The following article, written by Lauren Gelfond, was published in The Jerusalem Post on May 16,2002.

A Coming of Age

Once dismissed as an American import for immigrants only, the Conservative Movement is gaining traction among native Israelis.

Rabbinical Students at the Schechter Institute

Wandering the Hebrew University halls between classes one day, Dina Oren found herself staring at a flier advertising a Jewish group sponsoring a program entitled: "Love, Family and Rock'n'Roll."

"What could Judaism have to teach me about love and music?" she wondered. Oren grew up with a relationship to Judaism that she describes as midway between non-existent and antagonistic. "I come from a completely secular background," she says. "We didn't care anything about religion at home. I was even a bit anti-religious."

As a native Jerusalemite studying literature and linguistics, she found herself with many peers who held similar beliefs - that religion was a body of antiquated ideas that was disconnected from and even hazardous to modern life. Intrigued that a religious gathering could sound "cool and not old-fashioned," she decided to check it out. At the meeting of Marom, the student union of the Masorti (Conservative) Movement, Oren joined in as students looked at music and popular-culture images of love and family, and then compared them to Torah passages that reflected on relationships between couples, siblings, and parents and children.

"They made looking at religious questions from 3,000 years ago not only fun, but relevant," she says. Now, a year later, Oren never misses a Marom meeting. "I never felt a connection to the Jewish People before and now I do," she explains.

Oren is one of a slow-growing number of native Israelis who has created a new connection to Jewish life in recent years via Israel's Masorti Movement. Embracing and even understanding the tenets of the movement have been difficult for non-immigrant Israelis, the majority of whom loosely define themselves as secular or Orthodox.

As the movement struggles to gain acceptance and support, it faces difficult questions that mirror the national public debate. What is the difference between a Jewish identity and an Israeli identity? Is Orthodoxy the only way to observe Jewish law and tradition? While Masorti Judaism answers these calls in public and sometimes angry discourse, it also grapples with its own internal identity crisis, trying to overcome gaps in values and practices between members and leaders.

Is it Israeli? 'It's American," argues Prof. Menahem Friedman, an expert on sociology and religion at Bar-Ilan University, summing up why native Israelis may be turned off to non-Orthodox streams of Judaism. "Reform and Conservative Judaism are for English-speakers. Native Israelis would not feel comfortable as members."

Just because immigrant communities influence Masorti synagogue life, doesn't mean these synagogues are not authentic Israeli phenomenon, counters Yehoshua Lior, a native Israeli who grew up in a secular family and discovered Conservative Judaism in North America when sent there as an emissary 20 years ago.

"I convince friends to come with me to synagogue sometimes. Many of them are Mizrahim [Jews from Middle Eastern countries], and their ideas about Judaism are similar to ours. But some find the feeling of the services 'too American.' I tell them that all Israeli synagogues are influenced by members from all over the world and by the younger Israelis who also join," he says. "If they keep coming back, they will also influence the community."

While it's true that the Masorti Movement was brought to Israel by North Americans - many of whom made aliya after the 1967 war - the movement has been trying to rework its American image since 1979. At that time, seeking to be an Israeli institution in its own right - affiliated with but not simply an extension of the North American Conservative Movement - the Israeli movement renamed itself, taking a name in Hebrew. Choosing the name Masorti (traditional), it hoped to project an image of being the middle ground - having respect for Jewish laws and traditions within a pluralistic and modern context.

Today, the movement has a separate Israeli law committee, and official Masorti prayer books and sermons. Most activities are in Hebrew only. A handful of exceptions can be found nationwide in cities such as Ra'anana, Netanya and Jerusalem. Moreshet Yisrael, on Jerusalem's Agron Street in the city center, for example, leads traditional Hebrew services, but attracts primarily retired Americans and visitors from abroad, with its English-language sermons and study sessions, and Hebrew-English prayer books.

