breeding are acceptable. Why? Fear. In our society genetic engineering is the new radiation: a field of scientific exploration barely understood by the public, and ascribed greater and more diverse powers than it could plausibly have. So much for the rationality of organic certification.
But how rational—how objectively grounded—is any of it? What is organic is certainly not defined by any truly technical criterion, since GMOs are no less organic in the chemical sense than non-GMO crops. Even the ban on petroleum-based fertilizers in organic farming could not be based on such a rule, since petroleum is a collection of organic compounds produced by utterly natural means. Perhaps instead we should define organic food production as that which employs ecologically friendly methods, but then we're confronted with the numerous problems of what Michael Pollan calls the "big organic" complex, whose monocultured fields and fuel-intensive distribution networks are really no better than those of the non-organic competition.
What, then, does organic really mean? In my mind it's a construct, one whose meaning is decided by that fraction of society that cares about such things. If the rules shift to the point where some fraction of that constituency is alienated, that fraction then falls outside the core that does the deciding. What is organic—and more to the point, what is not organic—creates and defines a community of organic-seekers by including some and excluding others. The insiders believe, the outsiders do not, and the dissenters . . . well, what of the dissenters? People like me who buy into the line, but only to a point, need a name. Fortunately, religious discourse has given us a handy set of terms for just these circumstances. Those who believe wholeheartedly are, of course believers; those who do not are infidels; those of us who are too close for comfort, who believe with reservations, are heretics.
Heresiology, or the study of heresy, is really the study of the creation of heresies by those who style themselves keepers of the orthodoxy. After all, there is no objective definition of a heretic, who only holds that title because the prevailing orthodoxy says so. A heretic is someone whose deviance is not a sufficiently obvious departure from the fold, and must be announced lest that deviance be viewed as a legitimate manifestation of the orthodoxy. If this sounds cruel or intolerant, perhaps unsuited to our open and democratic society, then know that everyone does it. We do it when we maintain a respectful distance from others' religious beliefs but tell jokes about coreligionists who are just a bit too different. We do it when we call out members of our own political parties for not toeing the line. We do it whenever we define ourselves as a collective based on what we are not, and that is the matter of central importance: heresy defines orthodoxy. Deciding exactly where the wall is, and what is outside the wall, by necessity also defines what is inside. Orthodoxy needs heresy to survive, and all good orthodoxies have their heretics.
