The Unknown Holiday
The invisibility of Shavuot in the Jewish community is simply the reflection of a wider American problem.

By Rabbi Daniel Lapin, the president of Toward Tradition, a national coalition of Jews and Christians, and the author, most recently, of Buried Treasure: Secrets for Living from the Lord's Language.
May 25, 2001 9:10 a.m.

 

hen God promised to disperse the Jewish people throughout the world (Deuteronomy 31 and 32), part of His

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purpose was that we should serve as a barometer of the spiritual state of any host nation in which we found ourselves. Thus Spain's golden age was reflected by the religious devotion of Spanish Jewry. The contrasting decadence of Weimar Germany was mirrored in the assimilated and religiously alienated German Jewish community. So if we want to learn something about the health of American society, all we have to do is look at the condition of the American Jewish community.

In making the appraisal, we should look at Jewish actions more than Jewish words. Our communal leaders may express deep concern about Jewish "continuity," but when they fund Holocaust memorials more lavishly than day schools, we have reason to doubt their sincerity.

So in this vein, let us compare the observance of two revered days on the Jewish calendar: the entirely secular Holocaust Remembrance Day, which fell last month, and the ancient festival of Shavuot, falling this year on May 28 & 29.

In the former case, enthusiastic Jews young and old crowded synagogues, temples, and Jewish Community Centers around the country. Holocaust survivors had their pictures not only in Jewish newspapers, but also in lavish spreads in the major dailies. Community leaders of every denomination warned us not to forget our history. And yet, just a few weeks later, on Shavuot, the day commemorating the giving of the Torah, when the people of Israel became a nation, most Jews will prefer to forget history. Year after year, in spite of its centrality to all of Jewish existence and its three prominent Scriptural references (Leviticus 23, Numbers 28, and Deuteronomy 16), Shavuot is trumped by Holocaust Remembrance Day.

It's also true that many more American Jews celebrate Passover and Chanukah, both religious in origin, than celebrate Shavuot. But these other festivals have been adopted and remodeled by secularists to suit their tastes.

Holocaust Remembrance Day was established under the entirely secular auspices of Israel's Knesset. It is a day that offers significance and meaning without demanding that anybody evaluate his relationship with God. In fact, secularists often use Holocaust Remembrance Day as an occasion to encourage others to question the very existence of a God who could allow the deaths of so many innocents.

Meanwhile, in many homes Passover has become little more than a family reunion; the dinner table distinguished chiefly by a symbolic box of matzo. The discussion of the Haggadah, if it takes place at all, tends to focus on universal themes like slavery and suffering, rather than on the Almighty's role in bringing an end to Egyptian tyranny. Chanukah follows a similar pattern. Light the candles, sing a song, exchange gifts, and cheer our military victory against the Greeks. The religious nature of the Macabees' struggle is ignored, displaced by symbols that tolerate God-free interpretations.

And yet, for secularists, Shavuot is an awkward holiday. There is simply no secular rationale for celebrating it. To participate in a Shavuot observance is to concede what no secularist can tolerate: that God gave the Torah to Moses, a total of 613 laws to live by. What fun! No wonder Shavuot is unpopular with modern Jews: It can only be enjoyed by those already comfortable with the idea of a divine Boss.

Shavuot calls us to reject the self-indulgent, anti-authority attitude of modern secularism. Conversely, those who reject Shavuot reject two key principles: That civilization depends on a general acceptance of authority, and that the ultimate source of authority must be not man, but God. American popular culture has always revered the rugged individualist who strikes out on his own. But until recently, this individualism was tempered by a deep and widespread religiosity and respect for God's word. The invisibility of Shavuot in the Jewish community is simply the reflection of a wider American problem.

One of the most conspicuous differences between a nation comfortable with biblical values, and one struggling to reject those values, is how its people deal with authority. Do they train children to obey parents, students to venerate teachers, husbands to revere their wives, and soldiers to follow their commanders? Or do they manufacture bumper stickers that smugly proclaim "Question Authority"?

In the Nazi era, Germany strayed not by rejecting authority, but by substituting the authority of man for that of God. We Americans have started down a different road: We have begun by rejecting human authority. But two separate roads can lead to the same destination. We may yet end up in the same place the Germans did, where God's authority is also nullified.

Americans face a choice: Stay on this dangerous path, or get off? And we Jews face a related choice, albeit expressed in Jewish terms, which is crystallized in the approaching holiday.

 
 

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