But across Israel, more than half of the movement's 30,000 members and 125,000 participants and affiliates are now native Israelis and non-Anglo immigrants, movement officials say. "There is no longer a real aliya from the Conservative Movement. Immigration from North America has nearly stopped and those who do come are mostly Orthodox and Modern Orthodox," explains native Israeli Rabbi Ehud Bandel, president of the Masorti Movement. "Those who did join later are Israelis. Especially once you leave Jerusalem. Take Ashkelon, for example - 50 percent or more are Sabras [natives], plus there are many more Mizrahim."

Of the younger generation of Israelis nationwide, some 2,000 participate in NOAM [No'ar Masorti], the Masorti youth movement programs and camps, which has seen a 10 percent increase in membership in the last year.

"Our main problem is we are not known enough and Israelis confuse the Reform and Masorti movements. But we do find that even the non-Observant families are looking for something Jewish in their kids' education and also something that won't make demands of the family to live a certain way," says NOAM director, Ze'ev Kainan.

NOAM graduates stay affiliated and often go on to become leaders in the Jewish community, he adds. "We've even had quite a few marriages."

At the Masorti-affiliated Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem, the majority of its 300 MA students are native Israelis. Despite the growing "Israeliness" of the Masorti Movement, the increasing number of members still represents only a small fraction of Israeli society, and the movement remains largely unknown.

"Unfortunately, most Israelis don't give a damn about the Masorti Movement. Many don't even care about Jewish identity," says Udi Givon, the international director of Marom. Is it kosher?Beyond apathy, there is also antagonism.

Professor Shlomo Avineri put words to a typical Israeli attitude when he declared "I am secular and the synagogue I do not go to is Orthodox." His words became a mantra for Israeli secular society that tends to define itself in opposition to the Orthodox.

Many Orthodox community members also look askance at Masorti Judaism as offering a counterfeit version of "the real thing." In 1980, the Israeli Chief Rabbinate publicized a ruling that was posted around Jerusalem. "It is forbidden to participate in High Holiday Services arranged by the Movement of Masorti Judaism," it pronounced.

A later rabbinate posting declared the Masorti Movement as "wicked." "With their nails scratching the walls of holy Jerusalem and building their hornets' nest, those who spread their hooves like pigs wear the robe of tradition to hunt innocent souls."

While such opposition has grown tamer in recent years, controversy still raises its head periodically when the movement contests Orthodox rulings. When Masorti leaders call for mixed prayers at the Western Wall, or a role in religious conversions and marriages, the two sides get locked in public debate.

Masorti leaders say the controversy leads to dangerous backlash. "Last year there were three attempts to torch a Masorti synagogue by Orthodox students, and the third was successful. If there had been any condemnation of the first two attempts by the Chief Rabbinate, we might have prevented the third," says Bandel. "It's when we become a threat to the Orthodox establishment that the establishment gets nervous."

Knesset Speaker Avraham Burg concurs: "The attack is perhaps the clearest indication that the Masorti Movement is no longer a peripheral Anglo-Saxon import but is becoming an important indigenous successful Israeli movement."

In 1999, in the face of growing hostilities between the Orthodox and non-Orthodox communities, a group of prominent Israeli intellectuals called on Israelis to join Reform and Masorti synagogues, for the purpose of recognizing other streams of Judaism that are "discriminated against and are closer to the stand of the Jewish democratic public."

When prize-winning author A.B. Yehoshua signed the petition, he quipped: "I am secular so don't expect to see me at synagogue. But from now on, the synagogue I will not go to will be a Conservative one." Yehoshua today explains that his words were a symbolic act of solidarity with Reform and Masorti Judaism in the face of public "hostility."

"We wanted to say to them that: 'We are with you and support your belief in religious pluralism.' Conservative and Reform Judaism can give Israeli society a kind of religion that is more open and that will prevent the alienation of many Israelis."

As a result of the publicity, Bandel reports that the movement did indeed see an increase in public interest. "Before then we weren't even on the map." In Israel today, the movement sponsors some 50 synagogues, a kibbutz, moshav, summer camp, youth movement, student and young adult unions and a Nahal army program.

