Steven Gotlib
Review of Rabbi Irving (Yitz) Greenberg, The Triumph of Life: A Narrative Theology of Judaism (Jewish Publication Society, 2024)
I close this introduction with prayers and blessings for you, the reader of this book. May you be inspired by these chapters to go beyond my understanding. May you reach beyond my imagining, touch more human beings, and reach higher levels of dignity, justice, and equality. If I will have opened a few doors, inspired you to work toward higher standards of future realizations of the noble visions of Judaism, then I am content. I am full of gratitude to you and to all those who will move humanity forward toward the day when, as the prophet Isaiah proclaims (11:9), “they will do no evil acts of destruction anywhere on my holy mount, for the world will be full of knowledge of the Loving God – as deeply as the waters cover the sea.” (9)
-R. Yitz Greenberg
Rabbi Irving (Yitz) Greenberg is one of the most divisive names in American Modern Orthodoxy’s brief history. R. Avi Weiss has referred to him as, “without a doubt, one of the seminal thinkers of our generation,” while Dr. Steven Bayme has claimed that “R. Yitz’s ideas on modernity and halakhah inspired countless students during his teaching days at Yeshiva University” and that Greenberg was even “suited to become the next president of YU” had his candidacy not been “quashed and YU’s doors… closed to him” by Modern Orthodoxy’s rightward shift.[1] On the other hand, no less a thinker than R. Lord Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory, viewed Greenberg as beyond the pale of Orthodox Judaism, questioning whether Modern Orthodoxy (by Greenberg’s definition) could “still be Orthodoxy” at all.[2] R. Dr. Darren Kleinberg has even noted that Sacks “never once referred to Greenberg by the title rabbi; something he did for… figures such as David J. Bleich, Norman Lamm, and Joseph B. Soloveitchik.”[3] Elsewhere, Kleinberg himself wrote that “to describe [Greenberg] simply as an “Orthodox Jew” would not do justice to the influence of non-Orthodox Judaisms, religions other than Judaism (particularly Protestant Christianity), and those other intellectual traditions that have exerted such a strong influence on both his thought and practice.”[4]
Greenberg’s eclectic background and varied career was summarized well by Ferziger, Freud-Kandel, and Bayme. In their words,
Greenberg… grew up in an Orthodox Jewish home in the Borough Park section of Brooklyn. He was educated in Orthodox Jewish schools that provided both religious and secular studies and encouraged integration into American life, and subsequently in a more traditionalist-oriented advanced yeshiva [Novardok], where he gained rabbinic ordination. In 1959, while completing his Harvard University PhD in American history, he was appointed a full-time faculty member at Yeshiva College (Yeshiva University), the banner institution of the burgeoning “Modern Orthodox” camp within American Jewry. A few years later, he accepted the position of rabbi of the Riverdale Jewish Center, a synagogue in an area of New York that had only recently attracted Orthodox Jews. Over the course of the 1960s his reputation soared as a dynamic academic, communal rabbi, public activist, and creative educator intent on advancing an expansive approach to Orthodox Jewish engagement with contemporary intellectual and cultural trends. Subsequently, his progressive alienation from the increasingly more conservative directions of the Modern Orthodox sector was given expression, when he simultaneously resigned from Yeshiva University and the Riverdale Jewish Center in 1972. Henceforth, his public career focused on spreading Jewish knowledge and enhancing identification of the broader American Jewish population with their heritage.[5]
Having grown up in the late 1990s and early 2000s, I was not familiar with Greenberg. His views were not taught, his name was not heard, and I would never have known who he was had I not found a worn-out copy of his book The Jewish Way at my grandparents’ house. The chapter on Yom Ha-Sho’ah is one of the early public articulations of Greenberg’s controversial “voluntary covenant” theology. Following the Holocaust, he suggested, the Jewish people “had every right to reject the covenant.”[6] Judaism’s subsequent flourishing, however, meant that something must have changed in how the covenant operates:
What then happened to the covenant? Could it be that the covenant was broken, but the Jewish people, deeply committed to the partnership, chose voluntarily to take it on again? Not just those observant Jews who heard commandments from Sinai but the vast majority of Jews who heard no commandments but were still so in love with the dream of redemption that they volunteered to carry on the mission. They were all so committed to the triumph of life that they would brave the threat of limitless death again.[7]
Elsewhere, Greenberg expressed the same idea using even stronger language. “The Abrahamic-Sinaitic covenant was not finished,” he wrote, “but the commanded stage of the covenant had come to its end”:
The covenant of demand (for higher standards of behavior from Jews) had been morally passed through the fires of the Holocaust — and had been found wanting. In a world where evil forces had access to extraordinary power while God did not intervene to guarantee the safety of the covenantal people, in such a world, any absolute insistence that the people Israel live by a higher standard – or else – was inherently abusive. Such a demand was illegitimate, and therefore null and void, because it only exposed the Jews to greater danger.[8]
Aware of the fact that “[m]any devout Jews and Christians were alarmed by this concept of a voluntary covenant” out of fear that it “surrendered the classic religious dimension of obligation,” Greenberg was convinced that “just as free individuals and societies outperform authoritarian structures in political, economic, and military manners, so too would voluntary covenantal service prove to be more total and dedicated than any imposed commitments.”[9] Despite its controversial framing, then, Greenberg’s theology was intended to reinforce commitment to Jewish observance, rather than relax such commitment. The goal was to encourage Jews to willingly engage more actively with their Judaism — without the all-too-familiar sense of “Jewish guilt” in the background.
