March/April 2026 Clergy Column

They are coming to participation in Judaism and the Jewish community with fresh eyes, open hearts, and an excitement and enthusiasm for the newness that Judaism might represent. There's a lightness there, whereas some Jews-by-birth I've encountered seem to carry the weight of negative Jewish experiences from earlier in their lives that impact or hinder their participation in Jewish life as adults.

But what if some of that Jewish baggage wasn’t just from our lived experiences in childhood homes or Sunday school classrooms? What if there’s more to it than that?

This is the question that author Sarah Hurwitz explores in her latest book, As a Jew: Reclaiming Our Story From Those Who Blame, Shame, and Try to Erase Us. In some ways, this is a follow up to her first book, Here All Along, which recounted her re-discovery and re-engagement with her Judaism and her Jewish community as an adult. About her sense of Judaism before this rediscovery, Hurwitz explains:

Thinking back on the Jew I was in college, I feel ashamed — not of my ignorance, but of my arrogance: how I’d concluded that thousands of years of Jewish tradition amounted to little more than what I’d learned in Hebrew school, and I had dismissed it accordingly… I had inherited a family heirloom passed down for two hundred generations, carried by my ancestors across the globe; present at births and deaths, raucous holiday celebrations, and times of wrenching despair; every crack, chip, and worn spot a testament to how many hands have held it and how harrowing its journey has been. But having no idea of its value and unable to appreciate its beauty, after just a quick glance, I had decided this birthright of mine was shabby. (3)

In As a Jew, Hurwitz tries to dig a little deeper into why she’d had such an arms-length relationship to Judaism for so much of her life. What were not only the personal or family factors that affected her understanding of her Judaism, but the bigger, external factors that may have impacted her Jewish sense of self? As a Jew explores these bigger forces that have been present throughout Jewish history, and how they exert pressure on some Jews who feel a need to apologize or experience shame for their Jewishness. As she writes: 

I now understand how [my own sense of shame and grief about being Jewish] happened. I now understand how centuries of lies about my tradition had driven me away from it; how lenses imposed on it by others had distorted and demeaned it; how my ignorance and arrogance were in part the result of a generations-long, persecution- and trauma-induced spiritual erasure. (3)

I realized there was nothing freely chosen about my former Jewish identity. It was, in many ways, the product of two thousand years of antisemitism and two hundred years of efforts by Jews to erase parts of ourselves and our tradition in the hope of being accepted and safe. (14)

Essentially, she asks, “How much of my understanding of Judaism has been on other people’s terms?”

What follows is a deep exploration of the centuries-long history of anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism, trying to understand the origins of this internalized blame and shame that she identifies. She looks at the struggles of early Christians to define and distinguish themselves, with Jews as the foil, the representatives of the “Old Testament” to their “New Testament.” (Note: This is why within the Jewish community we refer to the Tanakh, or the Hebrew Bible, rather than the loaded term “Old Testament;” we don’t believe it’s old, we believe it’s sacred.) She explores the impact of the Crusades, and centuries of anti-Jewish expulsions from one country after another. These are the ways in which our immigrant identity was shaped — our fate was tied to the whims of whomever was in power at the time and their sense of how the Jews were or were not useful to them in a given moment.

What Hurwitz suggest is the importance of exploring “Jewish keys” — concepts such as mitzvot (sacred obligations), am (peoplehood), brit (covenant), and the centrality of study and debate of our sacred texts. She quotes Israeli author Amos Oz and historian Fania Oz-Salzberger: “Ours is not a bloodline but a textline.” (49)

Hurwitz also tries to get to the root of modern anti-Zionism, exploring some of the post-October 7 critiques of Israel, and offering insights into Israel’s long and complex history. Again, she finds the origins of many of these critiques and chants in history, whether in the anti-Zionism of the Soviet Union or some of the classic anti-Jewish tropes from throughout Jewish history. Hurwitz ends her book with a hopeful message: that we should not fall into the trap of feeling like powerless victims. Instead, she suggests the need to become proud, “knowing Jews,” who, as adults, model for our children what it is to be meaningfully engaged with our Jewish community, and knowledgeable about the wonderful and more challenging aspects of our history.

At Beth Am, one way we address these pressures from the outside world and the weight of history is to inspire our members — from the youngest to the oldest — to engage with their Judaism with pride and joy. We create opportunities throughout our Youth and Adult Education Programs to dive deep into our Jewish history, our traditions, our rituals, and what’s special and unique about Judaism. We do this to strengthen the knowledge and ownership in our story, to celebrate together, and to create opportunities for vibrant Jewish living. 

Rabbi Heath Watenmaker
rabbi_watenmaker@betham.org