REVIEW ESSAY

Menachem Genack

Rabbi Menachem Genack is rabbinic administrator of the

Kashruth Division of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Con-
gregations of America, co-editior of the Torah journal
Mesorah, and Professor of Talmud at Touro College.

AMBIGUITY AS THEOLOGY:
A REVIEW OF EMET V'EMUNA: STATEMENT OF
PRINCIPLES OF CONSERVATIVE JUDAISM

The Conservative Movement in Judaism can be said to have begun in

1845 when Zechariah Frankel walked out of a conference of Reform
rabbis which had rejected his position on the use of Hebrew in worship.
Thus, from its very beginnings, Conservative Judaism has been defined by
what it was not: not Reform and not Orthodox. It was a disassociation
from the liberal, non-halakhic view of Reform, as well as from the rigidity
of which Orthodoxy was accused.
But such a "negative definition" is ultimately unsatisfying. In an
attempt to formulate a cogent presentation of the theology of the move-
ment, a joint commission of representatives of the Jewish Theological
Seminary and the Rabbinical Assembly was established in 1985, with
Robert Gordis, professor of Bible at the Seminary, as chairman. The
commission was subsequently expanded to include lay representatives.
Emet v'Emuna: Statement of Principles of Conservative Judaism is the
result. It is designed explicitly to address the prevailing view that the
Conservative movement has no ideology of its own. Kassel Abelson,
president of the Rabbinic Assembly, candidly expresses this in his fore-
word to the booklet:
Rabbis in particular were confronted frequently with the question, "What docs
Conservative Judaism stand for'? Implicit in the question was the widespread belief
that Conservative Judaism is simply a vague, undefined middle ground between
Orthodoxy and Reform, with no philosophy of its own. It can he argued that, in the
twentieth century, this lack of defìnition was quite useful and had practical benefits,
since the majority of American Jews wished to be neither Orthodox nor Reform,
and found a comfortable niche within the Conservative movement. But the situation
has changed radically in the last several decades. Orthodoxy, which had been
widely dismissed as moribund, has assertively come back to life, and is generally
70 TRADITION, 25(lj, Fall 1989 (i 1990 Rabbinical Council of America
 Menachem Genack

characterized by an aggressive ideology which denies the legitimacy of non-

Orthodox approaches to Judaism. On the other hand, the Reform movement has
become increasingly militant, and has been seeking to spell out a philosophy of its
own. In our day, it is no longer suffcient to define Conservative Judaism by what it
is not.

Has the Conservative movement finally defined itself? That such an

outcome was unlikely is already evident from Abelson's foreword. He
informs us that although the Commission was initially designed to be a
forum for those with scholarly credentials, such as rabbis and academi-
cians, it was soon enough joined by lay representatives of the United
Synagogue, Women's League, Federation of Jewish Men's Clubs, the
Cantor's Assembly, and the Jewish Educators' Assembly.
What motivated the inclusion of lay people in such an endeavor?
Was it merely the benign realization that lay input was essential for
defining a philosophy for rabbis and congregants alike, as Abelson sug-
gests? From the foreword of Franklin Kreutzer, president of the United
Synagogue, it is apparent that there were other considerations. Kreutzer
(who, it should be noted, had insisted that the delegation that met with
Pope John Paul II in 1988 include not only rabbis but laymen) writes in
his Foreword:
In light of our strong commitment to the active role of the laity within the spectrum
of our movement, the United Synagogue leadership felt an urgent need for lay
involvement. Therefore, we formally requested to be part of the process, to help
develop an ideological statement that would be held and lived by rabbi and
congregant alike. After a period of negotiation, it was agreed that there would be six
lay members in the Commission.

