The fact of our attendance here this evening is nothing else. The very fact that we have come to listen to something about Yahadus, to take counsel together about any aspect relating to our Jewishness means that we want to remain Jews within the context of Western society, where for the very first time in the history of our people it is possible to opt out of the Jewish people without the stigma of conversion and betrayal. Never before was it possible for a Jew simply to vanish from his Jewishness without shmad – that free ticket of admission into higher Gentile society. When therefore we gather – and whenever we gather – to declare that we want to remain Jews and we are not choosing the option of disappearing and vanishing, we reveal a sense of responsibility for our Jewish heritage. It is that term and that concept that I should like to speak about this evening. Responsibility – what does it mean, what are its sources, and how is it discharged? First let me say something which may appear to be rather self-evident – and that is that responsibility means the ability to respond or to answer. The prerequisite for responsibility is the awareness that we are being questioned. Jewish responsibility is the response to a summons, to a challenge, to an interrogation. Jewish life lived responsibly is a reaction to a questioning G-d. We live under a question mark that comes at us – from Above. Ever since the first Divine question was directed at our first forefather and the Ribono Shel Olam said to Adam HaRishon, “Ayekah? Where are you? What are you going to do with your life?” – that question became enshrined in mankind’s conscience. And when man decides to answer that question, or at least to entertain it, at that point we have achieved responsibility. Chazal in the Midrash maintain that the word “Ayekah” – aleph, yud, chaf, heh – by rearranging its vowels, reads “Eichah.” And it tells us that when man fails to entertain the Divine question – “Ayekah? Where are you? What …

I shall not be speaking directly and exclusively about the conference theme of "Jewish Identities in the New Europe." Instead, I shall concentrate on what I surmise is the future course of those Jews who are intensely committed to Torah and the Jewish Tradition, and at same time do not wish to segregate from other Jews, do not want to ignore worldly culture, and who do believe—as a matter of principle and not merely convenience—that critical engagement with the environing culture and a profound feeling of fraternity with fellow Jews regardless of their own differing convictions is what, to borrow the prophetic style, "the Lord doth require of us." My intention is that because such a group undoubtedly exists, in greater or lesser measure, in Europe, my words will be germane to the situation in the "New Europe" as well, and that my American experience will not prove irrelevant to the subject of this conference.I speak as one of this self-same group: as a religious, Orthodox Jew, who believes that without Torah there is no future for Am Yisrael, but who wants all Jews, no matter what their religious or ideological orientations, to survive and thrive; whose firm commitment to his own vision of Judaism and Jewishness sometimes makes him impatient but never intolerant of other, competing views; and whose outlook is best summed up in the words Torah Umadda, the integration or confluence of religious commitment and worldly learning. Hence, my title: "The Jewish Jew and Western Culture."The sub-title, "Fallible Predictions for the Turn of the Century," can be explained only on the basis of my outrageous lack of modesty; for the Talmudic Sages taught that since the destruction of the Temple, the gift of prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to children and fools...The polarization of the Jewish community is by now a truism. On the one side, a high mobility rate and the displacements of war have produced a situation whereby, as one scholar estimated a number of years…

This is a bitter-sweet occasion for me. It is bitter because it confirms for me psychologically what I already know rationally, namely, that Isaac Bernstein is no longer with us. And it is sweet because the memories are sweet and inspiring. Rabbi Bernstein was my successor at The Jewish Center in New York City. We became not only colleagues but fast friends. I was enchanted by his sparkling sense of humor, in awe of his range of knowledge and interests – from Torah, of course, to mathematics to opera – and I simply adored the man's dazzling personality. Because of this combination of talents – scholar, orator, wit, darshan – I invited him to teach at our Stern College for Women, where he won a string of loyal students who speak of him with a reverence that survives to this day. One of his great strengths was his interpretation of the parashat ha-shavua, the biblical portion of the week. In deference to him, I shall present my theme as he would have done it – homiletically, by discoursing on this week's parasha, which happens to be Noach, and, last Shabbat, Bereshit. The great floods covered the face of the earth and finally begin to recede. Noah, ensconced in his ark, was not quite sure what to do. He took the raven and sent it out as a test: if the raven does not return, that will be a sign that dry land is available and he can prepare to leave; if it does come back, it means there is no dry land and he must continue to stay in the ark. R. Velvel Soloveitchik of Brisk zt"l asks why this bird was sent out in the first place: even if the bird came back with olive leaves, implying that Noah may leave – or if the bird did not return at all, signifying that land had been sighted and he should prepare to leave the ark – he would not be permitted to leave. Why? Because just as he entered the ark on God’s command, so would he not be permitted to leave until he was instructed by divine command. R. Velvel offers no answer to his question. I humbly offer my own solution: No…