Jewish Pluralism or Denominational Heresy? A Message Before the 9th of Av

There was a time in my life when I called myself an Orthodox Jew. I did so even though I had already learned that the very term “Orthodox” was born as a reaction to the beginnings of the Reform movement. Reform leaders had radically redefined Jewish practice — moving Shabbat to Sunday, relinquishing the hope of returning to Israel or rebuilding the Temple, and calling their synagogues “temples” to replace the Temple of Solomon.

They declared, “Berlin is our Jerusalem.” They famously held a “treif banquet” at which every non-kosher delicacy was served — a public display meant to reject tradition and show they were modern. They saw themselves as reformers, much as Luther had been in Christianity, and they refused to be bound by what they called medieval codes.

In response, the Jews who continued to live by the Torah rejected this radical break — and rightly so. Yet they also accepted, perhaps unfortunately, the name the Reform Jews had given them: “Orthodox” — the old, the antiquated. They took it on with pride, as if to say, “Yes, we are the old ways.” But in truth, they were not the old ways — they were the living way. They were the Judaism of today and tomorrow, the present expression of Torah.

For many years, I’ve said: Orthodox, Conservative, Reconstructionist, Renewal, Secular Humanist — any Jewish identity is fine if we think of them as the tribes once did. In ancient times, one person might say, “I’m from Judah,” another, “I’m from Benjamin.” And then together they would say, “Do we have a minyan? Let’s go.”

Today, will an Orthodox Jew attend a Conservative or Reform service? Often not. Yet the issues that divide us are far smaller in cosmic significance than the unity we share as a people. On the scale of Jewish history, the “rock of Jewish unity” outweighs the need to separate ourselves over synagogue practices, seating arrangements, or even minhagim (customs).

We allow these small differences to become bitter arguments. I’m not saying people shouldn’t make their own choices or maintain their practices. I am saying we should respect each other’s free will — and remember that if we believe another Jew is in error, there is indeed a mitzvah of tochacha (rebuke). But rebuke is bound by strict rules: it must be for the benefit of the other person, not for one’s own satisfaction, anger, or judgment. If your rebuke comes from ego or hostility, it is forbidden.

Even when rebuke is warranted, it must be given in a way the other person can hear. If you beat someone over the head with your words, they will run from you. You will have driven them away not only from you but from the truth you hoped to share. The Talmud records the wisdom of Bruriah, wife of Rabbi Meir, who reminded her husband of this very principle: to correct behavior without condemning the person.

We do not judge people. That is God’s role alone. When we judge a person instead of their actions, we make ourselves into idols — worshiping our own judgment rather than being open to the possibility we might be wrong. None of us is so wise as to know another person’s mind.

This is why I resist the word tolerance. When people say we must “tolerate” each other, it feels like a mask over dislike, perhaps even hatred. I have relatives I do not enjoy being around; I tolerate them at Thanksgiving. But is that how we are meant to love another Jew? Is “tolerating” someone while disliking them the fulfillment of ve’ahavta l’re’acha kamocha — love your fellow as yourself? I hope not.

Jewish unity is more important than politics, denominational disputes, economics, or culture. Yet we keep placing it behind these. Every schism weakens us. We need to heal these wounds, not pick at them.

When we constantly scream at each other in the name of truth, that is not dialogue. It does not move us forward. It only raises tempers, turns open hands into fists, and divides our nation. This is not what it means to be a light to the nations. This is not the mission of Israel.

The Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam — baseless hatred. Let us not repeat that mistake.

אֲמַר לֵיהּ רַב נַחְמָן בַּר יִצְחָק לְרַב חִיָּיא בַּר אָבִין: הָנֵי תְּפִילִּין דְּמָרֵי עָלְמָא מָה כְּתִיב בְּהוּ? אֲמַר לֵיהּ ״וּמִי כְּעַמְּךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל גּוֹי אֶחָד בָּאָרֶץ״. (Brachot 6a)

Rav Nachman bar Yitzchok said to Rav Chiya bar Avin: What is written in the phylacteries of the Master of the world? Rav Chiya bar Avin replied: It is written: “Who is like Your people, Israel, one nation in the land?” (I Chronicles 17:21)”