Whatever the motivation, the initial intention not to include laymen

and the subsequent decision to incorporate them in the Commission is
significant. One would have thought that the "Ani Ma-amin" of the
Conservative movement would have been the result of the thinking of
rabbis steeped in scholarship, determined to define rigorously its funda-
mental principles and philosophy. Unfortunately, it is the organizational-
political dimension, rather than the philosophical one, which permeates
this document. It is less a document of conviction than of convention, less
a reflection of transcendent philosophical truths and aspirations than of
sociological facts.
The Commission would argue that the representation of the lay
constituency is a reflection of the basic Conservative concept of halakhah
as not static, but as evolving and developing to meet ever-changing needs.
Yet this is inconsistent with the movement's own stated mechanism for
dealing with change.
Each individual cannot be empowered to make changes in the law, for that would
undermine its authority and coherence; only the rabbinic leaders of the community,
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because of their knowledge of the content, aims and methods of Halakhah, are
authorized by Jewish tradition to make the necessary changes, although they must
keep the customs and needs of the community in mind as they deliberate. Cp. 23)

Additionally, as enunciated in the section entitled "Authority for

Making Decisions in Halakhah," we read:
The rich tradition which we possess depends upon the scholarship, integrity and
piety of our leadership and laity. For religious guidance, the Conservative move-
ment looks to the scholars of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America and
other institutions of higher learning. The United Synagogues of America, the
Women's League for Conservative Judaism, and the Federation of Jewish Men's
Clubs, represent the human resources of lay people of our community. (pp. 24-25)

The two citations are hard to square. On particular issues of halakhah

and religious practice, guidance is sought from the rabbinate exclusive of
the laity. Yet the establishment of an overall philosophy of halakhah and
religion, which is the source for the particulars, rests jointly with the
rabbinate and the laity.
Because of this fundamental ambiguity, Emet v'Emuna reflects a
constant blurring of the differences between the philosophical and the
organizational components of the Conservative movement. The most
blatant example of this is in the paragraph which endorses the strengthen-
ing of umbrella groups.
We are well aware of the shortcomings of organizational Jewish life in North
America today. Nevertheless, we want to strengthen such organizations which
include the Synagogue Council of America, the various Boards of Rabbis, the
Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish organizations, the Boards of
Jewish Education, the national and local Jewish Community Councils, the Federa-
tion network, the United Jewish Appeal, the Israel Bonds organization, and other
groups that seek to rise above religious differences in working for the welfare of all
Jews. (p. 41)

Though one may consider these organizations to be of great impor-

tance in the contemporary Jewish community, it is unclear how they are
connected to a statement of philosophy and purpose of a religious move-
ment. The document discusses, in the same context, views of God,
revelation, eschatology, and Israel Bonds. This is more than incongruous;
it weakens the document's claim to be a serious formulation of principles
of faith.
The crux of the problems which are endemic within the Conservative
movement is found in this citation:
As in the past, the nature and number of adjustments of the law will vary with the
degree of change in the environment in which Jews live. The rapid technological
and social change of our time, as well as new ethical insights and goals, have
required new interpretations and applications of Halakhah to keep it vital for our
tives. (p. 23)

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 Menachem Genack

What this overlooks is one seminal fact: the essence of the concept of
halakhah is that God, in His love for man, revealed an objective truth to
guide and mold human life, a truth transcending specific environments
and fashions. It is that law which is designed to saturate human life with a
pervasive God-consciousness. The Conservative eagerness to make hala-
khah conform to the norms of a particular society and its current values is
not only unseemly. It transforms halakhah from a transcendent truth,
intended to shape and mold man, into a reflection of man which fluctuates
with the perceived social or ethical standards of the moment. Once this
happens, the center of gravity is shifted from God to man. The integrity of
the law is shattered, with absurd conclusions following in the wake-such
as the dispensation for congregants to drive to synagogue on Sabbath, in a
vain attempt to preserve a sacred moment in time by desecrating that
moment. Inevitably, such a "halakhah" represents not only a failure of
faith but a failure of reason. An evolving and developing halakhah is self-
contradictory, for it is no halakhah at alL.
At times, the Statement raises ambiguity and doubt to a moral
imperative.
. . . Judaism had rarely sought to formulate a system of beliefs; even Maimonides
had not succeeded in winning universal acceptance for his Thirteen Principles, the
"Ani Ma-amin." Judaism unconsciously had long acted on the principles, for better
the blurring of differences than the burning of dissidents. (p. 9)

This frames a document of doubt, not of faith, a system of belief in

disbelief.
The fact is that Maimonides's Thirteen Principles are all derived
from the Talmud and the classic Jewish tradition, and were never in
dispute. What was under discussion was not the truth of the Principles, but
only whether they were fundamental enough to be categorized as ikkarim,
principles of faith. The ikkarim serve as the foundation of our faith,
defining the coordinate system of our religion. Yet, in the Conservative
Statement we read:
One can live fully and authentically as a Jew without having a single satisfactory
answer to such doubts; one cannot, however, live a thoughtful Jewish life without
having asked the questions, "Does God exist? If so, what sort of being is God?
Does God have a plan for the universe'!" (p. 17)

