Reading Professor Smith’s paper was a spiritually edifying experience. His breadth of vision, open-mindedness, and combination of trenchant analysis with magnanimity toward alternative approaches distinguish his essay and make it worthy of serious consideration. Professor Smith admirably identifies the ambiguous role of religion in society – both as a force for cohesion and, more often, as a source of division. History amply corroborates this thesis. In this response – which I deliberately label “A Jewish Response,” not “The Jewish Response” – I wish to focus on what I see as his central claim: the distinction between society and community, and the moral imperative incumbent upon faith-communities to transform what is merely world society into what ought to be world community. This distinction is both valid and valuable. I would only add that the question of whether faith gives rise to community (as Smith asserts), or whether community gives rise to faith (as Durkheim maintained), has deep roots in Jewish tradition. The Hebrew Bible uses two terms for collectivity: Kahal, denoting a mere assemblage of individuals, and Edah, connoting an organic entity with a metaphysical purpose. According to the medieval grammarian R. David Kimhi, Edah derives from the root Y-‘A-D, implying a calling or destiny. In this way, the biblical distinction parallels Smith’s formulation. Jewish thinkers have long debated the precedence of calling versus community. Saadia Gaon saw Israel as constituted by its spiritual vocation, whereas R. Yehudah Halevi posited that Israel began as a natural nation to which spirituality was later added. I cite these sources not out of pedantry, but to underscore the resonance of Smith’s claims within the Jewish intellectual tradition. If these ideas are present in Scripture and echoed by leading thinkers nearly a millennium ago, they surely merit our attention. Yet I must temper my agreement with caution. The noble pursuit of world community is not without peril. I wish to highlight three potential dangers. First, world community risks devolving into ideological or religious imperialism. Every great idea has its “other side” – in Kabbalistic terms, the side of holiness has a corresponding side of impurity. Universalism, while lofty, may breed contempt for dissenters and cloak coercive conformity in the guise of enlightenment. History is littered with such tragic misapplications. Second, the drive toward unity can tempt faith traditions to disingenuously reframe themselves, distorting theology to fit a preconceived ecumenical mold. This lack of candor weakens both interfaith trust and religious integrity. Third, efforts to transcend boundaries may slide into theological indifferentism, dismissing particularist convictions as reactionary. None of this means that secular initiatives are preferable. On the contrary, secular attempts at global unity have often failed more catastrophically than religious ones. The biblical story of the Tower of Babel illustrates the dangers of enforced homogeneity: a united humanity, bereft of God-consciousness, succumbs to hubris and is scattered. Still, we cannot abandon the quest. Instead, I propose a shift in terminology: rather than “world community,” we should speak of a “community of communities.” This phrasing affirms the distinct integrity of each group while promoting cooperation across difference. It encourages ideological modesty and self-restraint, reframing the goal as a proximate one rather than an eschatological destiny. Religions may maintain divergent visions of the end of days, but in the meantime they must commit to peaceful coexistence without instrumentalizing that coexistence as a means to messianic fulfillment. Any effort to advance a “community of communities” must be non-eschatological, or at most pre-eschatological, and explicitly non-proselytizing. Without this restraint, unity becomes domination. Even with such restraint, I remain skeptical of our readiness for such a transformation. The spiritual temperature of humanity seems too low. Yet here the Talmud offers wisdom: it is better to act shelo lishmah – with imperfect motives – than not to act at all, in the hope that right intention will follow right action. We may begin cooperating out of mutual fear and self-interest, and through such pragmatic efforts, deeper spiritual bonds may gradually form. A parable from the Mekhilta illustrates the point: when the nations heard the thunder of Sinai, they feared a cosmic catastrophe. Only when assured it was divine revelation, not destruction, did they go home relieved – and indifferent. Had Balaam misled them into believing doom was imminent, perhaps their unity would have endured long enough to receive the Word of God. Sometimes, fear precedes faith. Let us begin where we must – with cooperation for survival – and hope that from shared action will emerge shared vision.