Mijal Bitton: The Tyranny of “Identity”

Why DIY Judaism Is No Substitute for Tradition

David H.— What happens when the dominant view of Judaism held by American Jewish educators runs afoul of the views held by most Jewish parents on earth? This is the question raised by Mijal Bitton in this powerful essay calling for a rethink of “DIY Judaism.” For parents interested in a traditional approach to Judaism, the idea that “doing Jewish” is something you choose and fashion at will is a big problem—one that modern methods of Jewish education have so far failed to address.

Mijal Bitton, Ph.D., is the Rosh Kehilla of the Downtown Minyan and a sociologist of American Jews. For further treatment of this subject, see Mijal Bitton, “Liberal Grammar and the Construction of American Jewish Identity”  (The American Sociologist, 2022).

The following is an exclusive reprint from the anthology Jewish Priorities: Sixty-Five Proposals for the Future of Our People, edited by David Hazony. Copyright © 2023 Wicked Son. Reprinted with permission.

The Tyranny of ‘Identity’

Why DIY Judaism is No Substitute for Tradition

Mijal Bitton

Some years ago, I was invited to a small discussion with a group of leaders of national Jewish organizations. We were asked to reflect on different studies of American Jews and what these can teach practitioners and educators about what it means to serve Jews better. One of the leaders assembled there said that the main thing he learned from the many studies is that to allow people to curate their own thriving, individualized Jewish identities, Jews should go “all in” on “DIY Judaism.” Young Jews, he went on, just don’t want the old traditions or buildings anymore. Educators and rabbis should customize Judaism, making it fully applicable to each individual, their choices, and their needs.

His words were met with enthusiastic responses, presumably in the belief that this approach would engage all those Jews who have been marginalized or feel left out by institutional Judaism.

Some might see nothing wrong with this well-meaning enthusiasm for American Jewish leaders shaping an ecosystem designed to facilitate DIY Judaism. After all, to engage the largest number of Jews, doesn’t an individualized approach toward Jewish identity make the most sense? Doesn’t it in principle embrace the breadth of Jewish diversity in all its multitudes?

The logic goes as follows: Old traditions and buildings have boundaries that exclude those who don’t conform to their presumptions and demands. But DIY Judaism allows for each person to curate their own Judaism and shape their own Jewish identity, thereby reaching a wider array of Jews. If Jewish engagement helps set our communal standards for success, isn’t it obvious that the latter is preferable to the former?

Sitting there, I realized that these leaders were picking up on specific trends that describe large numbers of Jews—those who want an individualized and customizable Judaism that they get to choose and that engages them in their own specific and personalized way. These Jewish leaders then assumed (and maybe even idealized) the curator’s approach to Judaism for all Jews—even Jews who still embraced traditions and frequented old buildings.

But were these latter Jews—the traditional ones—really engaged in just another version of self-authored DIY Judaism? I want to suggest that thinking so is a mistake—that assuming all Jews engage in DIY Judaism ends up excluding a majority of Jews worldwide who do not experience Judaism as their own individual creation. I even want to suggest that such a Judaism may ill serve even those Jews whose experience it correctly captures but who may still long for tradition in this age of disinheritance. This one-size-fits-all approach to Judaism mistake has serious consequences for the future of the Jewish conversation, Jewish education, and the Jewish people as a whole. It is rooted in what I call the problem of Jewish identity.

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What is “Jewish identity”?

Perhaps there is no other topic over which there is more consensus in our organized American-Jewish community than studying and promoting Jewish identity. We battle over Zionism, antisemitism, DEI, and debate the merits of “continuity.” But a largely amorphous conception of Jewish identity has still remained a very much desired object of our collective efforts. Leaders serving all kinds of Jews—Right and Left, establishment and edgy anti-institutionalist, denominational and “just Jewish”—center Jewish identity as the project they are engaged in.

While the term “Jewish identity” can mean many different things in different contexts, in recent years it is increasingly used to describe something specific: the product of a sovereign Jewish self. In other words, for many, Jewish identity has become synonymous with subjective and individual ways in which individuals identify as enacting Jewishness. It is this meaning of “Jewish identity” that deserves a critical look.

For large numbers of American Jews, this notion of Jewish identity undoubtedly makes sense, since it reflects their particular experiences. They believe that individuals are free to choose whether and how to actualize their Judaism, and that Jewish identity is wholly dependent on each individual to determine. Jewishness is a matter of individual choice and is subsumed into the larger project of liberated, authentic, and unencumbered “self-realization.” There is nothing that Jews should believe or do or want—the important thing is that their Jewish identity be entirely a personal choice. And yet the claim that this understanding of Jewish identity includes all Jews ironically excludes those Jews who don’t conform to the view of an individualized and completely unconstrained vision of Judaism that it champions.