In a later retrospective essay, Greenberg admitted to having “gone through three phases” in his thinking. Surprisingly, the voluntary covenant was only the second of them. The third, current, phase was “a narrative theology that has not yet been published” based on the Lurianic Kabbalistic idea of tzimtzum (Divine contraction or Self-limitation):
The initial divine self-limitation constitutes the entry into the covenant in the biblical stage. The next stage was a summons to Jewry to take on a more active role in the covenant. That Jewish response to God’s call is expressed in the world and culture of rabbinic Judaism. I believe that since the beginning of modernity, we have been living through a third divine tzimtzum. This constitutes a call to the Jewish people and to all humanity to take over and assume full responsibility for the realization of the covenant. This third-stage human response is meant to be out of love, free will, and full, autonomous identification with the goal of tikkun olam. Therefore, the interpretive paradigm is not one of God breaking the covenant and Jewry voluntarily reaccepting it. The better understanding is that the covenant was always meant to be an educational process. God intended (as it were) that the human partners develop, then grow up, and become empowered enough to take full responsibility. Having given over the mandate to the human partners, the Divine did not shirk responsibility during the Holocaust; God was present and infinitely shared the pain and torment of the Jews. However, humanity did not exercise its responsibility.[10]
This updated position avoids the theological pitfalls which led to the rejection of Greenberg’s earlier message by mainstream Modern Orthodox voices. Sacks, for example, wrote that the framing of a broken covenant voluntarily accepted anew was the “most controversial claim” and critiqued it on the basis that it bore “a close affinity to Reform Judaism in placing choice at the heart of the religious system,” and that it “is difficult to see, in this scheme, what sense could be given to the central term of Judaism, commandment; or indeed what is left of the covenant itself.”[11] Disavowing his voluntary framework, then, removes Greenberg from the realm of what Sacks referred to as “neo-Sadducean Judaism,” and places him closer to broadly accepted thinkers like R. Eliezer Berkovits, who suggested that the reason for evil in general and the Holocaust in particular was a lack of human action in the face of freely-willed evil. Berkovits famously wrote that “even more important than the question Where was God [during the Holocaust]? is, Where was Man?”[12]
The recent publication of Greenberg’s magnum opus, The Triumph of Life, provides a needed opportunity to openly and honestly delve into the most accurate and updated articulation of his theology, with an important question in mind: Is it time to welcome this 91 year old thought leader [back] into Modern Orthodoxy’s philosophical canon?
The remainder of this review will focus solely on The Triumph of Life. Greenberg writes in his acknowledgements that the book “expresses the sum of a lifetime of thinking” (9) and therefore ought to be examined without the baggage of his now-outdated earlier formulations.[13] People are allowed to adjust and correct their views over time, and Greenberg is no exception.
Judaism’s story, Greenberg says, begins at the same moment as the world’s story – God’s act of Creation (capitalized by Greenberg throughout The Triumph of Life). In his words,
The interpretive key of Creation changes the understanding of the very nature of existence. Creation implies the presence of a Creator. The vastness of the universe implies the infinitude of what we came to call God. The Israelites came to see that there is one universal Presence, Force, and Person – the One God who shapes and sustains Creation. At first, because human understanding is shaped by the filters of local culture, they imagined God as visible, in their midst, speaking, meeting, thundering. They came to understand that God is omnipresent yet invisible, not detectable on the surface of material reality or measurable by physical means (13).