The Masorti-affiliated Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies also offers an MA program, rabbinical studies, 12 study centers for Russian immigrants, and a Jewish pluralistic studies program for 111 Israeli schools and kindergartens. In recent months, 100 students received their MA in Jewish studies and seven rabbinical students were ordained. The institute's newest program, in cooperation with the Foreign Ministry, teaches basic Judaism to diplomats-in-training, to ensure that those who don't have religious backgrounds will know how to observe Shabbat, holiday and synagogue rituals and behaviors. Though the Masorti Movement is chronicling its growth, there is speculation about whether it can indeed support its projects with financial backing and people power.

Of the nationwide synagogues, half don't have rabbis to lead services and assist members with life cycle events.

"If the movement had enough money to send a rabbi, a part-time rabbi, or a rabbinical student to work at our congregation, my life would be so much easier," says one resident of Meitar, a small northern Negev community, who asked not to be identified.

"We need people who know how to lead prayers and read Torah and there are very few who know how. I am the mother of three children, I work as a teacher, and I do volunteer work, and on the side I ended up giving 22-25 lessons each for 10 bar mitzvas this year. I'm overwhelmed with my responsibilities to the synagogue. In a lot of ways we'd be more successful if we had more help from the movement."

Marom coordinator Chaya Rowen-Becker, who oversees 200 young Israelis in her program, laments that there are not enough funds. "We can't afford to do real advertising or outreach and I think that's the number one reason we don't reach more Israelis," she says.

One explanation for this is biased government funding, according to Rabbi Prof. Reuven Hammer, vice president of the International Rabbinic Assembly of the Conservative Movement. "We don't have much access to government funding, which most recognized Orthodox organizations do," he explains. "They get millions of dollars of support for religious programming and rabbinic salaries. Getting an increase from the government is a major political problem and a constant struggle. Our money comes from contributions of members, a few who are wealthy, but most who are just managing to get along, and a certain amount from the Jewish Agency. So we end up depending on money raised by the US Foundation for Conservative Judaism, and it's not easy, especially since September 11."

The Schechter Institute, however, does get some government support for its TALI education fund to train kindergarten and elementary school teachers and create curricula and materials for public schools. TALI, an acronym for "enriched Jewish studies," teaches traditional Jewish texts and customs in what it calls an "academic, pluralistic and non-coercive" environment.

"Eighty percent of Israelis go to secular schools that don't give a serious Jewish education," says Rabbi David Golinkin, head of the Schechter Institute, which oversees the TALI networks. "Yes, they learn a little Bible and Jewish history. But they can go 12 years and never open a siddur [prayer book] and never open Mishna or Talmud."

The Education Ministry, which also voices concerns that non-Orthodox Israelis are weak in areas of Jewish knowledge, in recent years started funding extra Jewish enrichment hours per class.

Golinkin says that while the ministry does provide invaluable support to the 20,000 students currently enrolled in TALI network classes, it has in recent years only provided one-third to one-half of the two hours a week of Jewish studies to every classroom which the ministry pledged.

Education Minister Limor Livnat, who has repeatedly announced that she wants to increase Jewish knowledge among secular students, said recently: "I definitely support every educational effort to improve knowledge in areas [of Jewish and Zionist education], including TALI."

According to Golinkin, negotiations are underway with the ministry. "We hope in the near future to arrive at an agreed upon formula."

Beyond financial struggles, the movement is also asking itself where it wants to stand, now that it's taken root. A small controversy erupted late last year when a committee of about a dozen Masorti rabbis in Israel charged the movement leaders with becoming too left-wing and losing touch with its Zionist ideals.

"So many of our leaders are leaning left of center, including some involved in the despicable acts of Rabbis for Human Rights," says Rabbi Avraham Feder, who heads the Moreshet Yisrael community in Jerusalem, and chairs the committee.