This contradicts the halakhic view that faith in God must be absolute
and total. (Throughout Yesodei haTorah and Hi/khat Avoda Zara, Ram-
bam is quite clear about faith requirements.)
As promulgated in Emet v'Emuna, Conservative Judaism's philoso-
phy militates against true faith, as if it would be arrogant to be certain
about anything. The standard of faith is thus gauged by the contemporary
environment of doubt and confusion. It is the standard of the Women's
League and the Men's Club, not of classical Jewish thought and existence.
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One has the distinct feeling that the overriding concern of this
Statement is to recognize the dynamics within the Conservative move-
ment, and to avoid exacerbating existing differences which might fracture
the movement even more than it already is. (Ismar Schorsch, the Chancel-
lor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, says as much in his own Fore-
word: "The final product reaffrms not only the wil to preserve the unity
of the movement but also the genuine consensus which prevails in its
ranks.") Thus, in the most critical religious concepts-God, eternity of
the soul, good and evil-we find two or more positions presented, some of
them diametrically opposed to each other. "Belief in God means faith that
a supreme, supernatural being exists and has the power to command and
control the world through His wil," but "some view the reality of God
differently. . . not (as) a being to whom we can point. He is, instead,
present when we look for meaning in the world, when we work for
morality, justice, and future redemption. . ." (p. 18).
Similarly, there are several options on Revelation. "The single
greatest event in the history of God's revelation took place at Sinai. . . ."
But while some believe that this was a "personal encounter between God
and human beings, and . . . that God communicated with us in actual
words," you need not feel uncomfortable with this, because "others
believe that Revelation consists of an ineffable human encounter with
God" which "inspires the verbal formulation by human beings of norms
and ideas. . . ." If neither formulation is acceptable, there is yet another
choice: "Others among us conceive of Revelation as continuing discov-
ery, through nature and history, of truths about God and the world. These
truths, although culturally conditioned, are seen as God's ultimate purpose
for creation. Proponents of this view tend to see revelation as an ongoing
process rather than as a specific event" (p. 20). This is a tragi-comic
fulfillment of the old joke which ends with: "You are right; you are right;
you are also right."
One hardly expects minority planks in the articulation of the central
religious principles upon which Judaism stands. Surely it is plain that
across-the-board, either/or multiple-choice positions ultimately are no
positions at alL. One finds oneself yearning for an unequivocal, "This is
where we stand; this is what we believe in." The fact is that even in a non-
traditional approach to Judaism it is theoretically possible to demonstrate
consistency, depth, originality, and tightness of argument. When individ-
uals who have abundant intellectual gifts lend their imprimatur to a
document marked by bromides and platitudes, one is finally convinced
that failure to address major issues in a forthright manner is endemic and
inevitable in the Conservative movement which wishes to be "middle-of-
the-road" and prides itself on consensus.
The discussion of good and evil, for example, reveals most starkly
this inability to come to grips with serious issues of faith. The authors
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 Menachem Genack

write: "The existence of evil has always provided the most serious
impediment to faith. Given the enormity of the horror represented by
Auschwitz and Hiroshima, this dilemma has taken on a new, terrifying
reality in our generation" (p. 25).
Even if we were to overlook the moral obtuseness of the concession
to the prevailing intellectual fashion of pairing the Holocaust with
Hiroshima-as if there were some moral equivalency between the two-
the statement is revealing. The problem of evil and the suffering of the
righteous, though not new, is especially intractable for Conservative
ideology. The Talmud (Kidushin 40b) teaches that the suffering of the
righteous in this world is redeemed in the world to come, and, conversely,
that any this-worldly success of the evil-doer is rectified and counter-
balanced in a future life. Olam Habba, the world-to-come, is an integral
part of the world-view of classical Judaism. Thus, there exists at least a
mechanism and a conceptual frame for thinking about the problem of eviL.
But for this statement, whose eschatology (at least in one of its several
versions) sees Olam Habba merely as a utopian age, there is no instru-
ment for ultimate reward and punishment. Sekhar v' onesh, reward and
punishment, which is basic to Jewish thought, hardly exists in the Conser-
vative lexicon.
The classic Jewish approach to the problem of theodicy, of course, is
that, given a concomitant belief in God, the way to a resolution points
inexorably towards a future world. The righting of the scales is there. But
Emet v'Emuna has diffculty even defining Olam Habba, much less
treating it as a reality. Thus:

