The Birth of Conservative Judaism: Solomon Schechter's Disciples and the Creation of an American Religious Movement

By Michael R Cohen

Solomon Schechter (18471915), the charismatic leader of New York’s Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS), came to America in 1902 intent on revitalizing traditional Judaism. While he advocated a return to traditional practices, Schechter articulated no clear position on divisive issues, instead preferring to focus on similarities that could unite American Jewry under a broad message. Michael R. Cohen demonstrates how Schechter, unable to implement his vision on his own, turned to his disciples, rabbinical students and alumni of JTS, to shape his movement. By midcentury, Conservative Judaism had become the largest American Jewish grouping in the United States, guided by Schechter’s disciples and their continuing efforts to embrace diversity while eschewing divisive debates.

Yet Conservative Judaism’s fluid boundaries also proved problematic for the movement, frustrating many rabbis who wanted a single platform to define their beliefs. Cohen demonstrates how a legacy of tension between diversity and boundaries now lies at the heart of Conservative Judaism’s modern struggle for relevance. His analysis explicates four key claims: that Conservative Judaism’s clergy, not its laity or Seminary, created and shaped the movement; that diversity wasand still isa crucial component of the success and failure of new American religions; that the Conservative movement’s contemporary struggle for self-definition is tied to its origins; and that the porous boundaries between Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Judaism reflect the complexity of the American Jewish landscapea fact that Schechter and his disciples keenly understood. Rectifying misconceptions in previous accounts of Conservative Judaism’s emergence, Cohen’s study initiates a fresh encounter with a truly American religious phenomenon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Release date: May 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9780231526777

Book preview

The Birth of Conservative Judaism

Michael R. Cohen

The Birth of

Conservative Judaism

SOLOMON SCHECHTER’S DISCIPLES

AND THE CREATION OF AN AMERICAN

RELIGIOUS MOVEMENT

Columbia University Press

New York

Columbia University Press

Publishers Since 1893

New York     Chichester, West Sussex

cup.columbia.edu

Copyright © 2012 Columbia University Press

All rights reserved

E-ISBN 978-0-231-52677-7

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Cohen, Michael R.

The birth of conservative Judaism : Solomon Schechter’s disciples and the creation of an American religious movement / Michael R. Cohen

p.     cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-231-15635-6 (cloth : alk. paper)—ISBN 978-0-231-52677-7 (e-book)

1. Conservative Judaism—United States—History. 2. Schechter, S. (Solomon), 1847–1915. I. Title

BM197.5.C64 2012

296.83420973—dc23

2011025625

A Columbia University Press E-book.

CUP would be pleased to hear about your reading experience with this e-book at [e-mail].

References to Internet Web Sites (URLs) were accurate at the time of writing. Neither the contributors, the editor, nor Columbia University Press is responsible for Web sites that may have expired or changed since the articles were prepared

Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

1. Solomon Schechter and the Charismatic Bond

2. The United Synagogue and the Transition to Postcharismatic Authority

3. A Heretic, a Maverick, and the Challenge to Inclusivity

4. On the Brink of Irrelevance

5. The Platform of Discipleship

6. A Task Left Unfinished

Conclusion: Deceptive Retrospect and the History of Conservative Judaism

Epilogue

Abbreviations

Notes

Index

Acknowledgments

THERE ARE many colleagues whom I must thank, without whose guidance and assistance this work would not have been possible. First, I am particularly grateful to Jonathan D. Sarna, my teacher, colleague, and friend. Jonathan has helped to guide this project from its initial stages and has offered valuable feedback throughout the process—often on incredibly short notice. Despite the many hats he wears, he has always been available for help and advice and has offered comments on many drafts of this manuscript. I am also particularly indebted to Pamela S. Nadell, with whom I first began to discuss this work during a conference at Tulane University. Pam has also read several drafts of the manuscript, and her feedback has helped tremendously to shape my work. Jeffrey S. Gurock also gave generously of his time, and, with as thorough an understanding of the boundaries of American Orthodoxy as anybody, he helped me to situate my project within that framework. Special thanks are also due to Sylvia Barack Fishman, who offered fresh perspectives about the Conservative movement and its boundaries, as well as Douglas Cowan and Catherine Wessinger, who helped me to situate my work within the field of new religious movements.