"We feel that love of Israel means supporting Jews everywhere - inside the Green Line or in Judea or Samaria. We don't like the word 'settlements' and we think that the word 'occupied' is a misnomer."

The committee brought a petition before the Israeli rabbinic assembly and the Israeli board, asking that all paid members of the Masorti movement affiliated with such groups as Rabbis for Human Rights, which often criticizes the country's treatment of the Palestinians, resign.

"We feel they are out of step ideologically and realistically," Feder says.

The committee is still seeking to raise public awareness, even though the resolutions were rejected. "We are confident that a significant number of people just aren't aware."

According to Bandel, the committee reflects a small but welcome minority in the movement. "The proposed resolutions accused the leadership of erosion of Zionist values and practically of treason and they were rejected by an overwhelming majority. But we appreciate this group because we are not homogeneous - we are the only religious movement that is made up of the entire political spectrum, extreme right to extreme left. We are pluralistic and we respect the rights of every member of the movement to associate with any group in Israel that is legal."

Inside the movement, students and members are asking less where the movement stands politically and more where it stands in terms of Jewish practices. "I love the Masorti community, but I'm not sure it deals with the needs of Israeli society," says Uri Ayalon, 25, a rabbinic student at Schechter.

"I don't think there is only one way or one truth. But I do think we are not focusing enough on helping the community. There is an argument if such activity is a Jewish or humanistic activity. I can't do that separation. For me to volunteer is no less than to pray every day. It's when we start to deal with issues that we will become relevant to Israeli society." Such arguments, Ayalon says, puts him in a minority in the movement, which focuses much greater attention on Jewish rituals over doing good deeds.

Movement leaders worry that its members are less interested in practicing Jewish life rituals than they are in dropping by for a visit sometimes - one of the perhaps unintended side effects of promoting a pluralistic approach. "The most important element of our work is to bring the vast majority of Israelis who are secular to be closer to tradition and perhaps we do pay a price for this," says Bandel.

Not everyone agrees. Some argue that the movement should focus on reaching those women in the Orthodox community who want more participation. And still others say that outreach shouldn't be the primary focus.

"We always try to attract new people to synagogue, but we don't ask sufficiently what to do with the person who is already there," says Rabbi David Hartman. "Let's nurture them and let those nurturers give light and fire to the rest of the Jewish world."

Just how to nurture so many diverse constituents with diverse needs - natives and immigrants, Ashkenazim and Sephardim, Modern Orthodox and the secular - is the big question. For Dina Oren, the university student who just happened to stop by a meeting, it took only the outreach of one program flier to draw her in and one meeting to make her stay. But there are always those who ask: Is she observant? And if not, is it really a success story?

As the criticism from many communities continues, there is no confusion for Oren.

"I was looking for more meaning in my life and I found it. I don't need God in my life, but I do need a connection to the Jewish People," she says. "I've never been religious but I do think about religion more now. I go to every meeting. I study. And I even light Shabbat candles most Friday nights."

Gender equality attracts Orthodox converts - Despite some controversy with the Orthodox community, some Orthodox members do stand up to vote "yes," Masorti Judaism is kosher.

Avi Deutsch was 12 the first time he heard of Masorti Judaism and like many Orthodox Israelis, he thought it was something "unclean." Though he enjoyed his Orthodox education and Bnei Akiva youth activities, he found himself uncomfortable at times in Orthodox synagogues but he wasn't sure why. Later, as a young adult, when he started to read about modern Jewish streams in European history, he found himself intrigued by the ideas of the Conservative Movement, that observed Jewish law, while "creating modern solutions to modern dilemmas."

While he was bored by his first Masorti service, calling it "foreign," he felt comfortable that women "didn't have to sit separately in the back." Five years later, after much studying and little deliberation, he decided to enroll in Israel's only Masorti rabbinical school under the auspices of the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies.

