Not any book, not any covenant 

by Abba Cohen 
Jewish World Review - December 2000
http://jewishworldreview.com/1200/not.any.book.html

-- HERE IN WASHINGTON, not far from the White House, stands 
a Jewish landmark: B'nai B'rith International headquarters. 
It has been here for decades, and Jewish visitors to the 
nation's capital rightfully regard the building with pride. 

For me, the building holds warm memories. My mother began 
working for B'nai B'rith in the early 1940s. For over a 
period of 30 years - between children - she was employed 
by the fraternal group in various departments and in various 
capacities. As a child, on days off from school, I would 
accompany her to the office. I was given my own "special 
desk," complete with pen and paper with which to entertain 
myself. I was drafted, during those frequent mass mailings, 
to help with the never-ending stapling, folding and stuffing. 
I knew everyone - from the top executives to the custodial 
staff - and relished being given the mission of taking the 
elevator downstairs to fill the daily vending machine order. 
I loved exploring the stairwells and never failed to visit 
the museum. 

But now, as I walk past the building each day, this warm 
feeling is tinged with sadness, even pain. Not because 
I harbor any negative feelings toward B'nai B'rith - the 
unique organization does important work and is deeply 
committed to the welfare of our brothers and sisters around 
the world. No, it is not the organization; it is, quite 
literally, the building. 

You see, as the pedestrian nears the edifice, something 
catches the eye - a quote from Pirkei Avos (Ethics of the 
Fathers) prominently inscribed on its facade. In Hebrew: 
"Al shelosha devarim haolam omed: al haTorah, v'al ha'avodah, 
v'al gemilut chasadim." And, beneath it, a translation: 
"The World Stands Upon Three Foundations: on study, on service 
and on benevolence." 

And it is the translation of this noble Jewish credo - one 
that would normally bring such profound pride - that I find 
so disheartening. For Torah, of course, does not mean "study." 
It refers not to some general appreciation of "knowledge." 
It is not a euphemism for some generic form of "wisdom." 

Torah is Torah. Commandments, morals, ethics. Divinely-revealed. 
Holy. The foundation and keystone of our faith and peoplehood. 
Timeless and enduring. 

The inscription recalls to mind an incident related to me by 
my father, of blessed memory. Over twenty years ago, he had 
attended university commencement exercises that began with a 
"benediction" by the campus rabbi. She opened with the 
traditional Birchas haTorah: "Baruch attah ... la'asok 
bedivrei Torah (Blessed are You... Who has commanded us to be 
engaged in the words of Torah)." Which the rabbi translated: 
"...Who has commanded us to study in institutions of higher 
learning." Everyone listened politely, earnestly answered 
"amen," and the program proceeded. 

I have always been amused by the account. I cannot help but 
imagine how impressed the University president must have been 
discovering that Judaism commands the pursuit of a college 
education, that "Torah study" is apparently fulfilled by 
English 101. But, alas, the story also hurts to the core. 
For however important one views the arts and sciences, 
whatever value they might have, they are decidedly not Torah. 

Can it be that the People of the Book have become the People 
of any Book? That we, the People of the Covenant have become 
the People of any Covenant? 

I suppose that these sentiments, expressed more than a 
generation ago by those who lived in a very different 
Jewish world, might still today reflect the desire of some 
of us to make Torah something "universal," possessive of 
values that transcend its parochialism. To declare, in such 
a public manner, Jewish religious tradition's essential belief 
that the creation, the continuing existence and the very 
purpose of the world as revolving around the study and 
observance of Torah, might simply be too "chauvinistic", 
too embarrassing to broadcast to our non-Jewish neighbors. 

Affirming that Torah is more catholic, if you will, perhaps 
makes us more comfortable, and feel more accepted, in Western 
civilization. 

But there is an ultimate tragedy in this "defining down" of 
what Torah is, namely what happens to Torah itself. When Torah 
becomes any and all things, when it is tossed about in the 
changing winds of modern day culture and the turbulent seas 
of contemporary society, it becomes ripe for distortion and 
abuse. It can then be used to promote ideas and actions that 
are inimical to its values. It can be twisted and turned to 
reject and deny its millennia-old teachings. At that point, 
"Torah" becomes an amorphous concept, a mere sham - no longer 
the " blueprint of creation." 

When we forget that Torah is separate and distinct from all 
else - indeed, that it is above all else - then we have 
seriously lost our moorings. And it is that reality that is 
most painful of all. 

But as we bid farewell to Chanukah 5761, there are hopeful 
signs. Today's Jewish leadership has zeroed in on the 
"continuity" imperative. It rests, to be sure, at the top 
of every community's list of priorities. Most importantly, 
while there is inevitable dissension over particulars, there 
seems to be universal agreement that "Jewish education is 
the key to Jewish survival." 

This is, after all, Chanukah's unique lesson. Our history 
teaches that it was not physical annihilation that threatened 
our people during pre-Hasmonean times. Rather, it was the 
insistence by our Syrian-Greek adversaries that Jews 
incorporate into their lives practices and ideas foreign to 
our Torah. Indeed, the great menace facing our ancestors was 
the dilution of the Torah and its way of life. 

Just as we gazed upon Chanukah’s flickering flames - holy and 
pure - let us rededicate ourselves to maintaining our Torah - 
holy and pure.