What if everything you think you know about the Scopes “Monkey Trial” is—well, a little off? Jeff Salkin sits down with Doug Mishkin—lawyer, singer-songwriter, and amateur Scopes trial historian—for a deep dive into Inherit the Wind, the 1960 Hollywood classic that shaped generations of assumptions about religion and science.

They explore what the film gets right, what it gets deeply wrong, and what the real Clarence Darrow, William Jennings Bryan, and John Scopes might say about today’s culture wars. From evolution to eugenics, liberalism to scripture, this episode reveals how a century-old trial still echoes in debates over education, parental rights, and who gets to define truth.

The late Arthur Hertzberg was one of American Judaism’s greatest rabbis and intellectual leaders.

But he did not start out that way.

More than 70 years ago, he was a rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. One of his teachers was Mordecai Kaplan, one of American Judaism’s most seminal thinkers and rabbis, and the founder of the Reconstructionist movement.

The day came for young Arthur to deliver a trial sermon before the student body and the faculty. Afterward, Rabbi Kaplan lambasted Arthur for the ideas that he had presented.

“But, Rabbi Kaplan,” Arthur said. “You, yourself, said those things just a few days ago.”

To which Rabbi Kaplan responded: “Ah, yes. But, Arthur, I have changed since then.”

Let's talk about what it means to change one's mind — even ever so slightly. 

As we mark Jewish Heritage Month, how do we embrace the heritage of Southern Jews?

Ask Shari Rabin, one of the rising stars of Jewish studies in America. She is associate professor of Jewish studies, religion, and history and chair of Jewish studies at Oberlin College. This "born-in-Milwaukee-moved-to-Atlanta-after-her-bat-mitzvah" woman has just written a new book -- "The Jewish South: An American History." I could not put it down, and you will love our conversation.

Trigger warning: this episode contains references to sexual violence.

October 7 reminds Jews of what happened in Hebron on August 24, 1929. In her book "Ghosts of a Holy War: The 1929 Massacre in Palestine That Ignited the Arab-Israeli Conflict," Yardena writes:

On that morning, 3,000 Muslim men armed with swords, axes, and daggers marched through the Jewish Quarter of Hebron. They went from house to house, raping, stabbing, torturing, and in some cases castrating and burning alive their unarmed Jewish victims...Infants were slaughtered in their mothers’ arms. Children watched as their parents were butchered by their neighbors. Women and teenage girls were raped. Elderly rabbis and yeshiva students were mutilated. Sixty-seven Jewish men, women, and children were murdered, and dozens more wounded...The British High Commissioner of Mandatory Palestine, Sir John Chancellor, wrote in his diary, “I do not think history records many worse horrors in the last few hundred years.”

Those attacks were not limited to Hebron, the most ancient place of Jewish settlement in the land of Israel, where Abraham purchased the cave of Machpela as a burial place. Those attacks were in Jerusalem and spread to other cities, as well.

Why should these stories matter?

Because, to coin a phrase: what happened in Hebron has not stayed in Hebron.

Why does the death of the Pope touch me, as a Jew?

I cannot think of a Pope who had the depth of relationships with the Jewish community as this Pope had enjoyed. As Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, he had a close working relationship with the Argentinian Jewish community. His response to the 1994 bombing of the AMIA center in Buenos Aires -- until 2001, the most lethal terrorist attack in the Western Hemisphere -- was notable for its compassion. He had visited synagogues in Argentina.

Moreover, he collaborated with Rabbi Abraham Skorka, the rector of the Seminario Rabínico Latinoamericano, in the creation of Sobre El Cielo Y La Tierra ("On Heaven and Earth: Pope Francis on Faith, Family, and the Church in the Twenty-first Century"), which is the transcript of a series of conversations between the two men. For a while, it was Amazon's best selling religion book.

And yet, despite those warm relationships with the Jews, Pope Francis could be inconsistent. In August, 2021, he preached that the Torah “does not offer the fulfillment of the promise because it is not capable of being able to fulfill it." This was classic supercessionism. Judaism was the "old covenant" -- the "Old Testament" -- Covenant 1.0, the beta version. Christianity was Covenant 2.0 -- replacing Judaism. 

