Is Sephardi Traditionalism the Future of Judaism?

Eden doesn't think so

Eden, not missing a beat, raises her cup. “Well, since we’re all being so honest tonight,” she says, her eyes briefly meeting mine before sweeping the room, “let me burst a few romantic bubbles right at the outset.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. “Apparently our task here is to figure out how to make Judaism a mainstream culture,” she begins, her tone sounding almost bemused, as if considering the absurd grandiosity of the challenge. “And I know what some of you, well, the Ashkenazim among us,” Eden shoots a glance in my direction, “are thinking. You’re thinking that Ashkenazi Judaism is too neurotic to ever scale, but we Sephardim are so charmingly unself-conscious about our traditions, now that’s a culture that can scale.”

I do my best to keep a poker face.

“You imagine that when it comes to religion we’re so much more comfortable in our skins than Ashkenazim because we’re untouched by the Enlightenment, or, more precisely, untouched by the resistance to it. That we’ve preserved a certain natural authenticity. The piyutim, the hand-kissing, the folksy customs—passed down from generation to generation, from the days of… well, when exactly?”

She pauses, scanning the room, a flicker of frustration—maybe even nostalgia—in her eyes. “I hope you realize that’s complete nonsense.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continues, her tone softening, “there’s real beauty in Sephardic tradition. I grew up with it. I understand the allure. When it’s sincere, there’s something grounding, even timeless, about it. But here’s the ugly truth: it’s the reduction of religion to folklore, and not in a way that invites reflection or depth. It’s piyut as background music for casually breaking Shabbat. That’s not tradition—that’s hypocrisy set to a catchy chorus.”

A few people shift in their seats. Eden glances at our host, her gaze unwavering. “I understand why you might think this kind of easy traditionalism offers a way to scale up Judaism. Something thin enough for everyone to live with. But scaling up can’t mean settling for the least common denominator. That’s a dead end.”

She pauses, more reflective now. “This kind of charming folklore has its place. It preserves identity, keeps people connected to their roots. But let’s not pretend it’s asking much of us. It’s convenient, made to be absorbed without wrestling with anything difficult. For all its color and warmth, it avoids the hard questions. You think it’s great that we aren’t self-conscious about our traditions. But guess what—we aren’t especially self-aware either.”

Someone from the back, sharp and direct: “So what—Ashkenazi rigidity is the answer?”

Eden smiles faintly, shaking her head. “No, no. I’m not idealizing Ashkenazim. Believe me, they’ve got their own problems—rigid thinking, putting everything into boxes, formalism for the sake of formalism. But at least in that world, there’s intellectual seriousness. There’s rigor. Our traditions are more fluid, and I respect that—it’s a strength. But somewhere along the way, we leaned into that fluidity so much that we lost the depth.”

A man near the window, arms crossed, chimes in, “Still sounds harsh, like you’ve got a chip on your shoulder.”

Eden meets his eyes. “Maybe. But sometimes a little harshness is what’s needed to cut through the noise.” Her voice sharpens slightly. “Let’s be real. We’re holding onto the outer trappings of tradition without any of the intellectual or spiritual substance that makes it sustainable. The result? Sometimes it feels like young people in my family, in the neighborhood I grew up in, face a choice between the vulgarity of Eyal Golan and the hollow piety of Shas. Not a very appealing choice, is it?”

She raises her glass, a wry smile playing on her lips. “But hey, at least we’ve still got the hand-kissing.”

The tension in the room is palpable, but now there’s a trace of amusement mixed in. Some guests avoid eye contact, while others are deep in thought, processing her words. Maybe, like me, they’re taken aback to see Eden take aim at her own heritage—and quietly wondering if they have the gumption to do the same. I suspect they do.

Eden takes a deep breath, her gaze softening. “Look, I know that was brutal. But bear with me. I have an idea.”