On the Association for Jewish Studies
By Leonard Fein
Here is a not-so-well-kept secret: When universities - especially universities of other than the first rank - decide to establish Jewish Studies departments, what they most often intend has more to do with their development (i.e., fund-raising) agenda than with their academic aspirations. "There are all those storied Jewish philanthropists out there, some of them our own alumni; how do we get to them?" ("How do we get to them" being, obviously, a euphemism for "how do we get from them.") Indeed, even universities of the first rank have been discernibly affected by such decisively non-academic considerations.
For their part, the prospective philanthropists who are being urged to lend their names and give their dollars to establish Jewish Studies at Generic U., while often moved by vanity, are likely still more often moved by their desire to promote Jewish identity. And therein lies the rub - or, more precisely, one of the rubs of these transactions.
Is the role of the Jewish scholar the promotion of Jewish identity or is it the advancement of Jewish knowledge?
That is a debate that has continued ever since the very first meeting of the still unborn Association for Jewish Studies back in the late 1960s. The meeting took place on the Brandeis University campus. Those of us who participated were aware that the prospect of significant growth in Jewish studies would likely be tied - as has proved to be the case - to the Jewish pride of the prospective donor community. But were that the case, local citizens might band together to fund a chair or a department in the expectation that they would thereby be striking a blow for Jewish identity/continuity, only to be disappointed to learn that the chair is occupied by a grumpy specialist in obscure medieval manuscripts.
The solution? It begins with the understanding that professors of Jewish studies are not camp counselors with advanced degrees. They come in an array of shapes, sizes, and interests, with greater or lesser social skills, with more or less appetite for involvement in the ongoing life of the community. What they have in common, one hopes, is scholarly ability.
But it is a mistake to then say that if there's a place for the promotion of Jewish identity on the college campus, that place is Hillel rather than the classroom. Hillel is, of course, such a place. But the happy fact is that a Judaic Studies department noted for its academic excellence is inherently a significant contribution to the Jewish identity of its Jewish students. How so? By virtue of the fact that the savviest students on any campus understand the value system of the university, and when they see that Jewish Studies can hold its own according to that value system, when they realize that Jewish Studies is not about sweet once-upon-a-time stories, that it is not about cheerleading for Judaism, that it is not a way to indulge parental concerns or donor vanities, that, in short, it has precious little to do with the kind of pro-Judaism activities to which they may earlier and elsewhere have been exposed - then, suddenly, they must reassess what they thought they knew about Judaism's value. A worthy Jewish Studies department takes its place on campus not as a concession, but as a matter of academic right and integrity. It sets high standards, and demands payment in the coin of the academic realm.
Back at the Brandeis meeting, the late Gerson Cohen put an end to the debate regarding scholarship vs. identity. He told the story of an elderly Jewish lady who'd been admitted to Belleveu Hospital in New York for a psychological work up. The admitting psychologist handed her a set of Rorschach ink blots and said, "Madam, I am showing you some pictures and I would like you to tell me what they mean." The woman looked at the pictures. A minute went by, then another, then yet another. Finally, she looked up at the psychologist and said, "Tell me, sonny: Are you Jewish?" Somewhat taken aback, he replied, "As a matter of fact, I am. Why do you ask?" "So give me a hint," the woman said.
No hints to the students was Cohen's point. None. But what he neglected to add was that by adopting that seemingly hard line, the productive Jewish Studies department is doing much more than giving a hint to the students; it is telling them, in no uncertain terms, that Jewish learning is not a residual category, an arena one can enter with sentimental expectations and exit with sloppy conclusions. It can hold its academic own with the best of them; it can truly belong on the campus. And if some the faculty members of such departments choose to participate in the Hillel Foundation's annual debate on the relative merits of the latke vs. the hamenatasch, thereby showing their own private delight in Judaism, or if they make themselves available to their students outside the classroom in other ways - so much the better. And if, along the way, academic colleagues and non-Jewish students gain new knowledge of and respect for Judaism and Jewish culture, is that not a significant achievement?
What prompts these reflections is that the debate goes on, and that all too often, the best of our scholars are caused to feel themselves - well, tainted by the cheerleaderish expectations that lay people sometimes bring to the table. Quietly, on dozens of campuses across the country, the field has truly come into its own. And is not a source of pride a contribution to identity?
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