I am also very appreciative of the assistance of many other colleagues throughout this project. This work began to take shape while I was an undergraduate at Brown University and was inspired by the thoughtful questioning of Maud S. Mandel during an undergraduate seminar and later while writing my honors thesis. My work continued to take shape as I discussed my ideas with Abraham J. Peck, and Sylvia Fuks-Fried encouraged me to clarify my thoughts during countless meetings, phone conversations, and e-mails. I am also thankful for the support of many other colleagues along the way. Karen Auerbach, Adam Mendelsohn, Simon Rabinovitch, and Deborah Skolnick-Einhorn offered useful comments and suggestions and have given of their time generously. Special thanks are also due to Adina Cimet-Singer, Phillip Hollander, Brian Horowitz, Antony Polonsky, Eugene Sheppard, and David Starr.

My research also would not have been possible were it not for the wonderful hospitality at the archives in which I worked. I must begin by thanking Ellen Kastel of the Jewish Theological Seminary. I am tremendously grateful to her for her flexibility, advice, and support. Michelle Margolis and Itay Zutra also provided much assistance at JTS, and I am most grateful for their assistance. I am also very appreciative of Kevin Proffitt and the staff of the American Jewish Archives, Kim Tieger at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, and Adina Anflick at the American Jewish Historical Society.

Dr. Herbert Rosenblum, himself a historian of the Conservative movement, granted me access to his personal collection, which contained invaluable documents and materials that were critical to this project. I also would like to thank Rabbi Wilfred Shuchat of Montréal for speaking with me about his colleague, Herman Abramowitz; Vivian Rous for sharing with me her memories and photographs of her father, Elias Solomon; Sanford Drob for sharing memories and the personal papers of his grandfather Max Drob; Richard Epstein for sharing with me his photographs of his great uncle Louis Epstein; and Aaron Reichel for speaking with me about his grandfather, Herbert S. Goldstein, and for granting me access to Goldstein’s personal papers. I must thank David Gordon, who became an integral part of this project at the end, providing me with invaluable research assistance and offering new interpretations of documents in my collection. I am also particularly indebted to Columbia University Press, especially Wendy Lochner, Christine Mortlock, and Susan Pensak, and I truly appreciate how their tremendous efforts helped to make this project a reality.

The completion of this work was made possible by the generous financial support of many organizations. I want to thank Tulane University as well as the Jewish Studies Expansion Program, a project of the Charles and Lynn Schusterman Family Foundation, with the support of the Foundation for Jewish Culture. I am also grateful to the Brandeis University Department of Near Eastern and Judaic Studies, the Brandeis University Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, the Tauber Institute for the Study of European Jewry, the American Jewish Historical Society, and the American Jewish Archives.

Finally, I am extremely grateful to my family and friends, whose support has been immeasurable throughout this project. My parents, Marlene and Bernard, have encouraged me throughout, as they have throughout my life. My brother David also deserves special acknowledgment not only for his friendship but also for helping me to strengthen my argument and to clarify my thoughts. Shira Bergman has become such an important part of my life and has been tremendously supportive of my work. I must thank Treasure and Richard Cohen, who graciously hosted me for weeks on end during my archival visits, and Judah M. Cohen, who also provided valuable guidance. My appreciation also goes out to Nancy and Leonard Nemon, who both introduced me to the exciting field of history at a very young age, and to my grandparents, Ida and William Cohen, for sparking my interest in Jewish history.

Introduction

THE AMERICAN Jewish landscape at the dawn of the twenty-first century features three primary Jewish movements—Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform—a basic structure so entrenched in the American Jewish consciousness that one observer humorously suggested most people seem to assume that God spoke to Moses at Sinai and decreed that there would be Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Jews.¹ While it should come as no surprise that this arrangement was not revealed at Sinai, the way in which it came to be has thus far eluded the grasp of observers and scholars alike.

Of the three movements, Conservative Judaism is the newest and most challenging to define. While the Jew on the street today may perceive the movement to be at least a century old, the beginning of the twentieth century saw American Jewry loosely divided into two camps—Orthodox and Reform—and the term Conservative was vague and undefined. Over the first half of the twentieth century, however, Conservative Judaism took its place as the third movement in American Jewish life, and the goal of my work is to explain how this process occurred. By focusing my historical lens on the role of rabbis trained at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, I will demonstrate that members of a previously neglected group—Solomon Schechter’s disciples—were in fact the ones who created Conservative Judaism over the first half of the twentieth century.

I am by no means the first person to search for Conservative Judaism’s origins. Those who have come before me have put forth two primary arguments—neither of which, I will argue, can adequately account for Conservative Judaism’s emergence. First, the historical school argument suggests that Conservative Judaism is defined by a distinct ideology that has always separated it from both Reform and Orthodox Judaism. Many who advocate this approach suggest that the roots of this distinct Conservative ideology lie in nineteenth-century Germany, as Jews were welcomed into the broader German society. With the offer to integrate into this society came the expectation that Jews would make their religion less peculiar to the outside world, transforming it to be more compatible with German life. Some Jews rejected this idea, while others turned to Reform Judaism to accomplish this.

