Sermon – Exclusivism in the name of religion

Written by Rabbi Hannah Kingston — 29 August 2022

When Hadi Matar rushed the stage of a New York  lakeside retreat just as Salma Rushdie was about to begin speaking, and stabbed the author multiple times in front of a horrified crowd, he claimed he did so in the name of religion. Police have stated that Rushdie’s attacker had “sympathy towards Shi’a extremism and to the Iranian regime.”

 

Rushdie’s life has been in jeopardy since the publication of his novel, “The Satanic Verses” which was  viewed as blasphemous by many Muslims.

 

The novels plot involves two Indian actors, one a major Bollywood actor and the other an accomplished voice actor. They are travelling on a plane when it is hijacked. Both men survive, but as the plane falls out the sky, they are transformed — one into an angel, the other into a devil.

 

Despite the argument that the novel is not about the prophet Muhammed, but instead about migration and place, it was banned by a number of countries. Further a Sheikh issued a fatwa about Rushdie, an edict that he was to be killed for his writings, with a bounty attached of over 3 million dollars.

 

Many Muslims who grew up with knowledge of the novel, were led to believe that the blasphemy of Rushdie’s writings should be punished. A Muslim journalist writes of his experience as a child in the nineties. Elamin Abdelmahmoud was a teenager when he snuck the book out of his local library, wrapped in a t shirt. He believed he had the most dangerous thing he had ever held in his hands. After reading three pages, he anxiously returned it to the library.

 

He never challenged what he was taught about ‘The Satanic Verses’. He accepted the stern warning to stay away, and the blasphemy of Rushdie as fact because it was told to him by higher powers.

 

As Jews we might like to say that this idea of censorship put in place by authority does not occur for us, and that the urge to extremist behaviour is certainly not something we would face. We claim that we are open and accepting of free speech, not scared to grapple with challenging texts or to allow our children to. It is easy to look upon this as a ‘them’ problem and not an ‘us’ problem.

 

But the biblical text we read this Shabbat begs to differ. We read this week a manifesto for when we enter the Promised land. The First commandment upon entry is as follows:

You must destroy all the sites at which the nations you are to dispossess worshiped their gods, whether on lofty mountains and on hills or under any luxuriant tree. Tear down their altars, smash their pillars, put their sacred posts to the fire, and cut down the images of their gods, obliterating their name from that site.

 

As someone who was raised as a liberal Jew, I was privy to a type of censorship growing up. The Torah texts dictated for reading by the liberal lectionary, often do not include troubling texts such as the one we read today. Rather than grapple with it, my liberal upbringing would prefer to ignore its existence, to shy away from this text which is so against my values today.

 

Now for us, as Reform Jews, instead of censoring the texts and removing them completely, it feels easiest to try and explain such verses away. We can argue that the religious practices of the Canaanites were particularly despicable, up to and including child sacrifice. Or that the warfare of ancient times required such a single-minded approach.

 

But if you look to the Rashi commentary on this verse, there is no attempt to pacify the text, to find within it an explanation for such vicious behaviour. Rashi claims that this command is to: Eradicate every trace of it

 

Talmud goes on to tell that us that the reference to the trees found in the verse means that ‘from this we learn that when idolatry is to be uprooted, it is to be done root and branch.’

 

The Rashi and the Talmud on this show that this is a command to eradicate another religion in its entirety. It is a command based on fear – that the Israelites would revert to the polytheism practiced around them. By removing every trace of temptation, they hope not just to maintain the monotheism of Judaism, but also to impose their worldview on the surrounding nations.

 

Rabbi Professor Marc Saperstein wrote about this verse, rooting it in the idea of religious insecurity and a need to become the only option when you fear that others appear shinier, more polished and more appealing. He writes:

In the infancy of our people’s religious life, perhaps it was necessary to tear down the altars and smash the images of other nearby religious expressions. But today these commandments seem to express a deep insecurity and immaturity of religious faith.

The medieval Jews who retained their Jewish identity while living in the shadows of the magnificent Gothic Cathedrals…are a more impressive model than the Israelites who had to be protected from exposure to any expression of an alternative religious worldview by destroying the pagan shrines. 

 

The metaphor Marc Saperstein uses about the infancy of the Israelite’s religious life is one that may resonate – biblically we are at the birth of our nation – a nation not yet bound together by common vision and goals.

 

The Torah therefore has one clear aim, to establish Adonai as the leader of Israel. By making other religious practices and ideologies out of bounds, to make the very knowledge of them inadmissible, helps to create a protective boundary around the belief system of the Jewish people.

 

This is the foundation of exclusivism – the view that a single religion is superior to others and this attitude is held not just by early, biblical Judaism, but is a common attitude held by many religions The danger with view of exclusivity is when it evolves from an attitude to an affirmation – my religion is true and valid, and yours is false. It is why religions are proselytising, hoping to help you towards the path of salvation through a particular belief system.

 

And although Judaism is not a proselytising religion we have inherited the legacy of chosen-ness, the belief that the special relationship promised between our ancestors and the divine, articulated through the giving of Torah, makes us the ‘chosen people’. And we pray every day for a time when all will turn themselves to Adonai, to share in this relationship.

 

And it is this view of exclusivity, the ideal of chosen-ness, that means we are, as Abraham Joshua Heschel once said: “heirs to a long history of mutual contempt among religions and religious denominations, of religious coercion, strife and persecutions.”

 

Yet diaspora Judaism has existed in dialogue with other religions for thousands of years. And it has both influenced and been influenced by the customs of other religions and practices. We have lived peacefully alongside other faiths, without fear going to other places of worship, of finding beauty in a cathedral or spirituality in a temple.

 

When a religion is in its infant stages it needs to do anything to survive, including isolating itself from other faiths as a form of protection. As it matures, like a human, it begins to take a new path. We are now at a level of religious maturity where we feel able not just to coexist with other religions but also to embrace them and learn from them, whilst remaining uncompromisingly loyal to progressive Judaism. We are able to appreciate the power and beauty of our neighbour’s religions, and to recognise the shortcomings and failings of our own.

 

Further, a more adult Judaism needs to be one rooted in taking responsibility for our actions. Although we may prefer to turn a blind eye, we cannot ignore the acts of violence committed in the name of Judaism still today, similar to that of Hadi Matar’s attack on Salma Rushdie. A mature Judaism is one where we take responsibility for these actions, and choose to act differently, knowing that the heart of Judaism is loving our neighbours.

 

May we feel secure in this mature, adult Judaism, not destroying the places of worship of others, but finding in them inspiration for our own practices. May we feel firmly established in our own beliefs, so that we do not feel we need to project them on to others,  knowing that religion does not have to be exclusive. And may we fulfil our ultimate purpose, to be a light unto the nations, acting as role models of acceptance and tolerance, spreading love to all.