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There is an old expression that says anyone to the right of oneself on religious issues is a fanatic and anyone to the left is a heretic. Anyone who agrees with you can be safely termed a moderate.

No people has ever illustrated this as well as the Jews.

Having grown up in a one-synagogue town, my earliest introduction to Jewish pluralism was in the small Franklin Square (N.Y.) Jewish Center. In its heyday in the 1960s this small Long Island synagogue maxed out at approximately 100 families. Since there were no other choices in town, just about everybody who was Jewish in our area belonged to this Conservative synagogue.

Even among the tiny Jewish population of Franklin Square, there was religious diversity. I can recall several members of our congregation who were, by any reasonable definition, Orthodox in their lifestyles and praying styles. At the other end of the spectrum, there were quite a few conspicuous adherents of liberal Judaism, some of whom liked to park their cars in front of the synagogue on Shabbat. In the middle were most of the rest of us, convinced that the more observant congregants were a bit over the top and suitably shocked whenever any of the less observant flaunted their disdain for ritual.

Yet I don't recall much arguing about religious issues in our shul. Our little synagogue was all that we had, and the idea of tearing it apart over theological disputes seemed absurd, if not dangerous. Instead, the Jews of Franklin Square devoted most of their energies to the time-honored non-denominational tradition of plotting against the rabbi and his wife and gossiping about their neighbors.

For all of its provincial nature and uninspiring edifice, our congregation seemed to sense the importance of Jewish unity. Whatever our differences, they paled in comparison to the isolation one felt when practicing Judaism in a largely non-Jewish environment.

Perhaps we didn't feel safe enough to quarrel among ourselves about truly divisive issues. That feeling of insecurity was not a good thing, but looking back, I see the brighter side. It's too bad that so much of American Jewry feels sufficiently safe to spend much of their efforts bashing each other.

Case in point is the latest news that a small, fringe organization of Orthodox rabbis — the Union of Orthodox Rabbis of the United States and Canada — is declaring that the Conservative and Reform movements "are not Judaism," though their adherents may be Jews.

As far as most Conservative and Reform Jews are concerned, that is a distinction without a difference. The criticism that has been heaped upon the rabbis behind this declaration has been intense. And they deserve every bit of it.

Meanwhile, it might be worthwhile to invest some time thinking seriously about why the divisions between us are getting wider.

The reason for the current controversy stems from Israeli politics. Israeli religious parties are flexing their muscles and seeking to delegitimize the tiny beachheads of Reform and Conservatism there.

In America — the stronghold of Reform and Conservatism — Jews fume at the chutzpah of the Israeli Orthodox, while most Israeli Jews, for whom Reform and Conservatism are at best unknown and at worst irrelevant, are uninterested. The problem here is that for all of our "we are one" rhetoric, American and Israeli Jews don't speak the same language about religion.

The answers are not simple. As a Conservative Jew, I favor Jewish pluralism. But I also know that imposing our American concepts of culture on Israel is impossible.

The focus for non-Orthodox movements needs to be on building support in Israel, not America. Of course, there are unfair obstacles that are placed in their way in Israel which need to be removed. Yet, the need for greater outreach in Israel — where many poor Sephardi Jews know what Shas can do for them but have never heard of Masorti or Reform — has to be their priority.

Until Israeli Jews are prepared to take to the streets to defend the rights of non-Orthodox rabbis in the way they do when Jerusalem streets are closed by the Orthodox for the Sabbath, this debate will remain a diaspora phenomenon.

We also need to remember that schisms are nothing new in Jewish history. The most famous and most dangerous is the one brought about by the Karaites, a Jewish sect which began in the 9th century C.E. and enjoyed a brief period of popularity. They rejected the Oral Law and the authority of the Talmud and the rabbis for a literalist understanding of the Torah. The controversy between the adherents of Rabbinic Judaism and the Karaites ultimately led to the two groups considering themselves entirely different religions.

This shows what happens when Jews let differences escalate. Clearly, the Reform decision to accept the children of Jewish fathers and non-Jewish mothers — something Orthodoxy and Conservatism reject — has laid the groundwork for future conflict.

Yet, the problems of Jewish continuity in this country as well as in Israel ought to convince Jews of every stripe that there is no alternative to working together. One of the most important precepts of Judaism — of every variety — is that of ahavat Yisrael: love of one's fellow Jews. But you can only practice it when you resolve to stay in contact with your fellow Jews.

In many communities, such as the one I live in now, the rabbis of all denominations actually talk to each other. Though they cannot agree on such difficult issues as kashrut, they have been able to work together to keep the community largely free from denominational strife.

In the coming decades, our resources — and our numbers — will not be great enough to allow the movements to conflict without paying a terrible price.

That's why it is imperative that rabbis and ordinary Jews of all denominations spend more time worrying about uniting, not dividing.