On July 4, 1776, some of my ancestors were living in Central and Eastern Europe, where I imagine them passionately debating the great Jewish movements of their era: the Jewish enlightenment, highbrow rabbinic Judaism and folksy Hasidic mysticism.
In a kitchen somewhere in what was then Poland but is now Ukraine, I see two parents watch uneasily as their three sons argue. One is convinced of the wisdom of integrating into broader European society (while remaining a Jew), another is devoted to a life of rigorous Torah study in the rabbinical tradition of the Gaon of Vilna, and the third is consumed by fervor for the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism, who emphasized joyous worship and heartfelt spirituality. To add to the parents’ worries, the political and economic landscape is in flux. Germany is a shifting patchwork of independent principalities, kingdoms and city-states where Jews generally live under strict limitations and prohibitions. Poland has been carved up and absorbed into the surrounding empires of Russia, Prussia and Austria. In whatever direction Jews move, they face accusations of blood libel and Christ-killing, as well as state-sanctioned discrimination.
Other Old World lands weren’t much better for Jews in this period, and some were worse. Most countries had official religions and none of them were Judaism. The Inquisition was still in effect, so Spain and Portugal were off-limits. Jews in the vast territories of the Ottoman Empire, in Morocco and in other parts of the Sunni Islamic world were relatively safer but lived as second-class citizens. England and France barred Jews from being citizens, as did the Dutch Republic, despite its much-heralded culture of religious tolerance. I could go on, but suffice it to say, the most promising place for Jews on July 4, 1776, was America.
There, in Philadelphia, 56 white men were signing a declaration of independence from the British monarchy. Most were Christians of one kind or another, a handful were proud Deists (e.g., Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson) or rationalist Unitarians (e.g., John Adams). Among the signers were a few visionary leaders who saw a chance to put classical models and Enlightenment ideas of self-government into practice. Their ideas were revolutionary for the time, and still are: a country without monarchs that separated religion from the state, where religious minorities could live freely and safely.
On that July 4, according to The Jewish Encyclopedia, there were some 1,500 Jews living in the colonies. They were largely from Sephardic families with fresh memories of the bloody centuries of the Inquisition. They made up 0.0006 percent of the 2.5 million people (including 500,000 slaves) living in 13 colonies. One, Francis Salvador, was serving in South Carolina’s First Provincial Congress, the first Jew known to hold elected office in America. We know from the historical record that most (not all) of these Revolutionary-era Jews were excited about the promise of this new nation and some were at the forefront of the struggle for religious liberty.
Two hundred and fifty years later, the United States is the oldest existing nation with a constitutional government elected by the people. I am not blind to the imperfections and dangers we face, and trust me, I feel our divisions in my bones. I will never take America and the ideas on which our nation was built for granted. I am thankful that a great-uncle and aunt brought my grandmother and her sister to New York City after their parents were murdered in a pogrom south of Kyiv. I am grateful for the great-grandfather who left a shtetl near Lviv to come to Pennsylvania with his surviving children, and for my other grandparents who escaped poverty and forced conscription by also immigrating to America. Other family members fled Syria after 1948 to build new lives here.
Life for Jews at this moment in American history is not as easy as what we had expected a mere decade ago. But despite our passionate disagreements with one another about how to confront antisemitism and about who we are, we cannot forget the promise of this country and how Jews and Jewish ideas and contributions have helped build it. A semiquincentennial year is an opportunity to pause and contemplate the progress—and renew our commitment to the United States.
Moment is marking the 250th by exploring the Jewish contribution to America in arts and letters, food and music, and so much more. So keep reading, listening (audio versions of our stories are available online) and watching MomentLive! virtual and in-person programs. Check out our new “Soundtrack 250” playlist featuring iconic songs written by Jewish Americans at momentmag.com/soundtrack250 and on Spotify, too. And please save the date for a very special evening on November 15 in Washington, DC, when we will be celebrating Moment, our remarkable award recipi- ents and America’s semiquincentennial.
Here’s to another 250 years of the American experiment!
(Top image credit: Image generated by ChatGPT)