So, on the one hand: deep love and respect. On the other hand: some theological issues with Judaism.

I was talking with a Roman Catholic-raised friend who no longer practices the religion of his youth. At a certain point in the conversation, he snorted about "cafeteria Catholics," which sardonically describes those who adhere to parts of Catholic teachings or practice certain rituals, but dissent from others.

It made me realize I am a "cafeteria Jew."

Which brings me to Kate Mishkin, the creator of a compelling podcast with an enviable pun as its title, "Shofar, So Good."

In her podcast, she engages in thoughtful, gutsy conversations about weighty subjects like prayer, death and forgiveness.

In our "Martini Judaism" podcast interview, we talk about her childhood growing up with interfaith parents and in the religion of what people call "Jewish values." And we take a deep dive into what those values might be.

We also talk about her life as a journalist, living and working in a variety of places, but especially in Charleston, West Virginia, which is not exactly the Tel Aviv (or even Haifa) of America, but a place where she found herself Jewishly, largely through the help of a remarkable rabbi in that community.

Kate hit me with a metaphor I never considered before. She described herself as walking along the beaches of the world with a metal detector, sifting through the sand searching for Jewish objects and ideas. She knows there are many beaches in the world and a whole lot of sand. Those objects and ideas are rarely just below the surface, but found several inches deeper. It means there is a lot of work to do.

This is a metaphor for Judaism I happen to love. We once might have imagined that Judaism comes to us as a completely wrapped package, and all we have to do is open it up and there it is — a full-blown identity. Not anymore.

Through this lens, Judaism can be viewed as a collection of choices we make. Almost every day, we curate our Jewish identities and make meaning of them. This means certain things get in — say, Shabbat, Passover and social justice — but other things wind up on the back burner, maybe keeping kosher or building a sukkah.

Some might cynically call that "cafeteria Judaism," and they would not be wrong.

The truth is, I don't know any Jew, even the seemingly most pious, who takes on the entirety of the tradition. We are always picking and choosing. You could also call it Israeli hotel breakfast buffet Judaism — where you walk through the line, see what is available, see what looks good, take it back to your table and enjoy it.

But the most important thing is these choices are not static. Just as you can try many different foods over a multiday stay at a hotel, you might try many different things over the course of a Jewish life.

It all depends on the attitude with which you go through the buffet, or travel down Judaism Street or walk along the beach looking for treasures in the sand.

As for me, my attitude has always been curiosity, openness and a willingness to give my tradition the benefit of the doubt.

Listen to Kate Mishkin, and learn from her.

My friend, Vanessa Hidary.

Vanessa Hidary is a cool person. She is a spoken word artist, an educator, and an advocate. She is a trail-blazer. Her work has had a profound impact on both the Jewish community and beyond. Recently, the ADL honored her as a "Hero Against Hate." 

Vanessa embodies the bravery of Queen Esther, the pride of Mordecai, and a little bit of Vashti's attitude thrown in for good measure. She is a one woman megillah.

How did we first meet? We were at a Jewish conference together – the Conversation, which was convened by the veteran Jewish journalist Gary Rosenblatt. At that conference, she did a performance of her signature poem, "Hebrew Mamita." It was a celebration of her diverse, proud, take-no-prisoners Jewish identity – as a daughter of the Syrian-Jewish diaspora. She challenged Jewish stereotypes. 

I was overwhelmed.

“Hebrew Mamita” became a classic. Vanessa performed it in New York City venues, and that was how she became a pioneering voice Jewish identity in the slam poetry scene.

"Hebrew Mamita" was featured on HBO’s Def Poetry Jam, where she openly discussed her Jewish heritage. She founded the Kaleidoscope Project, a narrative-arts initiative that amplifies the stories of Jews of color, Sephardic and Mizrachi Jews, and those with interfaith experiences.

In the podcast, we talk about our responses to the murder of the Bibas children; what it means to be a Jew in the arts community, after October 7; and what it means to be politically homeless, after October 7.

