My grandmother used to say that being Jewish is like being invited to a party where nobody wants to dance with you, but everyone expects you to provide the music. This tension – between being set apart and yet deeply connected to humanity – isn’t just a modern Jewish experience. It goes back to the very beginning of the Jewish story.
When God created the first human being, He looked at Adam and said something surprising:
It was not good for man to be alone, and the solution was to create Eve, a partner. The message seemed clear – humans need connection, community and partnership. Yet later in the Bible, we find God telling the Jewish people through the prophet Balaam:
This apparent contradiction lies at the heart of Jewish identity.
This puzzle isn’t just academic – it plays out in Jewish lives throughout history and today. Take Abraham, the first Jew. The Bible calls him “Abraham the Hebrew” (Genesis 14:13) which literally means “the one who stands on the other side.” The ancient rabbis explained that this name stuck because Abraham stood alone in his beliefs while everyone else in the world stood on the other side. This same position of principled separation has defined Jewish experience throughout history.
Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (known as the Netziv) points out something counterintuitive about this separation. He notes that typically, when people are exiled or living as a minority, they try to blend in with the majority culture. Usually, this works – they assimilate and find acceptance. But for Jews, he says, the opposite happens. When they try to blend in completely, they often end up more isolated than before. Yet when they maintain their distinct identity while engaging with the wider world, they find respect and can live in peace.
German Jewish history provides a tragic illustration of this principle. In the 19th century, many German Jews believed that by fully assimilating – by becoming “Germans of the Mosaic faith” – they would find complete acceptance in German society. They adopted German culture, fought in German wars, and contributed brilliantly to German art, science, and literature. Yet this dedication to assimilation didn’t prevent their catastrophic rejection by German society in the 1930s. The Netziv’s insight proved prophetic – the attempt to erase distinctiveness led not to acceptance, but to an even more profound isolation.
This pattern appears repeatedly in Jewish history. Look at Jacob, for example, who has his most transformative moment when he’s left alone before meeting his estranged brother.
So what’s the purpose of this separateness? Rabbi Yehuda Leon Ashkenazi suggests it’s about preserving something valuable for everyone. Jewish distinctiveness isn’t about superiority – it’s about maintaining a unique perspective and set of values that can benefit humanity. It’s like being the keeper of an ancient wisdom that remains relevant for all people.
This understanding doesn’t make the experience of standing apart any easier. The Bible uses the Hebrew word for “alone” (badad) in some deeply painful contexts – to describe a leper isolated from the community, and to lament Jerusalem’s destruction. Being different, even for a higher purpose, carries real costs.
We see this playing out today. When Israel faces international criticism or when Jewish communities feel isolated, there’s real pain in that experience. But something remarkable often happens in these moments – instead of abandoning their identity, many Jews dig deeper into their traditions and values, finding strength in the very thing that sets them apart.
This is the key to resolving the paradox. True connection does not mean becoming the same as everyone else. It demands the courage to maintain your unique identity while contributing to the larger human story. The Jewish experience teaches that meaningful engagement with humanity requires being distinct but not distant, different but not detached.
In our world today, where there’s enormous pressure to either conform completely or retreat into isolated bubbles, this ancient Jewish balance offers wisdom for everyone. The Jewish experience demonstrates that preserving uniqueness while engaging with others isn’t just possible – it’s vital. Every culture and community faces this challenge. The answer isn’t to dissolve into uniformity or withdraw into isolation, but to remain true to who you are while working toward humanity’s common good. My grandmother’s insight went beyond Jewish experience – it was about the universal challenge of maintaining identity while building bridges to others.
The Hebrew Bible is a very big book – actually, 24 books, to be exact. Studying it can feel very overwhelming. Where do you start?
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