Mr. Jonathan Sacks

I know I don’t usually judge people, at least not in public, but let’s make an exception here. A loud, flaming exception. Honestly, everyone who knows me is probably shocked this guy didn’t make my hit list sooner. There once lived a man named Jonathan Sacks. People more “proper” than myself like to string together a dozen British honorifics when referencing him: Rabbi Lord Sir Professor Chief Philosopher Baron Sacks, zatzal, OBM, OMFG. Yeah, no. I’m calling him what he deserves: Mr. Sacks. And even that’s being generous.

Let’s break it down. The man was called “Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth” which sounds like something out of The Crown fan fiction. “Chief Rabbi”? Of whom? Of what? The British Jewish community is about as Orthodox as a Unitarian book club. His flock was composed of bar mitzvah-optional atheists with bagel preferences, and Sacks’s primary function was to reassure them that being Jewish meant whatever they wanted it to mean, as long as it made them feel nice inside. He wasn’t leading a kehillah, he was babysitting a dying sociology experiment.

He earned more honorifics from the British state than mitzvos from Shamayim. For what? For inventing a vegan version of Judaism? For making Torah safe for BBC consumption? For neutering Jewish theology until it could be comfortably printed in The Guardian?

Mr. Sacks was not only not Orthodox, he wouldn't have passed for Conservative on a good day. He didn’t believe in Hashem. He believed in Cambridge. He believed in Oxford. He believed in saying the word ethics enough times that everyone forgot there’s a G-d who gives actual commandments. The man’s theology was less Rambam, more Brene Brown.

I had the misfortune of hearing him speak in person once. He spent an hour on stage softly mumbling out a string of vaguely spiritual-sounding TED Talk phrases that added up to a spiritual flatline. Not a single word of Torah. Not a single clear stance. Just platitudes floating through the air like a fart in a cathedral. If you’re going to speak, say something worth hearing. If not, sit down and stop wasting people’s time.

And now I know some of you are clutching your pearls. “How can you speak ill of the dead?” Trust me, I wouldn’t, if he’d ever stop speaking to us from beyond the grave. But he won’t. He left us with an arsenal of pre-written divrei Torah so that he could keep spoon-feeding us vague heresy from wherever non-believing atheists are sent after they die. His ghost haunts the YouTube recommendations of every daas-less shul that still thinks quoting Ethics of Responsibility counts as delivering Torah.

Let’s dive into the content of his kefirah. Here’s Mr. Sacks in one of his books:
“God has spoken to mankind in many languages: through Judaism to Jews, Christianity to Christians, Islam to Muslims.”
No, Johnny. God spoke at Sinai. Once. In fire. With thunder. To us. Period. He didn’t send Jesus to the Christians or Muhammad to the Muslims. He gave them nothing. You don’t get to rewrite monotheism so it can be featured in a Guardian op-ed. Torah is not a buffet line for civilizations. We have a monopoly on spiritual truth because the Owner of spiritual truth chose us, told us so, and wrote it down in black and white.

That statement alone would be enough to earn him a permanent plaque in the Wicked Son Hall of Fame. He’s literally saying, “Why do you guys do all these rituals?” Not us, you guys. He stood outside the faith, clutching his honorary degrees like golden calves, while trying to turn Judaism into a faith that could pass peer review in a theology journal.

When the Torah said Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad, Sacks heard, "We all worship something, and that’s what matters." He was the first Chief Rabbi in history to openly declare that Judaism is not uniquely true, but just one flavor in God's spiritual sampler pack. Which, ironically, makes him precisely the kind of son the Haggadah instructs you to knock the teeth out of.

And in case you thought that line was a fluke, this was his core theology. In The Dignity of Difference, he wrote that the Tower of Babel wasn’t a punishment, but a model for global multiculturalism. According to Sacks, God didn't scatter humanity to thwart arrogance. He just wanted to throw a diversity party. His takeaway from Genesis wasn’t “fear Hashem.” It was “celebrate your uniqueness.” Torah was no longer a binding covenant. It was a Color Run.

Here’s another gem from an interview he gave, reminiscing about an argument with his father after the Six-Day War:
“I was convinced that Israel had to give back all the land for the sake of peace.”
Classic lib brain. The IDF had just pulled off the most miraculous victory in modern Jewish history, and Sacks’s first instinct was to hand it all back because his real rebbe was his fellow Brit, Neville Chamberlain. Meanwhile, his father, who apparently had a functional relationship with reality, disagreed. So Sacks writes:
“My father, bless him, was convinced that Israel's neighbors would never make peace.”
Turns out dad was right. Turns out generational intelligence isn’t hereditary.

But he wasn’t done embarrassing himself. In another interview, Sacks lamented about Israel's conduct:
“There are things that happen on a daily basis which make me feel very uncomfortable as a Jew.”
Well thank you, Mr. Sacks, for bravely admitting that Jewish survival makes you squirm. Wearing a kippah in public? Too Jewish. Jewish soldiers defending themselves? Oy, the optics. The truth is that if Jonathan Sacks had lived in 1939, he’d have stayed behind in England to write apologetics explaining why the SS uniforms were “deeply misunderstood expressions of national identity.”

And this is the same man who, when asked point-blank whether he’d meet with a Taliban-sympathizing imam like Abu Hamza, replied, “Yes.” Because of course he would. Sacks wouldn’t be caught dead quoting Meir Kahane, but would gladly dialogue with jihadists if it meant proving to the British press that he could “speak across difference.” The man would have hosted Osama bin Laden for brunch had he thought it would win him another Templeton Prize.

He longed for a Judaism that would never offend.
Never disturb. Never raise its voice. He didn’t want Jews to be safe, he wanted us to be liked. His ideal Jewish future was one where we were all warmly welcomed into interfaith panels discussing why belief is optional, Zionism is cringe, and the real mitzvah is voting Labour.

And where did this mensch publish his theological brain droppings? The Guardian.
A leftist rag known for excusing antisemitism if it’s wrapped in sufficient progressive buzzwords. Sacks fit right in. In one piece, he reimagined the Torah’s commandment to “Love the stranger” as a moral obligation to welcome unlimited third-world immigration, even from groups openly hostile to Jews. Real rabbis, those who still believe Rashi is more authoritative than the Financial Times, know that the "ger" here refers to a convert. You know, someone who has joined the Jewish people. But Sacks preferred to pretend that every illegal migrant from Libya was part of Avraham's tent.

Because G-d forbid he quote Rashi. That might offend the immigration editor at The Guardian. Far better to cut and paste Torah into some multiculturalist fever dream.

This was always his trick. Say something vaguely universal, wrap it in a parable, and watch as both the left and right project their own fantasies onto it. His entire career was built on saying nothing with just enough finesse that people imagined he was saying something deep. Leftists thought he was secretly one of them. Religious centrists thought he was preserving mesorah. In reality, Sacks stood for one thing: being liked by everyone and believed by no one.

Jonathan Sacks didn’t fear God. He feared the Evening Standard. He didn’t love Torah. He loved applause. And worst of all, he made it look Orthodox. He repackaged leftist morality as ancient wisdom, then slapped his inverted hechsher on it and sold it to Anglo Jewry like a snake oil salesman in rabbinic robes.

His legacy is a Judaism that’s afraid to be Jewish.
A religion reduced to moral metaphors.
A community taught to value the esteem of the nations more than kiddush Hashem.

And the only thing more offensive than what he said in life is the fact that people are still quoting him now that he’s dead.

Stop quoting him. Stop venerating him. Stop confusing PR with piety.
And maybe, just maybe, start learning some actual Torah.