This goal, the Prophet called" aharit hayamim," "the days to come." The rabbis
used several terms; Glam Habba (the age, not world, to come), Atid Lava (the
destined future) and Yernot HaMashiach (the days of the Messiah who is designated
to usher in the redemptive era). (p. 28)

The fetish about defining Olam as "age" rather than "world" is not
simply etymology or semantics; it represents a view of Olam Habba
which is inconsistent with the basic teachings of Judaism.
For according to classical Jewish thought, the period of Mashiah and
Olam Habba is not one and the same period, but represent different
epochs. The Messiah indeed acts within the limits of this historical world.
Olam Habba, however, is a world of pure spirituality, where the immortal
soul is in constant communion with the splendor of God's presence. This
is not merely figurative language, but a metaphysical reality.
Unfortunately, even on this critical tenet of our faith the Statement is
strikingly ambivalent, presenting-inevitably-two opposing views. One
of these views, dealing with the immortality of the soul and the resurrec-
tion of the dead, even suggests: ". . . we know that our genetic makeup
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wil persist through our progeny, long after our deaths and ås long as
humankind survives" (p. 3D). Such platitudes present ludicrous possi-
bilities. For if our immortality is coextensive with the continuation of our
genetic code, then the Nazi butchers and their innocent victims share the
same immortality. In fact, the Nazi persecutor likely is more blessed, in
that so many of his victims left no progeny at alL. The other suggestion
about immortality of the soul-that the influence of some people remains
potent even after their death, and that their memory endures-is equally
beside the point. Clearly, in the Conservative movement, the concept of
the immortality of the soul is not immortal, but quite finite-and has died
an early and earthly death.
Equally troubling is the Conservative view of a Messianic age which
does not necessarily entail the person of a messiah. It is, rather, the
conclusion of an evolutionary process leading to a utopian society. This
faith in man's ability to gradually establish a world of peace, justice, and
tranquility as the natural culmination of history is touching, but in these
decades after Auschwitz, hardly rooted in fact. Henry Adams once com-
mented that the progression of American Presidents from Washington to
Grant disproves the theory of evolution. Certainly this bloodiest and
cruelest of centuries should have buried the notion of the inexorable
advancement of man as a civil, social, and moral being.
Often, what is not said is as significant as what is said. One looks in
vain, in the discussion dealing with the concept of a chosen people, for the
phrase kedushat Yisrael. This is no coincidence. The Statement refuses to
endorse the classic Jewish concept that this convenantal people attains
sanctity, kedushat Yisrael, and that Israel is therefore existentially differ-
ent from other people.
Even the exclusiveness of the relationship between God and the
Jewish people is rejected. "Theological humility requires us to recognize
that although we have but one God, God has more than one nation"
(p. 43). This clever footwork contradicts the clear reading of Scripture and
our entire tradition. Though God acts through great individual Biblical
figures prior to the emergence of a Jewish nation, subsequent to Abraham
He acts only through Abraham's descendants, the Jewish people. (This
view is best articulated and developed in Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi's classic
Kuzari.) The current dispute about halakhic standards for conversion is
thus not limited merely to the form and details of the ritual conversion,
and the commitment to mitzvot. It is fundamentally about the essence of
conversion itself, for conversion means that the convert attains kedushat
Yisrael When he emerges from the waters of the mikvah, he has been
completely transformed, kekatan shenolad, as a newborn babe. It is not
possible simultaneously to hold both to a relativistic universalism and to
the ontological reality of kedushat Yisrael. One of the horns has to be
released.
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 Menachem Genack

The unbridled universalism embraced by the Conservative move-

ment comes to the fore in the discussion dealing with relations with other
religions.
We eschew triumphalism with respect to other ways of serving God. MaImonides
helieved that other monotheistic faiths-Christianity and Islam-serve to spread
knowledge of, and devotion to, the God and Torah of Israel throughout the world.
Many modern thinkers, hoth Jewish and gentile, have noted that god may well have
seen fit to enter covenants with many nations. Either outlook when relating to others
is perfectly compatible with a commitment to one's own faith and pattern of
religious life. (p. 43)