One comes to know this omnipresent yet invisible God in many ways: “by intuition, by inner experience, by encounter, through emotions, meditation, and imaginative insight. Interior experiences give messages, just as pressing of the flesh does or stumbling into a hard rock. The spiritual is as real as the physical” (14). God, and our encounters with God, are genuine facets of reality. God is not a metaphor, but a literal Being Who created the world in which we live and Whose presence can be felt by those who place Him before them at all times.[14]
God wants the forces of order to win out over chaos, and the forces of life to triumph over death. Religion “represents God’s revelation to humans of the Creator’s love and pleasure at their capabilities. Now that they understand the cosmic directions, God also asks them to choose sides” (21). Greenberg notes that “religion started long before the Jews appeared on the scene” and that “earlier religions deciphered the message as best they could” until Judaism introduced the world to the One True God. Other religions, therefore, also “have roles to play” and “must articulate their commitment to life and quality of life, and refine and redirect these elements in their own tradition that contradict life or assault human dignity” (22).[15]
If all religions can maximize their roles, then humanity will collectively achieve tikkun olam, which Greenberg defines as “the repair and perfection of the world” (45).[16] The Jewish people are to “see themselves as role models and pacesetters” on the path towards “the victory of life over all opposing forces that destroy, degrade, or undermine it” (47).[17] To that end, the Jewish people were given the 613 mitzvot. “Every commandment, every tradition, every ethical principle and ritual concept,” Greenberg writes, “is intended to uphold life and to fight against death.” In living Jewish lives, then, “we partner with God to incrementally move the whole world towards its final redeemed state” (75). This covenantal partnership, he argues, “is the central mechanism to achieve tikkun olam” (97).
Covenant is based on three fundamental and non-negotiable values: freedom, partnership, and incrementalism. Free will is to be respected and worked with. Therefore “would-be redeemers of society have the right to educate – but not to force” (109). Regarding partnership, “God is a deeply involved partner, and will be active… But the human is also a partner and must act and take responsibility.” As a partner, humans have a right to “make policy and move the project, but must take into account the other partners, their rights, and their say in the matter.” When one of those partners is God, this means doing so while knowing that you are still “accountable to a higher authority and under judgment.” Greenberg also advises seeing oneself in partnership with previous generations. Those who came before us “brought the covenant to this point… and have a stake in it” as well. Indeed, “their achievements (and failures) determine the range of your choices and possibilities… Their work and decisions should be taken seriously and factored in, even if you are convinced that the covenant must now move on” (110-111).
This leads to incrementalism. Large changes are the result of small steps. Particular decisions at any given time “are not necessarily likely to be the best, but rather the best possible right now.” Those who attempt to force what they perceive as best onto a community are unambiguously in the wrong, “engendering near-term misery, not contentment.” In the long term, incrementalism “is more likely to be assimilable, and to open up the next step and the one after that,” than attempting to jump too far too suddenly (111). Halakhah itself operates this way according to Greenberg, often valorizing “less than ideal behavior that is nonetheless at a livable level now” (112).[18] The goal is “to do the best possible, since in many cases the ideal behavior is not doable right now” or one might not be “able to live up to the covenant’s full ethical demands” at a particular moment. Of course, Greenberg notes that “in some cases, if the shortfall is egregious enough – especially if it is harming others – doing the next best may not be good enough.” At the same time, “falling short should not be compounded by giving up altogether out of the belief that if I am not doing all, then I am not doing anything worthwhile… Doing the best possible acknowledges that the world is imperfect and the covenant is not yet realized, but it is still operating” (130). Halakhah, at the end of the day, “must be the best possible under the circumstances. When circumstances change, or when people enter into a new society where the social and cultural infrastructure has changed, a new best possible is possible” (149).
We can now see how the values of freedom, partnership, and incrementalism fit into Greenberg’s overarching theological model. God’s continuous self-limitation allows for His human partners to take on more and more responsibility as they help advance the world towards tikkun olam over time. This ultimately leads humanity to “fully become the image of God: to create, take charge of their fate, and participate in their own liberation. Like a loving parent, God seeks to give needed direction, personal inspiration, and just enough help to enable the full development of a moral, responsible human being” (179).
Greenberg acknowledges that the specter of the Holocaust nevertheless still forces us “to ask why God’s covenantal partners should have suffered such a catastrophic fate” and requires us to “articulate a credible Jewish conception of the next stage of our partnership with God in the work of covenant” (213). The Holocaust was particularly devastating to Jewish faith, he argues, because “the Divine tzimtzum had made redemption dependent on human action, while at the same time giving humans more power to act in evil ways than ever before” (233).
