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THE NEW RABBINICAL SCHOOL DEAN REFLECTS ON HIS OWN JEWISH JOURNEY What is most striking about Arthur Green is not his warm, unpretentious demeanor or his incisive intellect. It is the cadence of his rich, bass voice. Whether reflecting on his childhood, his theology or his role as the newly appointed Dean of Hebrew College's Rabbinical School, he speaks rhythmically, at times almost chanting, as if davening, fully present, animated, yet seemingly attuned to something outside himself as well.
Matters of meaning, religion, God and spirituality have dominated Green's inner life since childhood. "I remember being seven or eight years old and going with my mother to Friday evening services. I was fascinated by religion—it was something that attracted me at a young age. I wanted to pray. I was fascinated by the question of prayer," says Green. "I somehow had a longing for some access to a deeper truth than that which seemed to be on the surface of things." It was the late 1940s in Newark, New Jersey. Green was surrounded by a diverse community of Eastern European immigrants and attended both a Conservative/Reform synagogue and his grandparents' shul, which was "somewhere on the border between Conservative and Orthodox," he says. "I was raised in a nonobservant home—my father was a militant atheist, opposed to any religious training, and my mother was a child of traditional Jews who felt obligated to her parents to provide her son a Jewish education." In this environment, Green was most drawn to the Judaism embraced by his grandparents and absorbed the values and practices of what ultimately became his form of transdenominationalism. "Religion is not something separate from the rest of life—it's a way of living all of one's life." After becoming bar mitzvah, Green chose to affiliate himself with the Conservative movement, active in Camp Ramah throughout his adolescence. As an undergraduate at Brandeis University in 1959, however, he went through a crisis of faith, searching for new approaches to Judaism. It was there that Green—now known as one of the foremost authorities on Jewish mysticism—was first exposed to the ideas of Kabbalah, studying with Nahum Glatzer and Alexander Altmann. "I was especially enthralled with the beauty of Hasidic literature," he says. "It quickly became my religious language. I knew the Hasidic masters were not only speaking the truth but they were somehow speaking a language that was going to be my truth—one I would use for the rest of my life." Leaning back, eyes closed, he continues: "Religion is not something separate from the rest of life—it's a way of living all of one's life. The intention of religion, the kavannah of religion, has to do with how you relate to other people, how you talk, how you do your daily work, how you write, how you think, and what you do in every area of life. "The message of Hasidism as I understood it was joyful, uplifting and transforming, rather than an oppressive and burdensome religion. It was the same Judaism but seen through a different set of eyes. The center of its message lay in that transforming vision." Green felt no pull to become a 20th-century Hasid. Rather, he says, "the passion and intensity among the 18th-century Hasidic masters spoke powerfully to me. At the same time, I knew I was a modern person. I knew that I made choices and even if I chose to observe, I was the one that was choosing—I'm what I call a selective traditionalist. In some areas, I like very traditional forms of Judaism. In other areas I remain less observant—I created and continue to create the pattern of my own religious life. I grew to believe that every person does. And every person has an obligation to do that. Some people say it's a tragedy of American Jewish life that we have as many Judaisms as there are Jews. But, to me, that's not a tragedy. I celebrate Jewish diversity."
"Some people say it's a tragedy of American Jewish life that we have as many Judaisms as there are Jews. But, to me, that's not a tragedy. I celebrate Jewish diversity." With one foot in what he calls the "scholarly ivory tower" and one in the vibrant beit midrash, Green, now 62, looks forward to reentering the world of rabbinic education as Dean and Visiting Professor of Jewish Mysticism at Hebrew College. "Teaching rabbinical students is very different from teaching in the university. In rabbinical school, questions of personal meaning immediately come to the fore and are entirely legitimate. In the university, sometimes I have to say to a student, 'That's not an appropriate question for the class, come talk to me later in my office.' In rabbinical school, a personal meaning question is precisely the most relevant question for class. And I like teaching in that atmosphere." Green is certain that now is the right time and place for joining Hebrew College. "It's a very exciting opportunity to begin a program from the ground up," he says. With the formal announcement of the Rabbinical School's opening, Green, along with Provost Barry Mesch and key faculty, have been receiving calls from scores of prospective students who are seeking not only a pluralistic community of learners but also a place where their individualism can flourish. "I love the seriousness of their maturity, their tremendous desire to learn," he says, "and the sense—for me—that in teaching rabbis you're really reaching whole Jewish communities."
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It is the end of a long day for Green—meeting with President David M. Gordis and faculty members who are finalizing the philosophy and curriculum that will define the five-year rabbinical program, debating questions of what rabbis need to learn and how they should be trained, how to combine one's personal quest with the search for community.
Green chose to become a rabbi. Following ordination at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America in 1967, he embarked on a path of innovation in rabbinic education, first founding the Havurat Shalom in Somerville, Mass., an alternative Jewish community, and later serving as Dean and President of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College in Philadelphia from 1984 to 1993. When the Philip W. Lown professorship in Jewish thought at Brandeis (the chair of his former mentor, Alexander Altmann) became available, Green made the move back to Boston, and back to the classroom, where he continues to teach today.