This extraordinarily tolerant view attributed to Maimonides is a

serious misrepresentation of his views. More than any other classical
Jewish authority, Maimonides was most explicit in his view that Chris-
tianity was not monotheistic and, because of its Trinitarian concept, was
polytheistic and therefore idolatrous. Maimonides in his Code (Avoda
Zara 9:4) in the uncensored text (Sefer Hamada, Mossad Horav Kuk
1964, ed. Saul Lieberman) states: "Edomites worship Avoda Zara, and
Sunday is their religious holiday." Lieberman points out in his notes that
"Edomim" is a euphemism for Christians. In Kapach's edition (p. 520)
the original text actually reads not "Edomites" but "Christians." Though
Tosafot (Sanh. 63b) was interpreted according to some to be of the more
lenient opinion that Trinitarianism did not constitute avoda zara, and in
this lenient view was joined by numerous other Jewish authorities-and
was accepted as normative according to R. Moshe Isserles (Rema, Orah
Haim 156:1; Darke! Moshe, YD. 151)-it cannot be denied that accord-
ing to Maimonides, (although not by other classical Jewish scholars), the
doctrine of the Trinity was clearly considered avoda zara.
The lenient view popularly attributed to Maimonides and repeated in
Emet v'Emunah is undoubtedly based on Maimonides's statement in the
censored text of the Yad: "All the statements of Jesus the Christian and
the 1shmaelite (Mohammed) who lived after him were only intended to
prepare a way for the King Messiah and to perfect the entire world to
serve God together" (Melakhim 11).
Maimonides certainly did not intend by these words to ascribe
veracity to Christianity or Islam. Firstly, Maimonides would never have
sanctioned such a view, since he himself considered the practice of
Christianity to be a violation of the Noahide prohibition against idolatry,
and therefore, forbidden even for Gentiles. This is clear from his preced-
ing paragraph:

Even Jesus the Christian. . . had the illusion that he was Messiah. . . . Is there a
greater impediment than this, for all the prophets stated that Messiah wil redeem
and save Israel and will gather all those who have been scattered and wil strengthen
the observance of mitzvot, and he caused many Jews to be killed by the sword and
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to scatter their remnants and to humble them, to alter the Torah and to mislead the
majority of the world into worshipping a god other than HaShem. Yet man does not
have the capacity to understand the thoughts of the Creator, for our ways are not His
ways and our thoughts are not His thoughts.

This is hardly a paean of praise to Christianity. Maimonides con-

demns Christianity for both the physical harm it caused the Jewish people
as well as what he considers the spiritual danger of its false faith.
Therefore, we must interpret the closing words of Maimonides not as
a validation of Christianity or Islam, but rather as a historical observation
that these faiths developmentally set the stage for the ultimate true
recognition and service of God. Or, alternatively, Maimonides may mean
that the concept of the coming of Messiah was advanced by these
religions. But by no means does Maimondies ascribe truth to them.!
It is clear that Emet v'Emuna presents a stereotypical view of
Maimonides. Because he was undoubtedly a "renaissance man," having
significantly advanced the science of medicine of his day; and because of
his affnity for Aristotelian philosophy, it is assumed, withollt any basis in
fact, that in matters of faith he was a universalist. However, the reality is
that in many respects he is less catholic and more parochial than many of
the classical Jewish scholars. Thus, Maimonides states:
Moses our teacher commanded in the name of the Almighty to subdue all humanity
to accept the commandments which descended from Noah, and anyone who would
not accept them would be kiled, and one who accepts them is called a GeT Toshav.
One who accepts the seven Noahidc commandments and is careful In their observ-
ance is among the righteous gentiles and he has a share in the world to come. This is
only if one accepts them (the Seven Noahide Commandments) because God
commanded them in the Torah and made them known through Moses, our teacher,
that Noahides previously were commanded (to observe) them. However, if he
observes these commandments because of reason alone, he is not a Ger Toshav and
is not among the righteous gentiles, nor from their wise men. (Hilkhot Mclahim,
end of chapter 8)2

