To Leon Morris, what the non-Orthodox denominations of Judaism need more than anything is a cultivation of the sort of capacity for “deep commitments” that has been lost in an age of individualism. He writes:

While we liberal Jews may remain unable and rightfully unwilling to submit to the claims of classic or traditional religious authority, I believe we must nonetheless embrace notions of obligation and duty, and hold them dear alongside the much more frequently touted value of personal choice. The time has come to use our freedom to choose to feel commanded.

In our affluent capitalist culture, choices proliferate in every area of life. Such choices—from where we live, to what car we drive, to how we spend our free time—provide us with meaning and self-definition. But in our religious lives, having endless options at our disposal is a mixed blessing. Flexibility and accommodation, qualities that exemplify liberal religion, can also become a refusal to surrender. The proliferation of Passover seders held on the most convenient day in April rather than on the holiday’s first night, whenever it might fall in our work and social lives, is a well-documented example of this trend.

Morris finds, through a careful reading of talmudic sources, a firm basis for the sort of religiosity he advocates. Take, for instance, an ancient midrash on the verse in Exodus that describes the Ten Commandments as engraved (ḥarut) on the stone tablets given to Moses:

By playing with the vowels to change the Hebrew word ḥarut into ḥerut [freedom], that which at first appears as the polar opposite of freedom—the binding law engraved on the tablets—is seen anew as the basis of freedom. Commandment and freedom are not polarities. Rather, freedom expresses itself most fully through the opportunity to hear and live commandments.

Addressing a recent meeting of the Palestine Liberation Organization’s Central Committee, Mahmoud Abbas criticized Hamas more sharply than he has previously (at least in public), calling them “sons of dogs.” The eighty-nine-year-old Palestinian Authority president urged the terrorist group to “stop the war of extermination in Gaza” and “hand over the American hostages.” The editors of the New York Sun comment:

Mr. Abbas has long been at odds with Hamas, which violently ousted his Fatah party from Gaza in 2007. The tone of today’s outburst, though, is new. Comparing rivals to canines, which Arabs consider dirty, is startling. Its motivation, though, was unrelated to the plight of the 59 remaining hostages, including 23 living ones. Instead, it was an attempt to use an opportune moment for reviving Abbas’s receding clout.

[W]hile Hamas’s popularity among Palestinians soared after its orgy of killing on October 7, 2023, it is now sinking. The terrorists are hoarding Gaza aid caches that Israel declines to replenish. As the war drags on, anti-Hamas protests rage across the Strip. Polls show that Hamas’s previously elevated support among West Bank Arabs is also down. Striking the iron while it’s hot, Abbas apparently longs to retake center stage. Can he?

Diminishing support for Hamas is yet to match the contempt Arabs feel toward Abbas himself. Hamas considers him irrelevant for what it calls “the resistance.”

[Meanwhile], Abbas is yet to condemn Hamas’s October 7 massacre. His recent announcement of ending alms for terror is a ruse.

Abbas, it’s worth noting, hasn’t saved all his epithets for Hamas. He also twice said of the Americans, “may their fathers be cursed.” Of course, after a long career of anti-Semitic incitement, Abbas can’t be expected to have a moral awakening. Nor is there much incentive for him to fake one. But, like the protests in Gaza, Abbas’s recent diatribe is a sign that Hamas is perceived as weak and that its stock is sinking.