"At first I accepted mixed seating and women taking part as cantors and Torah readers as possible. Later, it was quite easy to say that it is not only possible - but it is a must. We know for sure that women attended the synagogue and there was no mehitza [partition]," he explains. "We don't find archaeological or Talmudic references to a women's section, except a prohibition against mixed seating in the unique celebration during 'Simchat bet hashoeva' during Sukkot."

Deutsch's reasons for studying to become a Masorti rabbi include reaching out to Israelis who don't feel comfortable having a connection to Judaism. "I wouldn't say driving on Shabbat is a major problem in Israeli society. But the fact that Israelis have put the Talmud away - that's a problem," he says.

Today, his influence reaches beyond the Masorti community. Deutsch also sits on the board of Peace Now. "Some leaders in Peace Now hesitate when you refer to a Jewish book. But I initiated a conversation that led to them having a fast on Tisha Be'av, with a national Peace Now point of view. They were comfortable taking sources from the past and making them part of the present. Now that's a reason to become a rabbi - to reach out to people who didn't have a connection - not to give them obligations, but to make them comfortable with Judaism."

Irit Koren, a native Jerusalemite working toward her PhD in Jewish education and gender, grew up Orthodox and is drawn to the Masorti Movement for its halachic interpretations on the role of women. "The halachic changes it made to include women are a brave, intellectual move," she says.

"I think a lot of the prohibitions against women being more involved in Judaism are social. The Talmud explains that women don't have an aliya to the Torah to be respectful to the public. Today it's vice versa. Then the public was men and today women are part of everything else in the public - doctors, lawyers, judges, etc. So to say women can't be part of the public is ridiculous. Not allowing women to be part of the public is disrespectful of the public. There is no Jewish reason it shouldn't happen. People just feel threatened that women will become part of the Jewish public who have power."

It is for this reason, she says, that lots of formerly Orthodox women such as herself are "running away towards Conservative."

While Koren prefers to pray in a Conservative synagogue, the closest one to her home is Jerusalem's only English-speaking shul, which turns her off, she says. "I don't feel at home there, so I go to modern Orthodox shuls."

Masorti leaders say that Koren's and Deutsch's connection to Masorti Judaism, despite their Orthodox rearing, is not in any way unusual. Every program and institute affiliated with the movement count those from Orthodox, Conservative and secular backgrounds among their members and participants. "There are marginal differences between Modern Orthodoxy and us," says Rabbi Ehud Bandel, president of the Masorti Movement.

Orthodox Rabbi Benny Lau of Jerusalem says that while both groups agree on the sanctity of the written Torah, the Modern Orthodox believe that rabbinic rulings in Mishna and Talmud cannot be modified.

"You see many Conservative rabbis who look and behave like Modern Orthodox rabbis, but ideologically there are gaps," he says. "The Modern Orthodox try to look at written and oral laws together. The other main difference is the question of who can alter Halacha. In Conservative Judaism, the law committee gives advice, but any rabbi in the game can make changes.

"I think the biggest reason why people go to a Conservative synagogue is because of the mixed seating. Sometimes this is a social question and not because of ideology."

It's true that each Masorti rabbi has authority in his/her congregation, explains Bandel, "but only in accordance with the law committee."

Members of the Jewish community who identify themselves as haredi don't see the similarities between Orthodox and Masorti Judaism. "When you say there was no revelation at Sinai; when you say [Torah] is only divinely-inspired, then people will take from it whatever is amenable to their modern sensibilities and that is not Halacha," says haredi Jerusalem Post columnist Jonathan Rosenblum, who grew up in the Conservative Movement in the US. "They reduce Torah to a book of ancient wisdom literature."

Shai Horowitz, a researcher at a haredi information center, describes Masorti Judaism as a "big supermarket of ideas." "Judaism doesn't say lower the fence so it's easier to reach. It says try harder to rise up to the level required of you. Conservative Judaism is destroying Torah life and turning people away from Judaism. "Most people in the movement, he adds, "don't observe the movement's halachic codes anyway," he adds. "The movement from the outside simply looks inauthentic."