Supporters of this theory maintain that another group accepted the premise that Judaism should adapt to its surroundings, but, rejecting how Reform had thrown off the cloak of Jewish law, members of this group searched for other ways to integrate Judaism into German life. Historical Judaism developed out of this impulse and provided a solution for its adherents to reconcile tradition with modernity. Using the tools of Wissenschaft des Judentums—the scientific, scholarly study of Judaism—Zacharias Frankel argued that Jewish law had always changed to adapt to the various historical influences and circumstances it faced. The implication for his contemporaries was clear—they could continue this by making alterations to Jewish law that would make Judaism more compatible with modern German life. In other words, they could satisfy the expectations of the broader German society without sacrificing their commitment to Jewish law.

Those who support the historical school theory generally argue that when historical Judaism came to America, it was institutionalized at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America (JTS), which would in time become the training seminary for the Conservative rabbinate.² The Jewish Theological Seminary was originally founded in 1886 when a group of traditionalists rejected the more progressive Hebrew Union College. In its early years the Seminary was plagued by low enrollment and financial difficulty, but in 1902 Solomon Schechter was hired to lead the fledgling institution, which quickly grew and came to be informally known as Schechter’s Seminary. There is no question that aspects of historical Judaism deeply influenced the leaders of JTS, as Schechter himself was committed to its ideas and so, too, were the faculty and students. Yet those affiliated with Schechter’s Seminary were not the only American Jews to support historical Judaism—leaders of the Orthodox Union (OU), which was closely affiliated with the pre-Schechter seminary but broke away after Schechter’s arrival, also initially professed their support for the idea.

While many of those connected with Schechter’s Seminary supported the concept of historical Judaism in theory, not everybody could agree on just how to implement it in practice. Who, for example, would have the authority to adapt Jewish law to modern circumstances, and what criteria would they use for such changes? Schechter understood that historical Judaism has never, to my knowledge, offered to the world a theological platform of its own, and he offered the concept of Catholic Israel, or the united people Israel, as a means by which the idea of historical Judaism could be implemented. He maintained that only a unified Jewry had the authority to adapt Jewish law to its modern surroundings and that no individual group or sect had the authority to do so. Because a third movement in Judaism would therefore have had no power to adapt Jewish law to its surroundings on its own, Schechter eschewed the creation of a distinct third movement and instead strove for a unified community that could affect the change he desired.

Not everybody, however, believed Catholic Israel was the best way to implement the ideas of historical Judaism, yet Catholic Israel nevertheless became the emerging movement’s guiding principle during its formative years. While some of Schechter’s students believed they as a group should have the power to adapt Jewish law to contemporary situations on their own, I will demonstrate throughout this work that, in an attempt to implement Schechter’s vision, his disciples remained committed to the notion that only Catholic Israel possessed such authority. This idea was not only deeply embedded in the outlook of the Seminary but also in the movement’s congregational and rabbinic organizations—the United Synagogue of America and the Rabbinical Assembly (RA). As a result, these organizations continually opposed the creation of a third movement in Judaism, and while there were various attempts to jettison Catholic Israel and redefine the movement as one where its rabbis could make changes to Jewish law on its own, this did not occur until the 1950s—after the rise to power of a new generation of rabbis.

Thus any suggestions that historical Judaism represented the boundaries of a distinct Conservative movement during its formative years suffer from deceptive retrospect,³ ignoring the goals and actions of the movement’s founders. While the Conservative movement may have been committed to historical Judaism, it tied this concept to Catholic Israel, which opposed the creation of a movement that would distinguish itself from both Reform and Orthodoxy. Thus, although theories predicated upon the historical school can help us to understand various aspects of Conservative Judaism, the argument on its own cannot fully explain the movement’s emergence.

