Our tradition teaches that there were many more prophets than we know of today, and they traded in many more ideas than we are aware of today, but the words of the prophets that were chosen to be canonized — to carry us through thousands of years of Jewish history — were those words that would be relevant throughout that journey. 

I have no doubt that if those biblical prophets walked our streets today they would be aghast at the injustices that still pervade every level of society. I also have no doubt that the recent announcement by the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism that it is focusing new energies on social justice comes from such a place — not the pursuit of “relevance” or competition for market share, but a tradition of balancing its investments in Torah, avodah (prayer) and gemilut chasadim (acts of loving kindness), the three pillars upon which the world stands.

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I cannot say that I grew up in the Conservative movement, but while attending an Orthodox day school and later a yeshiva high school, I davened in a Conservadox shul, and one of the highlights of my week was Sunday night — or, more often than not, all-day Sunday — hanging out at the local USY chapter. Complementing my academic education, it was this experience that exposed me to seeing the world within a Jewish framework, one of the foundational lessons of my life.

While social justice can be pursued for the most noble and holy reasons, I’m deeply concerned. I’m concerned because for the past many decades, we have seen how the Reform movement raised the banner of tikkun olam (repairing the world), giving it such prominence that it obscured the other banners that we carry as a people: The banner of Zionism. The banner of ahavat Yisrael (loving and caring for all Jews). And the banner of God. Some in the Reform movement have expressed misgivings, acknowledging that infusing so much capital into one goal, no matter how noble, has imbalanced its theological, sociological and philosophical essence. Rabbi Rick Jacobs, president of the Union for Reform Judaism, said as much during his keynote address at the URJ Biennial in 2015: “Social justice not grounded in text and ritual is ephemeral and unsustainable. Like a bouquet of fresh flowers, it is destined to dry up and wither.” 

Here is a voice from the Conservative movement, Rabbi Aaron Starr of Congregation Shaarey Zedek in Southfield, Mich., in 2016: “I would like to suggest that perhaps it is tikkun olam itself that is destroying the Jewish community… For the last 40 years, tikkun olam has dominated American Jewish thinking … in its origin, tikkun olam teaches that when we perform the traditional mitzvot — engaging in rituals, like observing Shabbat or wrapping tefillin — as well as fulfilling ethical commandments, like providing food to the poor — we bring our world closer to the original state of perfection that God saw for us in the days of Genesis. By doing mitzvot, we repair the world.” 

We have always carried within us the twin visions of universalism and particularism, interlaced as a strand of DNA threaded throughout our literature and our liturgy. Think of the famous dictum of Hillel: “He used to say: If I am not for me, who will be for me? And when I am for myself alone, what am I?” (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

Rather than incorporating these dual goals as one unified worldview, however, we often place them in conflict with one another. Hillel addressed this quandary, too, resolving the tension with the question, “And if not now, when?” Meaning, what does the “now” call me to do? If now I need to help my family of Jews, that is what I will do now. If now I need to extend help to others, that is what I will do now. Not exclusively one or the other; and Jews first, but not only. “The poor of your city take precedence over the poor of another city” (Bava Metzia 71a). We are not exempt from helping others. Neither are we free to ignore the needs of our own. 

But why do we lean more into the universal than the particular? Why are we so uneasy about saying Jews come first?

A while back, I was involved in a survey of rabbis and educational leaders in my community, shared with the board of the local Jewish Federation and other leadership groups, where we asked how they prioritize and asked them how they prioritize “Jews helping Jews” versus “Jews helping others.” We received overwhelming confidential responses about their discomfort in prioritizing the idea of Jews helping Jews. Politically, many of them found it difficult to articulate Jewish needs with non-Jewish spouses sitting in their pews; they thought it would be offensive. Many of them had difficulty putting Jews first; they felt it was selfish.

My response is a story: 

Together with a colleague from the Joint Distribution Committee, I made my way carefully up the crumbling steps of an apartment building in a small Russian town. Our destination was an elderly Jewish man on the fourth floor, the only Jew living in that building.

We delivered a life-saving package of medicine and food, exchanged pleasantries and we blessed one another. As the door closed, I said to my colleague: “I know that we just did something amazing by keeping this man alive. But I wonder what all the non-Jews in the apartments that we passed on the way think about this. He said, “Let’s ask one.” 

We walked down the hall and knocked on a door; a man answered. They spoke in Russian and this is what my JDC colleague told me transpired. 

He said to the man, “Hi. We came here to deliver some food to the Jewish man who lives down the hall.” The man in the doorway said, “Yes, I know. I’ve seen you here before.” The JDC fellow asked him, “So, what do you think about that?” The Russian man answered, “I think it is remarkable how you Jews take care of one another.”

The JDC does not help only Jews. But it does help Jews first.

There is another reason some of us focus on the olam part of tikkun olam. Jews in the richest country in the history of the world have trouble believing that there are Jews in need right here. That’s why the Jewish Funders Network, not too long ago, launched an ambitious new initiative to highlight the plight of poor and near-poor Jews throughout our country. 

To my friends in the Conservative movement: I write this to you with respect for everything you do that creatively inspires all of us and from which we all learn. I ask you to be very careful with the millions of dollars you will be devoting to this potential powder keg of “social justice.”  I understand that seeking social justice is not only about physical needs.  It is about inclusion. It is about welcoming the one who feels like a stranger. I ask you to be true to your tradition of scholarship not to conflate “Jewish values” with liberal Western ones. Jews have been wrestling with our many shades of obligation for centuries. Keep struggling. We cannot be a light unto the nations if we deny ourselves the fuel that we need to renew our bodies, our souls and our minds.  

Social justice is not an end in itself for us as it is for the rest of the world. For Jews, it is a cultivated practice of caring that advances us towards a Godly goal. We publicly articulate that goal at the conclusion of every service with the Aleinu prayer: l’taken olam b’malchut Shadai, to perfect the world as the kingdom of God. 

It is undeniably true that social justice is among the three pillars that uphold the world that God gave us. It is equally true that if one pillar is too short or too long, the entire structure will tremble and ultimately collapse. In our efforts to save the world, let us not place it in peril.

Robert Lichtman lives in West Orange, N.J., and draws upon his long tenure of professional leadership to teach and write about strategic issues and opportunities impacting the Jewish community.