Although it might come as a surprise to American Jews deeply committed to this specific project of Jewish identity, there are Jews who do not engage in (or who even actively reject) talk of self-realization—whose Judaism is rooted instead in tradition, kinship, and interdependence. These Jews do not think of themselves as choosing to be Jewish any more than they choose to be members of their own families. They live in contexts and communities that have preconceived notions of what it means to be Jewish—notions at odds with the view of a freely chosen and completely individualized Jewish identity sketched above.

That there is an unacknowledged tension between the goal of universal inclusion and DIY Judaism’s vision of Jewish identity became crystalized for me at a panel I participated in some years ago. I was invited with some other scholars to identify trends in American-Jewish life with a focus on Jewish identity.

Midway through our discussion, one of my co-panelists argued that the white-Ashkenazi-majority American-Jewish community needed to be more attentive and inclusive of Jews who embody racial and ethnic diversity. To achieve this noble goal of greater inclusion, she argued that we should approach being Jewish as one of many identities a person might have that intersect and coexist with many other personal identities (sexual, racial, ethnic, and so on). They went on to observe that these identities were intrinsically malleable and could wax and wane over time depending on the individual.

As I listened to this presentation, I felt troubled by the way this form of Jewish identity was offered as the ideal description of being Jewish because of its supposed universal inclusivity. This way of approaching Jewish identity simply felt foreign to me. It neither fit the group of Jews I happened to be studying—Syrian Sephardic Jews in New York—nor my own experience growing up in South America and, in my teenage years, living in a Persian-Jewish community on Long Island and studying in a Modern Orthodox Ashkenazi high school. These groups and others simply do not orient themselves to being Jewish as one of many identities they “wear” at will. For them, being Jewish is essential to being who they were, not something optional nor simply part of their identity.

Now, far be it for me to sow division in our already fractured communities by challenging one of the few things around which there’s still a broad consensus. Nor do I want to argue that Jewish identity, as the term is currently used, is intrinsically bad. What I want to point out instead is that the notion of Jewish identity—which is offered as a neutral description that fits all Jews—is, in fact, based on very specific assumptions about what Judaism is and what it means to be Jewish. Without necessarily meaning to, the widespread embrace of this seemingly all-inclusive notion in truth excludes entire communities and populations that don’t subscribe to DIY Judaism.

This is not an intellectual game of “gotcha” nor merely a theoretical critique of unacknowledged exclusion. The implications of this near-universal yet unexamined use of “Jewish identity” are tremendous and far-reaching. All of those engaged in Jewish education, Jewish engagement, Jewish philanthropy, and Jewish communal institutions who operate as if all Jews have (or should have) a DIY “Jewish identity” wind up excluding those for whom Jewishness is not an identity, option, or choice.

Most critically, when Jewish identity is presented as the natural and default category through which to understand all Jews, our Jewish educators, rabbis, practitioners, and parents miss out on exploring urgently needed new paradigms through which to engage and educate Jewishly.

***

I can recall once hearing a presentation from a leading Jewish educator who had come up with a pluralistic curriculum for religiously diverse Jewish day schools. This curriculum began by introducing students to the fact that there are multiple and infinite options to “do Jewish” (including whether to “do Jewish”) and that their Jewish identity would be realized when they chose their own path—one that could continue to change and shift. The rest of the curriculum depicted different theoretical, spiritual, and intellectual approaches toward Judaism for them to explore and consider.

After I listened to him talk, I asked whether this introduction to Judaism alone would disqualify his curriculum as one that was truly pluralistic. After all, it promotes an individualistic Jewish identity that does not (and cannot) capture the wishes of parents and educators who are raising their children with a competing form of Judaism—what we might call “traditional” Judaism.

The conversation soon reached an impasse because this educator could not understand my question. Why, he asked, wouldn’t these traditional families be included if he’s presenting all pathways as options for them to choose? Couldn’t they choose the traditional pathway?

And there’s the rub. Should traditional Jewish parents—whether they be Sephardic, Orthodox, just Jewish, or secular Zionists—who are raising their children within Jewish traditions where one does not choose to be Jewish want their children to be told they should choose whether and how to be Jewish? I was just such a parent, and, in truth, I would not be happy if my young son went to school and was taught by his teachers that he can and should choose whether and how to relate to his Jewish identity—any more than if he were told he had a choice as to whether he was my son. It’s not simply that I object to him being told he is free to choose how to relate to me as his mother. I’d also object to taking a relationship that my son experiences and lives as natural and unconditional and holding it up as something for him to consciously interrogate.

I must admit that my attempt to explain tradition to this educator did not bear fruit. He saw nothing amiss in his curricular offerings and continued to insist that the Jewish identity model at the heart of his work was all-inclusive and fully pluralistic. It simply eluded him that describing something as a choice automatically transforms it and erodes an important dimension of the power of tradition—what the political scientist Benedict Anderson described as “unselfconscious coherence.”

