Jerusalem Area House Party

Speculations on the future of Judaism in Israel by semi-intoxicated semi-fictional characters

There are only so many arguments and counter-arguments on whether Ayn Rand was a Nietzschean I can read in one evening, so I head for this mysterious party I have been invited to.

Apparently, there is a theme, but I have neglected to ask what it is. The assembled guests are by all appearances a rather motley crew. “I give up,” I say to the host.

He grins mischievously. “I hate to ruin the suspense, but I’ll tell you anyway,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I’ve invited all my friends who are unhappy with the religious community they belong to.”

“Wait,” I say, trying to disguise my pique, “I can’t be pigeonho...”

He cuts me off with a chuckle. “Precisely. That’s what they all think,” he snickers.

He explains that it is clear that every form of Judaism is cluelessly headed straight into a huge crisis. Since all Jewish survival strategies were designed for situations in which traditional Jews were a (usually, persecuted) minority, we have no clue what to do when traditional Judaism becomes a mainstream, even dominant, culture. We need Judaism that scales and nobody seems to know what that might look like. “We need some new ideas,” he shouts at me, poking his finger at my chest. He is convinced that disgruntled types are the ones least likely to wallow in religious complacency.

I think this is probably because they are the most likely to wallow in disgruntlement.

I spot my friend Eden struggling to ladle mulled wine into a paper cup. I suspect she’s been invited to make the uptight Ashkenazim feel religiously inauthentic.

“Sorry Ashkenazi effort at cultural appropriation of Northern European folk traditions,” I say cheerfully as I sidle up to Eden and take the ladle.

I can’t tell if the look she shoots me is expressing pity or contempt. “You might have at least said hello before othering me as authentically exotic. And by the way, Jews didn’t invent Jahnoun either.”

I try to back down gracefully. “Well, at least you people got Judaism right, all that tolerance for different levels of religiosity within the family, keeping the folk knowledge going without getting hung up on books.”

I might have hit a raw nerve.

Eden eyes me, her lips twisting into a wry half-smile. “You people?” she repeats, a little too loudly. “Getting Judaism ‘right’? Well, isn’t that quaint.”

The volume of her voice draws attention from the surrounding guests. A few heads turn our way, some curious, others already bracing for what’s to come.

Eden leans in slightly, though her voice carries effortlessly across the room. “You Ashkenazim love thinking Sephardim are the gatekeepers of some ancient, untainted version of Judaism, don’t you? Please spare me your patronizing admiration.”

I shift uncomfortably, trying to backtrack before this becomes a full-blown scene. “I didn't mean it like that,” I mumble, but it's too late.

The host, sensing the rising tension, claps his hands together, loudly enough to silence the growing murmur around us.

“Alright, everyone!” he says, his voice cutting through the room like a well-practiced ringmaster. “Let’s get this party started properly.” He shoots a glance at Eden, who’s now the reluctant center of attention, but then he gestures broadly toward the gathering crowd.

“I know some of you have already figured this out, but for those who haven’t, let me lay it out. Tonight’s not just any party—it’s a gathering of the disgruntled. Every person here has at least one foot out of their own religious community, frustrated with where things are headed—or, more precisely, where things aren’t headed.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, though it’s the kind of laughter that feels more like relief, an acknowledgment of the collective discontent. The host, buoyed by the response, continues.

“Here’s the problem,” he says, pacing in front of the fireplace like he’s giving a TED Talk. “Judaism, as it stands, was built for survival. For being the persecuted minority. But now, at least here in Israel, that’s not our reality anymore. We’re not a minority; we're dominant.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in. I glance around the room, noticing the varied expressions—some nodding in agreement, others skeptical.

“What does Judaism look like when it’s mainstream? When it’s no longer just about surviving, but thriving? We’ve been so focused on getting through exile, we never stopped to ask: what happens when we’re not in exile anymore?”

The room stills, the weight of the question hanging in the air. The host lets the silence stretch before continuing, his tone more urgent now.

“We need fresh ideas. And that’s where you come in. Every one of you is discontent, disillusioned, fed up with the direction—or lack thereof—your community is heading in. You’re the perfect people to help reimagine what Judaism can be. What it should be.”

He glances at Eden, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “And I think we’re already off to a promising start.”