Rabbi Daniel Cotzin Burg
December 8, 2007

This past Sunday, my family and I visited the new Spertus Institute along with much of Jewish Chicago (and I dare say about half of Anshe Emet Synagogue).  After my initial shock (and sudden desire to call my broker and purchase 500 shares of whoever makes Windex), we began to explore the innards of this magnificent new Chicago structure.  A recent Tribune article called the new Spertus “the finest cultural project in Chicago since the 2004 completion of Millennium Park… a gift of light from a people who have borne witness to so much darkness.”  It is certainly those and more.  It is a stunning structure, simultaneously bold and delicate, transparent and mysterious.  The soaring folded glass façade is iconic, destined to do for Chicagoans’ impressions of Grant Park what the Bean, Crown Fountain and Pritzker Pavilion did for its sister to the North.  This is a building the Jewish Community can be proud of: an elegant edifice which reflects, not only the continuously innovative spirit of Chicago architecture, but a physical manifestation of one of the oldest Jewish conundrums:  How are we to be a “nation apart” while fulfilling the ancient call to be a “light unto the nations?”  And if we are to be a light unto the nations, how is that light refracted through the prism of each new age – indeed, each individual Jew?  These are questions worth exploring as we consider the gift of light that is the new Spertus.

The image of light is very much on our minds at this time of year.  Chanukah is the “Festival of Lights.”  We light the menorah each night, increasing one candle each of eight evenings so that on the final night our chanukiot are brimming with flame, filling our homes with light that spills out the window onto the streets below.    It is no coincidence, I think, that Chanukah occurs at or around the winter solstice.  At the darkest time of the year, we endeavor to create light, to bring God’s light into the world and remind ourselves that miracles can happen in every age.  But there is another theme at the heart of Chanukah, one equally important and relevant to American Jews but perhaps less publicized and a bit more troubling.  Chanukah is also about the tension between religious and secular, between ancient and modern: an internal conflict within Judaism as to how to live as Jews in a non-Jewish or secular world.  In those days, these tensions led even to civil war, tearing us apart, nearly destroying us as a people.

Now, over two thousand years later, we still grapple with many of the same dilemmas.  More than two centuries ago Moses Mendelssohn’s solution was to be a Jew in the home and a man on the street.  These days many are Jews in the synagogue, but rarely in the home.  Or they are Jews when the topic of Israel is raised, or when eating smoked white fish or when mourning a loved one.  As Eisen and Cohen have pointed out, we live in an age of elective Judaism.  Even for some of the most passionate, most committed Jews, living a Jewish life is a daily choice, an expression of will from the sovereign self to connect to an ancient heritage.  The very fact that Anshe Emet in involved in a “Mitzvah Initiative,” a discussion as to why, when and how our congregants choose to follow mitzvot, is testament to this culture of election.  But lest these observations seem dire, I prefer not to view them as so.  I remember years ago sending an email to a rabbinic mentor with a quote from the novel “The Rabbi” by Noah Gordon.  “There is nothing new on the face of the ancient earth,” he wrote, “and what could not be erased by bloodbaths and ovens will not be erased by changing names or bobbed noses or the merging of our blood with mysterious bloodstreams” (pg. 435).  At the time, this rabbinic mentor expressed concern that I would be use such a quote.  “Do you really think that’s true?” she asked.  Now, years later, I am forced to revisit her question.  Am I concerned with rising rates of intermarriage or diminished access to Jewish knowledge? Yes.  Do I wish that more Jews would identify with a greater sense of commandedness and communal responsibility?  Of course.  Am I concerned that each new population study, each newspaper article about some disaffected Jew or ChrismaHannuQuansikkah card, spells the death-knell of the Jewish people?  No.  I have faith in us.  Not just because we have been around for thousands of years.  Not just because I know there’s a God who believes in us, even when we ourselves struggle to believe.  I have faith in us, because I believe that the principles of our faith and the texts that underpin them continue to be relevant to us in our time, as they were during the time of the Maccabees.  And like that small cruse of oil whose flame refused to be extinguished so many years ago, the light of that tradition shines like a beacon in the darkest of times and on the broadest of Chicago avenues. 

It is fitting then, as we contemplate the “light-filled” glass structure which houses the Spertus Institute of Jewish Studies, to consider its motto: “Yehi Or – Let there be light.”
Light, after all, belongs to everyone.  And many twenty-first century Jews have a fairly complex and obscure sense of identity.  Dr. Hal Lewis, whose relationship with Anshe Emet dates back many years, is also the Dean of Spertus’ Department of Continuing Education.  He writes: “Recent demographic and attitudinal surveys of American Jewry reveal that while the synagogue movements continue to speak to the needs of many American Jews, large numbers no longer find such groupings relevant to their Jewish identities. Some observers have even begun to refer to the opening years of the twenty-first century as American Judaism’s age of post- or trans-denominationalism. 

This sentiment is clearly what one of the Institute educators had in mind when I asked her if the artistic circus performers hired for the opening weekend were a “Jewish troop?”  “Many of the performers themselves are Jewish,” she explained, but it is not a Jewish company.  I would say that they are intrinsically Jewish but not explicitly so.”