Thus we return to Greenberg’s theological transition. Rather than thinking of the covenant as having been broken and reconstituted on a voluntary basis, Greenberg instead came to see the covenant as having been transformed by Hashem’s “latest” tzimtzum. “God and the Jewish people continue to be bound by our shared covenant, but that covenant is in a new stage: one where God has invited humanity to become the “managing partner” in our relationship, so that we now bear the responsibility for our choices that affect the world’s developments” (239). The Holocaust is still central, but as something to transcend, rather than that which shatters the paradigm. In his words,
As a religious community, we must take the Shoah seriously to heart – and grow up. God is asking us to switch from a quid pro quo contract to a covenantal commitment based on love, relationship to God, and a common vision of tikkun olam. God is profoundly hiding, so that we will put less energy into proclaiming God’s greatness and more effort into serving the Lord by redeeming the world and healing God’s creatures. We have to dig deeper into existing channels of connection to God, and develop new ones that follow and relate to the Deity in the depths of hiddenness. When we recognize the call to become fully responsible for the outcome of the covenant, we will be set free to fully realize our own image of God. We will be inspired to work harder to create a world that respects everyone else’s image as well. If we are willing to make the same wager that God did, on human goodness and decency winning out, then we may be able to move the planet and all of humanity toward the side of life (240).
The Holocaust happened as the result of “human power, gathered and dedicated to an evil purpose, and operating without moral restrictions” which was a consequence of free will. The failure of not stepping in to save the Jewish people was not God’s, but was due to the fact that “God’s designated agents for rescue (or those we might think of as such) were overwhelmingly missing in action” (244). Post-Holocaust, with our new understanding of just how badly things can get on every level, there must be “self-examination by every group, nation, religion, political party, and profession – and from there, repentance and turning from the failed values and policies toward a new understanding of the relationship between God and humanity” (245).
The natural question is what that looks like in practice. Greenberg notes that “Post-Holocaust genocides have taken place largely in places marked by concentrations of one-sided power, and preventing such phenomena is pluralism’s unfinished agenda” (250). This entails not only a plurality of political opinion, but also religious pluralism. This should not be confused with Postmodern relativism, which Greenberg writes “can become a form of hegemonic thinking, and lead to a new false universality that denies there can be any valid truths at all” (251-252). Pluralism, he argues, “does not represent the denial of truths: rather, it places limits and checks on truths” (252). On the other hand, he does state that pluralism entails believing that “all truths are broken truths” which is to say that “[a]ll systems are intrinsically – by dint of being rooted in human reality – partial and flawed” (252-253).
He goes so far as to write that “even a Divine absolute – and, by implication, any and all absolutes – integrated into the human ecosystem will perforce crack and become flawed, broken, and partial” (253). This puts the onus on particular groups to “spell out, in every case, the range of an individual truth’s validity, the context of a particular system’s credibility, the limits of all claims.” Thus, we strive for objective truth while acknowledging that we will ultimately fall short. Acknowledging this leads us to “employ and apply all truths with restraint and caution, which in turn makes their operations safer in the context of human cultures.” In our context, this means that “even religions and other systems that believe they are directly rooted in the Divine and are, therefore, entitled to priority of dominance should welcome mechanisms that put limits on them. In fact, they themselves should act to generate or welcome countervoices. In this way – perhaps only in this way – they can protect against their own ingrained flaws” (253). This plays out in the realm of Zionism as much as it does within the Jewish religion.
The creation of the State of Israel, Greenberg writes, was the “fundamental Jewish response to the devastating death blow inflicted by the Shoah” and represented “an intuitive commitment to activate the millenia-old attachment to Zion and renew the covenant in the manner proclaimed by the prophets: to return to the homeland, ingather exiles, and build a flourishing national life” (266). Throughout The Triumph of Life, Greenberg writes about how the rise of the State of Israel out of the ashes of the Holocaust directly suggests that “the Divine was still operating in the world, and testified to the human capacity to take power for reestablishing life and reasserting its value” (2). Furthermore, Greenberg credits the retention of his faith after learning about the Holocaust to the restoration of Jewish sovereignty in Israel, which “was reversing the Nazi death blow and proving that God “had planted eternal life in our very being’” (235). Indeed, Greenberg interprets the mass immigration of Jews to Israel as a “prophetic sign that the covenant was still alive, and that Jewry was continuing in its path toward fulfilling the vision of tikun olam” (271).
A Jewish State of Israel, though, meant that the Jewish people now had a responsibility to wield power on the global stage. Deeply critical of the Israeli government under Prime Minister Netanyahu and unable to ignore the tragedy of October 7, Greenberg writes that
The sobering lesson is that, once human beings took full charge of realizing the covenant, there were no guarantees (or divine controls) to assure the ideal outcome. After October 7 much of world Jewry, standing by Israel despite its being led by an extremist government, has wagered its fate on the vision that those upholding freedom and human dignity would win out. Covenantal loyalty to Israel meant standing with it – albeit working for correction – even if Israel fell into the hands of wrong leadership for a period (281).
