In the more than thirty years I have been a congregational rabbi, never have I witnessed a more polarizing issue, within houses of worship, than those generated by constantly changing COVID policies. Many policies are state, county and city mandates, including when to wear a mask, what type of mask to wear, PCR tests, proof of vaccination, indoor and outdoor protocols, along with seating layouts and more.
Adding to tensions engendered by these mandates are the diverse attitudes and psychological makeup of members.
This constitutes a perfect storm: For nearly two years, COVID policies have been viewed as either too stringent or not stringent enough. Parishioners have expressed disappointment in their clergy for not being exemplars in action and speech during the pandemic. They have lambasted us for not reacting more quickly and speaking out more forcibly—provided, of course, that our actions and statements accord with their political, scientific and social views.
Still others see the pandemic as a reason to withdraw from organized religion for a time, or even forever. The often mean-spirited inability to find common ground, frequently accompanied by threats of quitting, have further drained followers away from religious organizations that can hardly afford more losses to their already declining membership. If there ever was a time to leave a House of God, this is not it.
Saddest of all, congregants have disregarded some of their religion’s core principles and teachings, central to which is the Judeo-Christian ethic stating: God’s primary demand is that we be good, not perfect, people. The infighting and lack of civility are hardly an expression of goodness. Two examples help illustrate the point.
First: compassion and inclusion. These timeless religious ideals are noticeably absent when it comes to the unvaccinated. They are a modern-day extension of the biblical lepers.
I have witnessed long-standing friendships severed as the result of the anger bordering on hatred of the unvaccinated.
I have witnessed long-standing friendships severed as the result of the anger bordering on hatred of the unvaccinated. Where’s the compassion and inclusivity?
Understandably, the vaccinated will respond, “If the unvaccinated were compassionate and inclusive, they would get vaccinated and save lives and prevent burdening our overrun hospitals. Most people recognize that the benefits of being vaccinated outweigh the risks” (life-threatening hazards have occasionally been associated with the vaccine).
On one level, this makes little sense. If the vaccine is effective, who are the unvaccinated allegedly hurting? I say this as one who, along with my wife and adult children, is vaccinated. Why isn’t my position regarding the unvaccinated one seen as exemplar leadership? Because I harbor no ill-will for the unvaccinated?
Second: fear. Within houses of worship, congregants are terrified of contracting the COVID-19 virus. The fear is warranted; it’s a serious illness, particularly for the elderly and those with compromised immune systems. Religious faith doesn’t protect us from disease, injury or death.
For many, the fear has become all-encompassing—ironically, more debilitating than the illness itself. They either haven’t learned, or disregard, the Hebrew Bible’s injunction that is repeated more than 80 times, not to fear.
We should know better: fearful people tend to be less optimistic, practical, generous, happy, forgiving and friendly. That’s what we clergy should be preaching from the pulpit.
Impassioned discussions are important. The pandemic is dangerous—and not fully understood. Vehement reactions are understandable. But how one argues is often as important as the argument itself.
Debate and disagreement are at the core of the Talmudic tradition. Some of the disagreements among ancient rabbis raged for years. Occasionally, heated debates degraded into name calling and dissociation. But for the most part, opposing sides remained respectful. In fact, arch-rivals danced at each other’s children’s weddings. Opposing sides treated one another with equal measures of skepticism and humility.
Certainly, religion’s steady decline preceded the pandemic. Its drop-off is partly due to the rise of secularism, along with a general disenchantment with organized religion. Perhaps, worst of all, the decline is also the result of religious followers who disregard some of their religion’s core principles, not least of which are compassion, inclusion and fearlessness. Now, more than ever, is the time to reassert those ideals, in no better place than a house of worship.
Michael Gottlieb is rabbi of Kehillat Ma’arav in Santa Monica.
