Excerpted by permission from "American Jews and the Separationist Faith: The New Debate on Religion in Public Life," edited by David G. Dalin, an online book whose complete text can be foundat the website of the Ethics and Public Policy Center.
For many years, precisely as long as Judaism was marginal to my life, the strict separation of religion and state made perfect sense. The separation principle provided ample camouflage, enabling Jews to stand together against the further Christianization of American public life, yet without asserting anything Jewish. Jews could privatize Judaism, and even trivialize it, while persuading themselves that they were staunch Americans defending the Bill of Rights.
Jews were trapped in a double bind. We claimed allegiance to an American "tradition" of religious tolerance, pluralism, freedom, and separation. But we certainly knew, long before each Dec. 25, that in all but name the United States still was--as Supreme Court Justice Joseph Story had once declared--a "Christian country." We worshiped at Jefferson's "wall of separation" without ever learning that the author of that famous phrase had drafted Virginia's "Bill for Punishing Disturbers of Religious Worship and Sabbath Breakers," or that the First Amendment was more a monument to federalism and to Protestant definitions of denominational autonomy than to religious freedom.
For Jews, strict separation became a convenient constitutional rationale for strict secularism. Whoever thought to inquire whether the very principle of separation might not be fundamentally Christian? (It was Jesus, not Moses, who distinguished between what must be rendered to God and to Caesar.) In the Jewish historical tradition, religion and nationality were closely intertwined (as for many Israelis they still are). Nevertheless, we were Americans, and if that required a pledge of allegiance to a principle that undermined our own history and identity as Jews, we would gladly pay the price. Yet Jews were not fools, nor were we fooled. Separation promised protection, in education and politics, against further Christian encroachment. That was sufficient reason for our tenacious defense of it. In the naked public square, we could still pretend that the emperor--or perhaps the rabbi--was fully clothed.
Years later, sufficiently provoked by assorted life experiences to examine some cherished assumptions, I prepared a course on religion and the state and, for a book I was writing, read widely in American religious history. The Christian imagery that pervaded American history, from the Puritans to the present, was inescapable. Yet generations of American Jews had been taught that the fondness for "Old Testament" metaphors in American public discourse displayed the fundamental continuity between ancient Jewish and modern American values--when in fact these metaphors expressed a flourishing Christian triumphalism.
Similarly, the First Amendment, that constitutional beacon of religious tolerance, had merely deprived the new federal government of power in the realm of religion, while carefully reserving to the states ample freedom to preserve a Christian commonwealth within their borders, if they were so inclined.
The role of religion in American public life is likely to remain what it has been: pervasively Christian, yet prudently concealed. In a country where 95 percent of the population is nominally Christian, this continues to pose obvious problems for Jews--the more so now that the traditionally united front of Jewish support for strict separation has sharply fragmented. The enthusiastic advocacy of the Lubavitch for menorahs on public property and public funds for yeshivas has shattered the once monolithic "Jewish" position on church-state issues. With their "establishment" battles securely won, Jews must now decide whether they can tolerate their own religious symbols in the public square, where there are already Christmas trees and creches, or whether it remains too risky to demand the free exercise of Judaism, consistent with the promise of the First Amendment.