This framework allows for significant criticism of Israeli government and policy to be voiced by the global Jewish people while acknowledging our divinely-given connection to the land and the providence that returned it to us.[19] Given that Israel faces no shortage of existential threats, and rightward internal shifts “may lead to amoral policies that betray the covental goals,” Greenberg sadly acknowledges that there is “no certainty that covenantal ideas will win out, or that the morally restrained will be rewarded with victory” (287). Regardless, Greenberg believes that Israel has already made transformative, even redemptive, impacts on the world. Whether it can continue to do so hinges on all people – Jews and non-Jews, Israelis and others – living covenantal lives.
On the religious front, the Jewish people are tasked with being a light unto the nations and making the case for tikkun olam to the broader world by furthering “a covenantal ethic of limits, restraint, and step-by-step world repair, hand in hand with structures of balance and moral critique in every field” (292). Such fields are as mundane as eating and as intimate as sexuality.
The latter is the first position that Orthodox readers are unlikely to embrace. Greenberg believes that “the Torah’s bitter opposition to sexual intimacy between men reflected a time in the ancient world characterized more by an antilife culture of dominance than by an emphasis on relationship.” Now that times and assumptions have changed, “the same covenantal demands of relational sexuality between men and women apply to same-sex couples… the deeper the relationship, the deeper the sexuality” (299). Such acceptance and celebration will allow the LGBTQIA+ community to enter into “long-lasting, committed, and dependable love” which leads “to family, the sacred, life-affirming work of creating and nurturing images of God.” Thus, the LGBTQIA+ community will “affirm their role as a link in the covenantal chain” in greater numbers (300).
A second area where many Orthodox readers are likely to balk is in the matter of the status of women in Judaism, which is his “classic expression of unfinished business in advancing messianic standards” (304). He celebrates that much of the Modern Orthodox community now supports offering “Torah learning, and even ordination (or its equivalent)” for women but laments that much of the rest of Orthodoxy has “closed ranks to deny legitimacy to Orthodox groups supporting liberalization” (305). This is problematic if Orthodoxy is supposed to have anything of value to say to liberal Jews:
The irony is that egalitarianism is sweeping the entire Jewish community, and is eventually likely to win out in any part of the Orthodox world integrated into modern life. Upholding distinctive gender roles could be an important contribution for Orthodoxy to make, but at present the “distinctive role” idea is so intertwined with an insistence on women’s secondary status that it has no credibility outside centrist and haredi circles. Until Orthodoxy moves away from marginalizing and exploiting women, it will have no influence on how gender interactions unfold in the broader Jewish community (306).
Greenberg fully believes that “the entrenched Orthodox denial of women’s full equality will not stand” and that the contributions Judaism can make to the world “will be reduced if the ethical standard of full human dignity continues to fall short for half of its most committed followers.” As a result of this, he wagers “that new leaders, including women, will step forward to take responsibility” in leading the Orthodox community towards a brighter and more impactful future (306). This, Greenberg argues, will ultimately lead to a reality in which Jewish women, in control of their time and equal to their male peers, will “become able to fulfill time-bound commandments for themselves and others.” So too, “their right to witness – and judge – in halakhic courts must come to be recognized.” Thus, Jewish women will finally be able to “contribute all their talents and insights to enrich Jewish life” (307).[20]
Finally, a third area Orthodox readers are likely to find discomforting is Greenberg’s push to ease interactions with non-Jews. He calls for nothing short of “a systematic halakhic correction” to uphold “the value, equality, and uniqueness of every person, politically, economically, and culturally.” While not giving specific suggestions, he mentions the laws against gentile wine and cooking as “imputing social “impurity” to non-Jews” and therefore undermining their human dignity (310). Greenberg argues that such “social exclusion does not work in an open society” and that “ethical people are appalled by the moral price of degrading others for the sake of putative survival, but galvanized by creating a community of love and solidarity free of ‘othering’ others.” Judaism, therefore, must learn “full hearted respect for the other’s life and faith” (311).
Progressive readers, too, may find some of Greenberg’s suggestions troubling. His push for Jewish Federations to ask secular Jews “to give – in proportion to their means – more than the average population in both time and money,” for example, may be seen as the exact type of double standard that ought to be discouraged by Greenberg’s own worldview.[21] Similarly, his suggestion of viewing Taglit-Birthright as “a fundamental rite of passage: a holy secular mitzvah of Third Era Judaism” will no doubt be laughed at by the growing population of Liberal Jews who are alienated by Zionism and the hasbara that often accompanies it (317).