Just as the historical school theory falls short, so too does the second main explanation, which focuses primarily on the laity and individual congregations. Rather than maintaining Conservative Judaism always had a distinct unifying ideology, supporters of this approach argue that the movement began as a series of disconnected synagogues appearing in the United States before the mid-twentieth century. These synagogues were not predicated upon ideological principles, so the argument goes, but rather were the result of the pressures faced by the Americanizing children of immigrants, for whom Orthodoxy’s traditionalism reminded them too much of their parents’ world and Reform seemed too radical a break from traditional Jewish practices. These circumstances, argue proponents of this theory, led to the creation of Conservative synagogues that tried to forge a centrist path between Orthodoxy and Reform.⁴

The flaw in this approach, however, is that by zooming in on the local level we ignore the emerging movement’s national consciousness—an error historians of other religions have cautioned against. J. Gordon Melton notes that looking at religious movements at the local level presents a picture of numerous, small, barely stable centers, many struggling to keep a minimum critical mass in membership and attendance, and others coming and going. By expanding our gaze outward, however, Melton maintains that a picture emerges whereby those smaller centers may be in fellowship with other local centers around the country.⁵

By expanding our gaze outward in the case of the Conservative movement, we come to realize that the rabbis were beginning to lead a national movement well before congregational lay leaders. Even the foremost advocate of this lay/congregation theory concedes that before mid-century rabbis were the only group that visualized Conservatism in national terms.⁶ If rabbis were the first to view Conservative Judaism as its own movement, why then has there been no monograph that comprehensively examines their role in its emergence? It is this lacuna that I seek to fill. By focusing the historical lens on the role of rabbis, I will show how Solomon Schechter’s rabbinical students at the Jewish Theological Seminary—his disciples—created Conservative Judaism to spread their teacher’s ideals and carry out his legacy.

The process by which Schechter and his disciples created Conservative Judaism follows a similar pattern to how other charismatic leaders and their followers created their own religious movements. I realize that by comparing the Conservative movement to other new religious movements, I am offering a significant departure from previous work in the field. Moreover, to suggest that Conservative Judaism is a new religious movement will be reason for many to give pause, especially because the Conservative movement sees itself as the true expression of Judaism as it has been passed down through the ages. I also recognize that using the same framework to analyze Conservative Judaism used by scholars to study Mormonism, Christian Science, and the Hare Krishna may initially offend the sensibilities of those who have long viewed the case of Conservative Judaism as a singular Jewish experience. Yet, as I will demonstrate in the following pages, integrating the study of Conservative Judaism into the growing field of new religious movements explains its emergence in a way that previous approaches cannot.

Because scholars of American Judaism have not generally viewed Schechter as a charismatic religious leader, I find it necessary to clarify just how he can be viewed in this context. Schechter’s authority was rooted in his charisma, the classic definition of which is from Max Weber, for whom it applies to a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers or qualities. These are such as are not accessible to the ordinary person, but are regarded as of divine origin or as exemplary, and on the basis of them the individual concerned is treated as a leader.⁷ While Weber’s charisma was applied originally to a gift of divine origin, it has also been used by scholars to apply to earthly qualities as well—exceptional qualities, as Weber terms them, that are regarded as exemplary. While Schechter conforms to Weber’s definition, I will show that he also fits the overlapping attributes Lorne Dawson argues characterize charismatic leadership. Dawson maintains charismatic leaders possess a visionary leadership style. They are admired for their communication skills, their ability to frame problems and solutions in simple and appealing terms. Moreover, he asserts that charismatic leaders tend to be energetic people who exude self-confidence and determination and display a consistent faith in the fulfilment of their mission, developing a charismatic bond with their followers.⁸

As I will demonstrate, Schechter fits this paradigm of a charismatic religious leader. He came to the Seminary as one of the world’s best-known Jewish scholars, captivating those in his presence and creating an aura around him that rarely disappointed. Schechter had a simple, albeit idealistic, vision for American Judaism that he passed down to his disciples, which became the essence of the emerging Conservative movement—he wanted a community committed to traditional Judaism, yet one adapted to America through the incorporation of English, decorum, and modern education. He also wanted his disciples to work together to achieve this and unite the American Jewish community in the image of Catholic Israel.

The process by which Schechter’s authority passed to his disciples and was institutionalized is in many respects the process through which Conservative Judaism emerged. According to Weber, it is recognition on the part of those subject to authority which is decisive for the validity of charisma,⁹ and after suggesting that we view Schechter as a charismatic religious leader, I will then analyze the process by which Schechter’s authority was passed to his followers—Veralltäglichung, as Weber calls it, or the routinization of charisma, as scholars generally translate it.¹⁰ Weber argues that if charismatic authority is to be more than a purely transitory phenomenon … it is necessary for the character of charismatic authority to become radically changed. This becomes conspicuously evident with the disappearance of the personal charismatic leader and with the problem of succession.¹¹ Once Schechter passed from the scene, it was necessary to routinize his charisma so that the emerging movement could succeed.