“Intrinsically Jewish, but not explicitly so” is also a good way to describe the new temporary art exhibit on the uppermost floor of the new building, entitled “The New Authentics: Artists of the Post-Jewish Generation.”  In some ways begging (and in some ways side-stepping) the age-old question: “can art, literature, or music be Jewish by virtue of the fact that the artist identifies in some way with Judaism?” the exhibition challenges viewers to engage an array of sculptures, paintings and other renderings.  What is intriguing, and more than a little ironic, is that the vast majority of the pieces would not likely be identified in any way as “Jewish” were they not grouped together and collectively labeled as not-so (or post-so).  Here is the Spertus light, pointedly focused on the intangible as if trying to capture a blur in sharp relief. 

But, I would submit to you that these artists’ perspectives are worth sharing, their stories worth telling.  The Spertus Institute is well aware that while a fraction of the city’s Jewish population is interested in the scholarly tomes which line the new space-age movable stacks, and others who may enroll in its quality masters or doctoral programs, more of Chicago’s Jews (not to mention its non-Jews) will find meaning in Thomas Friedman lectures, Muslim and Jewish comedians and exhibits featuring “post-Jewish” artists.  And in this context, the new building’s general avoidance of overt expressions of ritual Judaism: Jewish stars, Torah scrolls, menorahs or Israeli flags, makes complete sense: those things belong in the museum with other tangible relics which, to many, represent our past more than our future. And indeed that is where they are found – in a stunning convex display on the ninth floor).  The new Judaism, though, is to be found in the light, and the take-away is strictly “BYOP” – bring your own prism.  Of course, Spertus’ main strength: its ability to challenge the average Jew to grapple with his or her Jewish identity, is also its chief weakness.  It is hard being all things to all Jews, and “identification in opposition-to” can only survive when the status-quo to which one is opposed remains strong. We need the ancient to spur the modern, the old Authentics to foster the new.  The paradox, of course, is that it is difficult for the status-quo to stand when so much energy is being exerted against it. 

But who are Jews to say no to a challenge (or a good paradox for that matter)?  When I spoke with President and CEO Dr. Howard Sulkin, it was his contention that it is absolutely essential for Spertus to hold onto these multiple points of identity: the old and new, the religious and secular, the overtly Jewish and even post-Jewish.  This is why, is his words, the temporary exhibition is “juxtaposed with the permanent collection (the depot).”  And not just that: Whether the kosher café, the wonderful and growing Asher Library collection or the Spertus College, there is much to be found within those walls for those seeking a sense of history and rootedness.  What’s more, to the designers’ credit the layout of the building lends itself to sharing these differing perspectives rather than isolating them, hermetically sealed as it were, from one another.  So, it no accident that the 10th floor temporary exhibit is placed architecturally and metaphorically, in conversation with the permanent collection below.
 
So where does all of this lead us?  How might we ensure the best success of this new Chicago landmark?  Our own Eric Joss, whose vision and leadership helped actualize the edifice at 610 South Michigan, tells me that for all the work that went into the design and structure of the building, the new Spertus will be measured by what happens within those glass walls.  In other words, it’s the programming, stupid.  So view this as an open invitation, on behalf of those many Anshe Emet members and others who were a part of making this dream a reality.  If you’ve admired the structure from afar, go inside. Attend a lecture, a play, a movie or an exhibition.  If something you see challenges you, makes you angry or inspires you, that’s good!  Sit down with a friend at the Kosher Wolfgang Puck café and talk about it.  Creating dialogue, I believe, is very much apart of Spertus’ mission.  Be a part of this powerful moment in Chicago Jewish history.  The Spertus Institute belongs to all of us. Take advantage of what it has to offer.   

The word Chanukah means “dedication.”  Many years ago at this season, the Maccabees rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem.  It was said to be a magnificent structure, evoking feelings of awe in those who gazed upon its beauty.  But we know that that building’s true greatness was to be found beyond the outer courtyards and within its inner sanctums – in the relationships forged between the Jewish people and one another, in the deepening of their connection with God.  Now, over two thousand years later, we are witnessing the rededication of another Jewish building of significant scale and beauty.  And though the challenges of our generation, of navigating the delicate intersection between the different points of light, the different facets of our complex Jewish heritage, are not so different from the days in which the Second Temple stood, this new building is no Temple. The migration of Jewish religious life from Beit Hamikdash in Jerusalem to multiple synagogues has created a vacuum (and I would argue an opportunity), a need for central Jewish institutions to bridge the divide and unite our people across ideological lines.  In this way, our synagogue and a place like Spertus are not redundant or mutually exclusive, but complimentary institutions. 

Standing here, today, on this bima;   Joining with each of you in prayer, I am reminded of why I am so grateful for the innovation of synagogue-based Judaism.  Here is where I find community.  Here is where I talk to God.  And yet, we must not forget that one of real miracles of Chanukah is that we, the Jewish people, survived at all, that we managed to overcome that dark moment of conflict in our history and renew the light of the menorah.  And to that end, Chanukah must also serve as a wake-up call, a challenge to us to always remember that there are differing perspectives within and beyond the walls of this congregation, different worthy impressions from our own. All light is light perceived, refracted through a particular lens.  Spertus is about creating points of contact for a diverse and evolving Jewish community.  And this is a most worthy goal. Tonight, all over the world, Jews will light their chanukiot.  Here in Chicago, let us celebrate the chanukat habayit, the rededication of an eighty-four year old institution of Jewish culture and learning.  Let us enjoy the light cast from within her walls and express our sincere wish: that she may be blessed to shine for many years to come.