But Is It Jewish?: A Reflection on Environmentalism and Judaism

By RABBI KENNETH L. COHEN

When Rabbi Shlomo Eger, a distinguished talmudist, became a Hasid, he was asked what he had learned from Menachem Mendel of Kotzk, his new rebbe. He replied that the first thing he learned was "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth." But did the sage, an expert in Jewish law and lore, have to travel all the way to Kotzk only to learn the first verse of the Torah? He replied, "In Kotzk I learned that God created the heavens and the earth, but that after that, everything is up to us."

Ecology was not a subject I studied in yeshiva. And even after I left, "Jewish talk" is usually about synagogue politics, Israel, fundraising, Jews of the former Soviet Union. Talking religion means an examination of "who keeps what [mitzvot];" only occasionally, tentatively and with considerable self consciousness the subject might turn to our relations with God (spoken in the muted tones as befits a discussion of any intimate relationship.)

Some of us, evoking our prophetic tradition, have become involved in tikkun olam, social justice issues, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked. But ecology? How does that square with "Jewish authenticity"?

Sitting at my computer, I do not bother to enter "ecology" into the search engine of my CD-ROM of Jewish classics. I know it isn't there. Is it yet another type of social activism grafted onto the liberal Jewish agenda?

In my frum (very traditional) days, my vegetarianism was looked upon as being a bit weird, even suspect. "You are a Cohen, a descendant of the Temple priests? How are you going to eat the Temple sacrifices when the Messiah comes?" I was asked. "I will worry about that when the Messiah comes," I replied.

But the doctrine of tikkun olam teaches us that we should not passively wait for messianic times. By becoming partners with God in the act of creation, we help to bring the Messiah. Then, we are told, even the mighty lion will become vegetarian and lie down with the lamb.

The question of authenticity haunts me. At times it seems that there are those among us who will dress up whatever cause they wish to espouse in Judaic garb and call it Torah, be it causes such as meditation, feminism or eco-conciousness. These are worthy endeavors, but are they Jewish?

I think so.

The spirit of each age brings to the fore various trends which exist within Judaism. When rationalism was in its heyday after the French Revolution, Jews championed their faith as the quintessential religion of reason. But is there not reason in Judaism? In America, Jews are likely as not to read democratic values into ancient texts. But fairplay and individual rights are, indeed, Jewish values. Meditation is Jewish. Adepts have practiced it, even if it was never part of the folk religion. Feminism is Jewish in that the Torah has always sought to protect the disadvantaged and the Jewish record has, generally, been one of ameliorating the condition of women, even if that progress has not always been linear.

Similarly, eco-conciousness is Jewish because it underscores the charter given to us at Eden, to exercise wise stewardship over nature. But if the mandate given to Adam and Eve was once a matter of noblesse oblige, it is now a matter of survival. We are poisoning ourselves with pollution and squandering scarce resources, violating the Deuteronomic injunction to "choose life."

Medieval bards thought of David as a poet who wrote the Psalms. The ancient rabbis viewed him as a sage who was expert in Torah. An IDF solder might recall David as the young hero who killed Goliath. All these views of David are "authentic." The spirit of our own age and calls upon us to carry the Torah into battle against the Philistine forces of unchecked economic growth.

Rabbi Akiva probably didn't recycle. But he did lead a life in harmony with nature, one that was characterized by simplicity. Moses did not legislate that we eat free-range eggs, but factory egg farming was unheard of. Both these sages were part of a tradition which emphasizes such values as tza'ar ba'alei chaim, the prohibition on animal cruelty, and bal tashchit, the prohibition on wanton destruction of anything that might be useful. Those who are concerned about the minutia of keeping kosher, but are unconcerned about animal suffering, can't see the forest for the trees. Judaism and common sense bid us to learn to distinguish between what is central and what is secondary.