Given the above, one might wonder what differentiates Greenberg from his colleagues at the “Halakhic Egalitarian” (an intentionally non-Orthodox descriptor) Hadar. Greenberg himself answers this question by writing that “my Orthodox movement, with its mix of strengths and weaknesses, contributes more to my own religious life, and, on balance, perhaps to Jews overall” even while it “can do better if it learns from others” (320). Even Greenberg’s lengthy articulation of Jewish pluralism comes with deep critique of non-Orthodox directions:
As an Orthodox rabbi, I have struggled to articulate the rationale for pluralism by Orthodox standards. How can I sponsor programs with liberal prayer services that I would not attend, or equate a rabbi who believes in Torah min hashamayim (the divine nature of the faith) with a rabbi who affirms that the Torah is sacred but was – in part or all together – created by humans? I have come to understand that when liberal religious Jews drop certain classical observances – or when they bring new commandments, such as imperatives to save the environment or honor people hitherto marginalized – they should not be dismissed as antihalakhic. Rather, they are using their autonomy to spell out additional obligations to achieve tikkun olam. How do they claim the right to abrogate laws that Hillel and Shammai deemed beyond their capacity to question? By saying: as much as we love and respect the inherited tools of redemption, in our judgment, using these new tools – or not using some of the old tools – will be even more effective in reaching the redemptive dream.
When contemporary Jews generate new religious leadership roles for women, they are not violating the covenantal tradition; they are seeking to apply it anew as part of a dynamic process of redeeming the world. When rabbis use academic and critical scholarship to study canonical texts, they are trying to grasp the tradition in all its original context in order to develop an understanding of the connection between the Divine and the human – and the communication between Infinite and finite – that is more credible in our time.
The Divine delegation of authority does not mean that all changes are improvements. I personally believe that the liberal movements’ abandonment of many covenantal behaviors has eroded the power of the religion. The current decline of loyalty and widespread assimilation in liberal communities should be a signal to learn from Orthodox intensity and strengths and to deepen their roots in tradition, even as they seek to move it forward. Orthodox innovators and critical scholars, too, should fully understand the risks of being absorbed into the present culture. They need to constantly expose themselves to intense religious voices and holistic readings of Scriptures. Indeed, traditional or haredi Jews who uphold the inherited halakhah as it is should not be asked to relinquish their mission to sustain Torah unchanged. Rather, they should see their role as a counterculture that keeps the present generation from being swallowed up in the maelstrom of postmodern culture (321-322)
Greenberg acknowledges that he came to his understanding of pluralism and the obligations which stem from it “emotionally before I could justify it logically” (232). Nevertheless, he is deeply committed to the idea that all who help bring the world closer to tikkun olam “are cocreators of the Torah, valued collaborators in the never-ending task of reconciling present reality with future perfection” (325). At the same time, Greenberg also calls for Orthodox traditionalists to constantly “check themselves to make sure they are not willfully closing their eyes to new revelation,” and to not dismiss liberal Jewish movements and thinkers simply because of their affiliations (322).
While Greenberg’s thinking and writing have evolved much over the past 50 years, his core message of life-affirming pluralism remains strong. The framework that he has arrived at allows for Non-Orthodox, Modern Orthodox, and Haredi Jews to co-exist on a shared trajectory towards tikkun olam, forcing none to concede anything in practice so long as the process of fixing the world continues to unfold.[22]
Returning to whether Modern Orthodoxy is ready to accept Greenberg, the answer is complicated. On the one hand, Geenberg’s rejection of his previous “voluntary covenant” framework allows him to once again speak a language that Modern Orthodox Jews can appreciate. On the other, his practical suggestions are far outside the current mainstream. Furthermore, Greenberg’s practical conclusions on the positions raised reflect precisely the halakhic and communal challenges which frequently serve as flashpoints that fragment even the most liberal bastions within the Modern Orthodox community.
If acceptance entails agreeing with Greenberg’s conclusions then I would be forced to conclude in the negative, as his positions remain far beyond the pale of acceptance within Liberal Modern Orthodoxy, or even what some have called “Open” Orthodoxy. If, however, acceptance is about speaking a common language, operating under shared assumptions about the nature of our covenant with Hashem, and giving a thinker’s positions a fair listen, then it is a different story. Just as Greenberg is willing to hear out non-Orthodox thinkers and allow their views to push him towards new understandings, so too it may be beneficial for Modern Orthodoxy to hear out Greenberg and have the opportunity to respond to his suggestions in good faith. Put differently, if Greenberg’s new theology is acceptable, Modern Orthodoxy must grapple with his halakhic suggestions rather than reflexively reject them. Will this move Modern Orthodoxy to exactly where Greenberg wants? Almost certainly not. But will it cultivate a healthier environment, where ideas can be debated and rejected thoughtfully and respectfully? Yes. And that is a good place to be.
