Philosophers, philologists, and sociologists (and, according to Genesis, Gd) understand the claim to ownership and power inherent in an act of naming. And while I dislike forcing organic phenomena into artificial pigeon holes, it seems useful at least to try to name—and, in the process, further describe for my friends—my understanding of Judaism.
Some think they have a name for my Judaism; they call it "neo-Hasidism." But after trying on that name and wearing it for a time, I find it both too broad and too confining.
So-called neo-Hasidism encompasses a wide range of theologies and practices rooted in, among other things, the:
- Thought of 20th century giants such as Martin Buber and Abraham Joshua Heschel
- Socio-spiritual teachings of ex-Hasids like Shlomo Carlebach and Zalman Shachter-Shalomi
- Back-to-the-farm mystical Judaisms of Arthurs Green and Waskow and the Havurah Movement of the 1960s and 1970s
Now it's true that I share with various neo-Hasidisms a generic:
- Dissatisfaction with the dryness of modern Judaisms
- Love of old-school Hebrew liturgy and tunes
- Reaction to the anti-egalitarianism of traditional Judaisms
- Fascination with some joyous and mystical aspects of Hasidism
- Frustration with the expensive, hierarchical nature of today's synagogues
- Interest in complementary ideas often inspired by Asian philosophies and religions
But despite these commonalities, and while most neo-Hasidisms are avowedly egalitarian, the word Hasidism carries too much negative baggage for me and others, for whom it conjures visions of all manner of non-egalitarian orthodoxies.
So here's a thought. Like Reform Judaism a century or so earlier, today's new Judaisms are born of the types of rifts in tradition that characterize modern history—they are born from modern humankind's urge to "do one's own thing." And precisely because this type of break is a recurring theme of Modernity, it should be possible to adopt and adapt a name for my Judaism that better describes where I come from and how I hope to be.
The birth and rebirth of modern art remains the singular example of Modernity's self-consciously creative attack on tradition and itself. It comprises succeeding generations of young artists borrowing non-Western themes, sensibilities, and perspectives to break free from the Academy and each other. But the British punk rock explosion is the example that best serves the task at hand. It saw kids—musicians is too grand a term—rebel against a bloated rock and roll business that, by the mid-1970s, had lost sight of its inclusivity, its appeal to immediate experience, its disdain for authority, and its availability to the untrained.
This punk rock attitude encompasses many of the concerns that drive my Judaism. It screams for a return to oft-forgotten or rejected roots in order to map more convincing and viable routes forward. And because the sublime system of thought undergirding all Judaisms understands the human animal as a necessarily social one, I know I can't map and travel those routes alone. So while some might find it more convenient and comfortable to call me a neo-Hasid—or even an oxymoronic "Traditional Egalitarian"—I'm happy for now being a Punk Rock Jew struggling to build a group.