Clearly, Maimonides requires that the seven Noahide command-

ments be accepted and observed, not only out of notions of decency,
reason or natural law, but because they were so commanded by Moses in
the Torah.' In any case, it should be obvious that an essential ingredient of
Jewish dogma is the exclusivity of God's covenant with the Jewish
people.
The word "pluralism" appears repeatedly in Emet v'Emuna, ele-
vated almost to a catechism. But in the context of this Statement, "plural-
ism" simply means that on any major principle of Judaism there is not a
single view, but pluralistic, multiple-choice view which is certain to
displease no one.
It is, of course, true that on certain theological issues more than one
single position may be acceptable. But what is disturbing in this Statement
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 Menachem Genack

is that apparently on every issue the authors find every view to be

legitimate. Throughout, one persistent question hangs in the air: What
views are excluded, what opinions are unexplainable, what positions go
beyond the norms of Conservative Judaism and are simply not to be
brought within its framework? Are we living in that consumer paradise
where everything is kosher? Pluralism as we find it here becomes a
barren, empty slogan, devoid of all content, veiling many sins.
Emet v'Emuna offers no coherent or cohesive intellectual foundation
for the Conservative movement-even from a non-Orthodox standpoint.
In its habit of offering, on every critical issue of faith, a menu of several
opposing positions, it calls to mind the words of one of the leaders of the
French revolution who wanted to know the direction in which his people
were going, so he could lead them.
This cafeteria menu is clearly a product of consensus thinking, an
amorphous "Emet" and a vague "Emuna." Its compass rests not in the
depths of Jewish learning, but in the constituency it wishes to please. In its
conscientious attempts to touch every base-believers and non-believers,
observant and non-observant, those who have faith and those who are
skeptics-it is redolent of a political platform. Thus, it is no surprise that
one looks in vain for intellectual rigor. Instead, one finds confusion and
self-doubt, and, after all is said and done, an impoverishment of religious
discourse.
The intellectual, ideological, theological, and philosophical failure of
the Conservative movement-given the tremendous power, wealth, influ-
ence, and numbers which it has enjoyed in America-is on public display
here. This is unfortunate because in times of crisis and challenge, the
Jewish people yearns to transcend the now in order to glimpse the eternal,
in the vision expressed by the Bedouin to Rabba bar Bar-Hana as the
place "where heaven and earth embrace in a kiss" (BB 74a). Unfor-
tunately, in this Statement the transcendent has been taken hostage by the
temporal, the eternal by the ephemeral and ever-shifting sands of the
present.

NOTES

1. In addition to the above-cited sources, it should be noted that Maimonidcs, in his Jetter,
"Resurrection of the Dead," does 010 refer to Mohammed in the most glowing terms.
2. I explain the variant readings in this citation and why velo mehukhameha (rather than eia
mehakhameha) is the preferred reading in Mesorah, No.1, April 1989, p. 5.
3. Rav Velvel Soloveilchik (in a letter at the end of Hidushei Maran Riz Halevi) interprets the
Rambam to mean that wIthout this acceptance, even without violating any of the seven 'Koahide
commandments, one is guilty of a capital offense. In other words, observing these command-
ments because of universal, ethical considerations, is inadequate; the observance must be rooted
in a Torah imperative.
The source for the position of Maimonides may be the well-known text in Avoda Zara (2b)
which recounts how God offered the Torah not only to Israel, but to the other nations of the

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ancient world as well. When Esau is offered the Torah, they asked, "What is written in the
Torah?" God responded, "Thou shalt not kil." The nation of ES3U, whose foundation is "By the
sword shalt thou live," demurs and rejects the offer. Similarly, Ishmael rejects it, for it included
the prohibition against theft.
What is remarkable about this Aggadic description is that the commandments which are
objectionable to these various mitÌons are among the Noahide commandments which they in any
case were previously commanded. What was it Ìn the Sinaitic revelation that added to theIr
previous obligations? Apparently, concludes Maimonides, the obligation to observe these
Noahide commandments was expended to impose a new obligation, not merely of physical
observance, but also of a theological and intellectual acceptance of their new biblical roots.
From this perspective, Maimonides would hardly view any religion--ivorced of the
commitment to Torah and the recognItion of the sinaitie obligation-as a source for spreading
devotion to God in the world.

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