[1] Rabbi Avi Weiss, “Foreword” in Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz (ed.), A Torah Giant: The Intellectual Legacy of Rabbi Dr. Irving (Yitz) Greenberg (Ktav, 2018).
[2] Jonathan Sacks, Tradition in an Untraditional Age: Essays on Modern Jewish Thought (Maggid, 2023) 114-115.
[3] Rabbi Dr. Darren Kleinberg “For and Against: A Consideration of David Hartman and Jonathan Sacks in Relation to Irving Greenberg,” in Yanklowitz (2018), 178-179.
[4] Darren Kleinberg, “Irving Greenberg’s Theology of Hybrid Judaism” in Adam S. Ferziger, Miri Freud-Kandel, and Steven Bayme (eds.), Yitz Greenberg and Modern Orthodoxy: The Road Not Taken (Academic Studies Press, 2019), 93.
[5] Adam S. Ferziger, Miri Freud-Kandel, and Steven Bayme, “Editors’ Foreword,” Ibid. 2.
[6] Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays (Summit Books, 1988), 319.
[7] Ibid. 320.
[8] Irving Greenberg, For the Sake of Heaven and Earth: The New Encounter between Judaism and Christianity (Jewish Publication Society, 2004), 27. Greenberg’s framing of the “voluntary covenant” is based heavily on ideas expressed in Roy Eckardt’s article, “The Recantation of the Covenant?” Greenberg summarizes Eckardt’s position as follows:
In calling Jews to be God’s witness and avant-garde for the redemption of the world, God had exposed them to a murderous fury from which there was no escape – as evidenced by the Holocaust. Yet the Lord could not and would not save them. Therefore, God must repent for having endangered the Jews without providing for their protection… the only acceptable teshuvah for God would be to recant the divine covenant and thus remove the Jews from the extreme danger they were in. In light of this analysis, any further projection – by God or humans – of a covenant of demand that included the expectation that Jews must live by a higher standard (or else…) was outrageous and immoral. (Ibid. 27)
Greenberg concludes that Eckardt’s position is “absolutely right,” and that the Christian theologian was “Abraham-like, Jeremiah-like, and Job-like in challenging God’s justice and demanding teshuvah – and in the process, defending and vindicating the people of Israel” (Ibid).
[9] Ibid. 27.
[10] Irving (Yitz) Greenberg, “Modern Orthodoxy and the Road Not Taken: A Retrospective View,” in Adam S. Ferziger, Miri Freud-Kandel, and Steven Bayme (eds.) Yitz Greenberg and Modern Orthodoxy: The Road Not Taken (Academic Studies Press, 2019), 53. Emphasis added.
It should be noted that this idea was present in both of the earlier articles quoted above as well, but was not brought to the forefront of Greenberg’s theological message until the 2019 essay.
[11] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Crisis and Covenant: Jewish Thought After the Holocaust (Maggid, 2023), 117-118.
[12] Eliezer Berkovits, Faith after the Holocaust (Ktav, 1973), 7.
[13] In focusing only on Greenberg’s ideas as presented in The Triumph of Life, this essay will not touch on the famous “Greenberg-Lichtenstein” debate in the pages of the Yeshiva University Commentator which many identify as the last straw in Greenberg’s alienation from Modern Orthodoxy. Interestingly, Ferziger has argued that the debate between the two Harvard-trained rabbis
may be understood not as a polar struggle between an emergent archetypical deviant and a staunch centrist “mainstream” representative. Rather, it highlights two novel and related roads that were percolating within 1960s American Modern Orthodoxy, neither of which became the dominant path. Initially, one was “not taken” while the other was merely “less traveled.”
The juxtaposition of Greenberg with Lichtenstein, then, offers evidence of “Insider-Outsiders” who reexamined accepted group paradigms in ways that those who grew up exclusively within a centrist milieu may have been less inclined. Moreover, it illustrates both the fickleness and rapidity of historical change, especially in contemporary times. Innovative ideas expressed by radical individuals that quite recently were viewed as beyond the pale, can after a short interval gain traction within normative settings. Meanwhile, the same figures who were perceived as the conservative guardians of tradition at a previous juncture may turn out in retrospect to have been the catalyst of a fundamental transformation.