After this exchange, I was reminded of a moment of realization I had had long before I became a mother. It was in my early years of doctoral work when I was studying scholarship on Jewish identity and considering seriously what it meant to elevate this vision of the Jewish self. One day my older brother sent my family a video of his daughter which enchanted me. The content was relatively mundane: my toddler niece laughing and belting out a blessing in childish Hebrew before biting into a slice of gooey chocolate cake. But as I watched it over and over again, I came to recognize what was so moving about it: my young niece having been socialized to say words of blessing in Hebrew automatically and thoughtlessly. For her, saying a blessing before biting into a slice of cake was as natural as brushing her teeth before going to bed or saying, “I love you” to her mom. She was living Judaism, not choosing to do Judaism. The scene seemed to me to capture the antithesis of educating for “Jewish identity.”

This kind of traditionalism represents a different path than DIY Judaism and its view of an individualized and curated Jewish identity. The distinction is not about adherence to Jewish practice (after all, Jewish identity allows one to choose to rigorously practice Judaism) but about whether the self chooses a Jewish identity or emerges from a Jewish context.

A good way to understand the alternative of Jewish “traditionalism” is provided by political theorist Yaacov Yadgar. One of the metaphors that Yadgar uses to explain tradition is that of language. When we grow up and are immersed in a native tongue, it doesn’t merely serve as a communication tool. In this context language fashions the very horizon of meaning that makes up our lives and social universe. The languages we know deeply shape what we can experience, understand, and express. We can, of course, decide to learn a new language or limit our use of an older language. But what we don’t have a say over is how language shapes us and the very context of our lives.

In other words, the main difference between Jewish tradition and Jewish identity is how we stand in relation to Judaism. As opposed to an individualistic conception of Jewish identity centered on self-realization where the sovereign self curates the Judaism it enacts, Jewish tradition is not chosen at all but rather is the pre-existing context from which the Jewish self emerges.

In my research on the New York Syrian-Jewish community, I use a different metaphor to explain tradition—that of family. A family is probably the most basic social configuration in which the current-day conception of identity does not dominate (even in liberal societies that prioritize the individual). Nuclear families are not predicated on voluntary identity choices or a previously agreed-upon ideology. Being part of a family usually just comes with a circular and self-sustaining rationale: We assume that our family matters and that it binds us. Most people overwhelmingly experience being part of a family as something that is unselfconscious, natural, and obligating. It is one of the primary contexts from which our self emerges. We cannot choose to discard our families and the ways they’ve shaped us at will, and most of us would have moral qualms about rejecting all the duties that families normally place upon us.

In my personal life as a mother, I’ve oriented myself toward Jewish tradition as the ideal paradigm in which I seek to raise my children—as a deliberate alternative to the model of Jewish identity that is predominant in many sites in the American-Jewish community. I want my children to avoid non-kosher food as naturally as they’d avoid taking a book from the library without checking it out. I want them to note the beginning of Shabbat and stop using their electronics as naturally as they’d stop walking in the street before a red light. Of course, I hope and aim for them to develop a mature understanding within and of this Jewish tradition, but before they are able to engage at that level, I want them raised and educated in a traditional Jewish context—not one where they are told they have many malleable identities (including their Jewish identity), which they should choose and reshape at will.

***

Despite the claims that underlie so much of the discussion in America today about Jewish education and community, “Jewish identity” is not universal nor inclusive of all Jews. In fact, when we consider the groups of traditional Jews who both feel and objectively are excluded by such a notion, they include American-Jewish collectives such as Sephardic Jews, Orthodox Jews, immigrant Jews, and others. Moreover, the framework of Judaism as tradition (as opposed to individualized identity) continues to be the lingua franca for most Jews outside of America. Instead of describing a universally applicable vision of Judaism, the American version of “Jewish identity” probably reflects on a global scale the actual experiences of a minority of Jews.

Moreover, my own experiences with liberal American Jews—who many would assume subscribe to Jewish identity—lead me to believe that many of them crave and long for Jewish tradition, including the feeling of a Jewishness not chosen but unselfconsciously shaping one’s context. As a result, they are often underserved by Jewish institutions precisely because of the institutional embrace of an individualistic model of Jewish identity. But don’t take my word for it. Consider, for instance, the growth of Chabad as one of the most important movements shaping Jewish life in America today. Chabad does not offer a space for individual Jewish selves to craft their own version of a DIY Jewish identity. It invites Jews into a preconceived communal life where their selves are shaped within its traditions. Many American Jews are happy to take them up on the invitation.

Where does that leave the problem of Jewish identity? A critical reexamination of Jewish identity would require, first and foremost, a new kind of candor about how it comes with its own system of boundaries and above all its own version of Judaism—that is, we need honesty about who and what DIY Jewish identity excludes. This would be a critical first step toward a new exploration and investment in other forms of Judaism grounded in tradition rather than identity—forms that might serve as a wellspring from which to draw new paradigms and methods (and perhaps even a new vision) for being Jewish in the twenty-first century.