In the case of Conservative Judaism, the process of routinization follows a modified version of Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge’s subculture-evolution model for the creation of new religious movements. According to this model, the process of formation is the product of at least a few intimately interacting individuals, and it begins when people with similar needs and desires meet and begin communicating about their mutual problems, ultimately leading to a movement that cannot be attributed to a single individual. Although this model does not necessarily rely upon the seminal role of a charismatic leader, it can nevertheless apply even when a single individual dominates a group … to the extent that the followers also participate in pushing the group toward a movement.¹² In the case of Conservative Judaism, Schechter clearly dominated the group while he was alive, but he also actively encouraged his disciples to work together to shape the emerging movement on their own.

While Schechter created the vision for which the movement would strive, his disciples adopted it as their own, and authority successfully passed from Schechter to his disciples. Two primary factors were responsible for this routinization of charisma—first, the maintenance of deep personal and social bonds and, second, the embrace and institutionalization of diversity. With regard to the first, personal relationships among the disciples themselves, and a charismatic bond with Schechter, played a critical role in holding the group together despite its fundamental diversity.¹³ Schechter’s students grew up together, often entering the Seminary in their late teens and graduating in their early twenties. Though there were clearly arguments that emerged—particularly over job placement—they lived and socialized together as students, in the process developing deep friendships and bonds that would last a lifetime. They also developed close relationships with Schechter, who was deeply engaged in their lives and whom they viewed as a father, a teacher, and a friend. They shared a deep desire to see Schechter’s vision actualized, and all these shared experiences and common mission initially produced a vague group consciousness. This group identity would only strengthen throughout their lives and careers and, as we will see, would be instrumental in holding the group together and preventing their movement from splintering.

The second major factor that allowed Schechter’s authority to successfully transition to his disciples was the embrace and institutionalization of diversity. Schechter’s disciples agreed on the broad vision of their teacher, but they differed markedly in other areas. With regard to background, some of Schechter’s students were American-born; many others hailed from Eastern Europe. Some could dazzle audiences with English sermons but felt their traditional Jewish educations to be lacking, while others spoke broken English but were comfortable with their traditional backgrounds. The disciples also differed on how they interpreted the implications of Schechter’s vision and how exactly they could be essentially loyal to traditional Judaism.¹⁴ Some had no problem eating a dairy meal at a restaurant, whereas many other disciples took exception. Mixed seating and organ music during Sabbath worship were appropriate in the eyes of some, though others abhorred such innovations.

Just as diverse as their practices was the way in which they self-identified. Some of Schechter’s disciples identified as conservative, and others identified as orthodox, and their beliefs and practices spanned much of the spectrum of American Judaism. While we can broadly define Schechter’s disciples as either conservative or orthodox, the terms that they used to describe themselves varied widely. For example, many self-identified conservatives also used the labels progressive or liberal, loosely referring to themselves as the left wing of the emerging movement. Those who identified as orthodox also used the terms modern orthodox or traditional, often referring to themselves as the right wing of the emerging movement. Still others called themselves centrist.

None of these terms or wings had a precise definition, instead meaning different things to different people at different times, and thus the politics of the positions became as important as the positions themselves. Disciples formed coalitions to broadly affect change, and this fluid terminology highlights the diversity and elasticity of the emerging Conservative movement over the first half of the twentieth century.

Clearly Schechter’s disciples were diverse in their practices and their identities, yet the social bonds about which we have spoken, and the vague group consciousness that those bonds created, played a critical role in overcoming this diversity and keeping the group unified. This group consciousness was further strengthened and institutionalized in the United Synagogue of America, which today serves as the congregational arm of the Conservative movement. Upon its founding in 1913, however, and for its first decade, at the very least, it was an organization led by Schechter’s rabbinical disciples with the purpose of implementing their teacher’s vision. By transferring his authority to the diverse executive council of the United Synagogue, rather than to a single heir, Schechter effectively institutionalized Catholic Israel and ensured that it would be a central tenet of the emerging movement.¹⁵ All could hold a leadership position, irrespective of background or viewpoint, provided they both ascribed to Schechter’s vision and were committed to implementing it as a group. The strength of the United Synagogue lay in the fact that, despite such diversity, Schechter’s disciples believed that they could more effectively carry out Schechter’s vision—however differently they interpreted it—through the organization they viewed as his legitimate heir.

Because the United Synagogue sought—in the image of Catholic Israel—to unite those with different opinions, it, understandably, overlooked its members’ differences and instead emphasized their similarities. Member rabbis were free to be guided by their own beliefs and practices on issues such as mixed seating and the organ, but they remained united by Schechter’s vision of a traditional Judaism with English sermons, modern educational methods, and decorum. As a result, the United Synagogue was forced to shy away from decisions that might cause discord, initially refusing to create a prayer book, authoritative law committee, or even