Adam Ferziger, “‘The Road Not Taken’ and ‘The One Less Traveled’: The Greenberg-Lichtenstein Exchange and Contemporary Orthodoxy” in Ferziger, Freud-Kandel, and Bayme, 287-288. Ferziger’s argument throughout the essay is that the positions of Greenberg and Lichtenstein on most subjects were closer than a superficial reading of their famous interactions might suggest, and that Lichtenstein was directly or indirectly responsible for bringing several of Greenberg’s proposed innovations to the State of Israel.
[14] This definition of God places Greenberg in a category of theological realists distinct from many “postmodern” thinkers who claim that all God-talk (including talk of God’s very existence) can only be metaphorical. His acknowledgement that Jews originally understood Biblical descriptions of God literally and only later came to view them as metaphors, as well as his later citations of academic scholars and references to the “Holiness Code” within the Torah, suggest a familiarity with Biblical Criticism and a willingness to engage with it that is not explicitly discussed in the book. He wrote elsewhere that the study of biblical criticism as popularized by thetorah.com “is saving the Torah from iggun (being chained), cutting the shackles of encrusted conventions that are anchoring the Torah to previous eras and threatening to drag it down to oblivion.” An explicit integration by Greenberg of modern Biblical criticism with traditional sources can be read here. The lack of heavy discussion of the subject in this book may demonstrate that Greenberg now sees the integration of such ways of thinking about the Biblical text as a non-issue.
[15] How this impacts Judaism’s relationship with other religions will be explored below.
[16] It would be a mistake to equate Greenberg’s notion of tikkun olam with the concept commonly used in liberal Jewish spaces as synonymous with social justice. Greenberg’s notion, while not equating to the Kabbalistic concept from which the term originates, is explicitly messianic in a way that many liberal Jews would likely find uncomfortable.
[17] Greenberg uses the idea of resurrection as a core metaphor in his approach, though he acknowledges its difficulty in speaking to modern people. In his words,
I am not trying to prove resurrection scientifically – although, for the record, I believe that the covenant in Judaism means that the human partner should be able to make, or participate in, many of the miracles so remarkable as to be considered only doable by God. But my first argument to those who just cannot believe this is as follows: Treat it as a poetic reaching for the stars. That perfected state is how far we would like to go. Then work through the covenantal framework Judaism offers. Let us go step by step along the vector of increasing life, curing illness, preventing death, as far as we can go. The end of death will always be a lodestar far ahead that keeps us from settling for a mediocre outcome or settling down with the status quo along the way. (60-61).
[18] Two examples Greenberg provides are slavery and the status of women.
[19] Regarding the aftermath of October 7, Greenberg acknowledges that Israel’s counterattack “devastated much of Gaza” and killed thousands of civilians. He also considers the UN resolutions and worldwide demonstrations calling for immediate ceasefire to end the deaths of innocent Palestinians without condemning Hamas or removing them from power as postures “tantamount to siding with Hamas” (284). Nonetheless, Greenberg believes in “a long-term process in which militant Palestinians turn from undermining the Jewish state toward more democratic, societally constructive, autonomous self-rule. Following this path can win back the trust of Israelis and open the door to a Palestinian state that could live in peace with Israel” (285).
[20] Greenberg also lauds the fact that “Liberal halakhic circles are already experimenting with egalitarian wedding ceremonies and documents, in which both spouses are active and protected.” He believes that “this trend will continue and intensify as women’s dignity moves throughout the halakhic world. Liturgical experimentation and creativity will develop to celebrate women’s lives, spilling over to enrich and renew rational life ceremonies” (307).
[21] Likewise, his apparent assumption that such organizations seemingly have a de-facto right to exist, even if losing money from Jewish donations is a sign that they no longer offer value to the Jewish community, may not be welcome to progressive readers.
[22] A similar articulation was put forward by R. Dr. Samuel Lebens, who wrote that
Many factors play a role in bringing the Torah closer to its heavenly paradigm. Social and political movements, other religions, and more directly, non-Orthodox denominations within the Jewish world, all play a role in awakening certain sensitivities and attitudes within the Orthodox community. Liberal segments of that community agitate for change within the halakha. Conservative elements within the same community resist any change. The legal traditions themselves create obstacles to some changes, whilst being more amenable to other changes. The changes and evolutions that make it through this process can claim to be an echo of Sinai.
Samuel Lebens, The Principles of Judaism (Oxford University Press, 2020). Lebens’ thought has found much acceptance within the Modern Orthodox world.
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