And, we talked about her spoken-word piece, "Bad Jew."

What do Batman and Superman have to do with Jewish identity?

Other than the fact that their creators were Jews: Batman by Bob Kane, and Superman by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster?

It is more than that. It is about having multiple identities.

About a decade ago, I interviewed for a rabbinical position. A past president of the synagogue asked: "Rabbi, are you a Jew first, or an American?”

This was my answer.

"With all due respect: If that question could wear clothing, it would be a Nehru jacket. It seems so out of fashion right now. I live my life fully, both as an American and as a Jew. And I suspect that most American Jews would say the same thing. They feel no tension between their American identities, and their Jewish identities."

The (admittedly edgy) answer must have satisfied him. He nodded; I got the job; we became good friends.

But, what was this gentleman really asking me? 

He was resurrecting a classic Jewish accusation -- that Jews have dual loyalty -- to their Jewish identity, and to the places that they live. It is a suspicion as old as Pharaoh in the book of Exodus.

And, what was I doing? I was playfully suggesting that you can have both identities -- often, simultaneously.

It is not only possible to have dual loyalties. It is necessary. That is the subject of our podcast interview with Rabbi Nolan Lebovitz. He is the senior rabbi of Valley Beth Shalom, in Encino, California – one of the most prominent synagogues in America. His new book: "The Case for Dual Loyalty: Healing the Divided Soul of American Jews."

"If God lived in our neighborhood, we'd throw stones through His [sic] windows."

I do not know who originally said that, though I think that the original was in Yiddish.

But, it's true.

And, if you were to ask me whether Jewish worship has a "design flaw," I would say that this is it: almost nowhere in our services do we get to yell at God, and to protest God's actions and in-actions.

We want our worship experiences to be uplifting and inspirational. But, we are missing out on the emotional richness and depth of the religious experience. Yes – joy, gratitude, uplift. But, anger and questioning are part of any healthy relationship. Where is that in our prayer experience?

This is a crying shame -- and I emphasize "crying."

Because crying out at God, and yelling at God, and protesting God is a distinctive part of Judaism and Jewish texts. It goes back to Abraham, who protested God's planned destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah; Moses, who protested God's threatened destruction of the Israelites at the incident of the Golden Calf; Job, who demanded justice from God; the author of the Psalms, who has a lot to say about God's actions and silence -- all the way to Tevye ("I know we are your chosen people. But, once in a while, can't You choose someone else?") to Elie Wiesel....

In fact, that is the original meaning of the term "chutzpah." It means audacity -- against, and with, God.

This is the essential, sacred lesson of a new, spectacular book by Menachem Rosensaft -- "Burning Psalms: Confronting Adonai after Auschwitz.” Menachem is an attorney in New York; the founding chairman of the International Network of Children of Jewish Holocaust Survivors, and most notably, had been active in the early stages of the Israeli-Palestinian peace process.

Remember the 10th commandment?

"Thou shalt not covet"?

This past week, many preachers violated that commandment.

They were coveting the sermon Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde delivered at the National Cathedral during a service the day after President Donald Trump's inauguration, in which she pleaded with Trump to show mercy to the most vulnerable among us.

(Speaking Jewish right now: If I had been blessed with the opportunity to address the president, I would not have used the word "mercy." I would have asked him to show compassion and to do justice. But that's me).

Many of my colleagues and friends have been debating: Was the bishop appropriate? Was her sermon in good taste? Did she publicly shame and humiliate the president?

I have been struggling with all that as well, and now I think she was totally spot on. And not only because I agreed with her.

Sure, she made President Trump a little uncomfortable. 

Deal with it, Mr. President. That's often what sermons are about. As my colleague and friend Rabbi Rick Jacobs notes: "The job of a religious leader is not to tell those in the pews — whether the usual parishioners or their country’s leaders — what they want to hear. Rather, the job requires clergy to speak the truth of their tradition as they understand it."

Or, put differently, sometimes it is the goal of a sermon to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. To "shake and stir" them.

You want to feel all good and comfortable? Go to a spa.