January-February 2025
“Jewish Governors Named Josh”
I am here to announce my non-candidacy for elected office. If a decent rabbi, I would make a lousy public official — or at least one unlikely to withstand the stresses of high (or medium or low) office for very long. Please vote for someone else.
Thankfully, there will be 35 Jewish elected officials in the House of Representatives and the Senate as of this January, all of whom will be far more qualified for public office.
In addition, there will be six Jewish governors, three of whom share my first name – Josh Green of Hawaii, Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, and Josh Stein of North Carolina. While much could be said about the gender balance of Jewish governors (and governors in general), I am heartened that three out of six who will be holding office had parents with the keen insight to bestow upon them such a dignified first name.
Far more interesting information – often occluded by present anxieties and political polarization – is how American Jews decided to vote in this past election. According to data from the Jewish Electoral Institute (which Professor Stephen Windmueller wrote about with particular insight), Jewish voters prioritized a wide array of issues:
- 46 percent saw the future of democracy as a primary concern.
- 30 percent prioritized abortion access.
- 26 percent focused on the economy, notably inflation.
- 25 percent identified Israel as a major policy concern (albeit not necessarily a primary one).
While data on the proportion of American Jews voting for either major party has been somewhat fuzzy and reliant on self-identification and a willingness to speak to pollsters about both politics and religion, most seem not to have swapped parties in the past decade.
Most importantly, Jews continue to vote at high rates, value their civic participation, and pursue (and attain) public office in disproportionate numbers.
May they continue to do so – and even elect more Jewish governors named Josh. Just not me.
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November-December 2024
“In Defense of History“
One of the most important books that I read in college was In Defense of History by Richard Evans. It describes how relativism and the growing chorus suggesting that all human experiences are subjective is not only demonstrably false but deeply problematic. How we write our past shapes our self-understanding and is as core to our humanity as language, relationship, and the ability for abstract thought. While a written history need not describe why particular events happened, it must relate the events that happened, the evidence that we have for each event, and a preliminary understanding about how one event might relate to another. Without these connections, we were lost — and had lost a key tool with which we could gain in self-understanding.
Alas, as my colleague Rabbi Shoshanah Conover relates, we increasingly are living in a “time without context.” Whatever one feels must inherently be valid, even if it bears little connection to events that took place. “I feel that Ukraine and Russia should make peace” can be disconnected from Russia’s invasion of a country that it historically dominated — and mistreated — under consecutive empires. “Israel’s military offensive makes me angry” can be disconnected from a war that has more than one side and which Israel did not initiate. Anything you feel goes.
Some suggest that there are nefarious aims at play in the rise of “alternative facts,” analysis without data, and the spread of catchy falsehoods about the past masquerading as cordially valid with real history. Rabbi Josh Franklin has suggested that this may be part of an effort to cast doubt on the Holocaust and give credence to Holocaust deniers.
Perhaps in part. But the focus of ahistorical discourse goes far beyond the Holocaust or American history or the study of war and peace. Without a doubt, it strengthens the voices of people who know little and say much — who wish influence or profit or political gain. But it is also a reflection of those who consume such myth with gusto and excitement, namely all of us.
We cannot single-handedly end the misinformation games or remedy this period of enthusiasm for historically disconnected accounts of the past. But we can be more discerning consumers — of books, of media, of social media. We can be more discerning propagators of ideas. We can renew our own study of the past.
As ever, this time of year evokes questions about how we got here as individuals and a community. This year, may we take the endeavor of studying our personal and collective past more seriously.
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September-October 2024
“The Torah of Travel: Reflections from spiritual journeys by our educators and clergy”
Part I: Interfaith Mission to Poland
I had never seen a Christian cry for Jews at a gas chamber. But in front of the still-operable gas chambers at the Majdanek concentration camp in Poland, I saw several burst into tears at the fate that had befallen our people and others who were enslaved there. It was part of an interfaith mission to Poland with 24 Evangelical Christian leaders and 6 Jewish professionals this July. It was convened by the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago in collaboration with Wheaton College, perhaps the premier Christian college or university in the United States.
A unique aspect of the trip was the extent to which it emphasized difference, rather than creating a superficial sense of commonality. Christian and Jewish theologies are fundamentally different. Jews are not just a faith but a “faith that became a family that stayed a faith.” There are 80 million American Evangelicals and perhaps 7.5 million American Jews. Evangelical Christianity celebrates resurrection and redemption; Judaism tries to balance notions of redemption with those of exile and uncertainty.
What was clear was the extent to which stereotypes that many Jews — and especially progressive Jews — have about Evangelicals do not hold true, at least not across the entirety of a community so vast. These Christian leaders were college presidents and foundation executives and were as well-read and intellectually curious as many New York Jews.
Further, they did not associate with the antisemitic foundations of many European Christian streams. As such, they seemed genuinely surprised that Christians would kill Jews and not to understand why antisemitism could still exist in Poland, which now has a Jewish population of 5,000 (down from 3 million before World War II).
The trip was filled with learning — as much for me as a rabbi as for my Christian counterparts. There is much potential for collaboration with moderate Evangelicals in the effort to combat antisemitism, and we would do well not to overlook such an important community, especially one guided more than we may realize by insightful professors than unctuous televangelists.