We are Israel: Spiritual and Moral Wrestlers - Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon 5786

 

Long ago,[i] a man named Jacob worried about an impending attack.  An ancient enemy headed his way alongside 400 armed men.  Jacob first sent his family to safety across the Jabbok River.  As he gathered his final possessions, ready to cross the river himself, he ran out of time.  Darkness fell.  Jacob found himself alone, all by himself, when a stranger appeared.  That stranger and Jacob wrestled throughout the night.  As dawn approached, the stranger pleaded with Jacob to let him go.  He replied, “I will not let you go until you bless me.”  The stranger answered, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, for you have wrestled with beings divine and human and have prevailed.”[ii]

Jacob is our namesake.  We are called Israel, for we Jews wrestle with the divine, with fellow human beings, and with ourselves.  As Rabbi Shai Held teaches, “To wrestle with God’s word is to ask ourselves – even and especially when it is uncomfortable – what it is that God asks of us in the present moment.”[iii]  Over the course of these High Holy Days, I seek to answer the question, “How do I be a Jew in this moment?”  Last night, I spoke about being in community.  My answer this morning: “to be a Jew is one who wrestles.” 

One person who helped me with my personal wrestling is the author, Joshua Leifer.  This summer, I read his book, “Tablets Shattered: The End of an American Jewish Century and the Future of Jewish Life.”   Leifer believes that American Jews are living in what he calls the diasporic double bind.  This means whether we like it or not, we are inescapability connected to Israel.  Leifer writes, “As long as the state of Israel exists, American Jews will find themselves pulled within its orbit.”[iv] 

He proves this point through sheer demographics.  Today, Israel is home to 7 million Jews, while 6 million live in America. By 2050, there will only be 5 million Jews in the US with over 8 million in Israel. For the first time in over 2 millennia, a majority of Jews will live in a sovereign Jewish state.  Israel has already begun to displace the United States as the focal point of World Jewry.[v]  As the war in Gaza continues, whether we like it or not, we are pulled into the orbit of Israel.

Our ancient rabbis were fascinated by Jacob’s wrestling.  They spent countless hours debating the identity of that nighttime stranger.  Did Jacob wrestle an angel?  God?  His brother Esau?  Or was it someone else?  Beresheit Rabbah,[vi] the great commentary on Genesis, teaches: “the stranger appeared to Jacob in the image of a shepherd. The stranger had sheep, just like Jacob had sheep. The stranger had camels, just like Jacob had camels. The stranger said to Jacob, ‘I’ll pass over the river, just like you will pass over the river.’”  Who was this stranger, so similar to Jacob?  It was Jacob wrestling himself.

Like Jacob, we Jews wrestle with ourselves.  As Jacob fought with himself, so to do we, American Jews and Israelis often clash with each other.  Even more difficult is the fact that the relationship between Israel and the diaspora isn’t always reciprocal.  American Jews must struggle with the reality that Israel’s actions impose a burden upon us, but we do not exert the same power over our Israeli brethren.[vii]  So what do we do?

The first option is to walk away.  More and more members of our Jewish community want nothing to do with Israel.  I’m saddened by how many wish to dissolve all ties between their Jewishness and Israel.  I’m challenged by those who see Israel only as a Goliath, as a bully.  Earlier this September, I met with a few members of our congregation who are struggling.  One member even left our synagogue because of our connection to Israel.  All shared that for them a red line had been crossed.  They were done.  The actions of the Israeli government, whether the famine in Gaza, the lack of water and necessities, the indiscriminate bombings, the ongoing occupation, or the lack of perceived effort towards a cease-fire were just too much. They were so troubled by Israel’s actions that they were unsure if they could remain a Jew.

A second option is to believe that Israel can do no wrong.  Throughout our organized Jewish community, too many never question any of Israel’s actions.  Many doubt the media.  They might counter every argument about the events in Gaza with differing facts.  Many believe that Israel can do any action it pleases regardless of the consequences to innocent Palestinians.  I’m saddened that when a famine occurs in Sudan or a bombing occurs to civilians in Ukraine, we speak up.  But, when innocent Palestinians are hurting and hungry, many in our Jewish community say not a word.

There is a third option to navigate this moment: denial.  Many of us do our best to ignore what is happening in Gaza and in Israel.  We might refrain from watching the news.  We scan the headlines, but don’t learn the details of what is going on.  We pretend that what’s happening across the world has no bearing on our lives.  Denial can go both ways.  We can deny that Israel is doing anything right.  We can also deny that Israel is doing anything wrong.  We can deny Hamas’ role in this war.  We can also deny that Israel has at times acted unjustly.  I think most of us are in denial because the situation is just too complex.  It’s much easier to put our heads in the sand and to deny that anything is wrong.

Sometimes we chose one of these options and sometimes we take a little bit of this and a little bit of that.  Honestly, I believe all of these options are missing something important: wrestling.  We aren’t wrestling! 

A few weeks ago, I hosted 12 local rabbis at Bolton Street Synagogue who sat down with Shira Ben Sasson Furstenberg, the Associate Director of the New Israel Fund.  Since 1979, the New Israel Fund (NIF) has worked to strengthen civil society in Israel: supporting women, LGBTQ people, religious minorities like Reform Judaism, and Palestinians.  As you can imagine, this has been a difficult three years for NIF, from the judicial overhaul, to the immediate needs after October 7^th, to the long Gaza war. 

Shira Ben Sasson Furstenberg shared with us a recent, and shocking, Israeli poll result.  61% of Israelis do not believe there are any innocent Gazans.  61%!  That’s shocking because this includes children, babies, and the elderly.  And yet, at the same time, thousands upon thousands of new Israeli donors have donated to NIF for the sole purpose of providing food to hungry Gazans.  NIF has been able to provide three times the number of grants than before October 7^th to help Israelis and Palestinians as well as strengthen Israeli democracy.

Shira shared that what Israel needs right now is healing.  Healing for the Israeli political system, healing for the hostage families, healing for Israeli soldiers fighting in this long war, and healing for all in innocent Gazans in harm’s way.  I heard Shira’s call loud and clear.  If we’re not going to respond by walking away, or believing that Israel can do no wrong, or living in denial, our role as American Jews can help Israel heal.  We can donate to Progressive Zionist organizations, we can speak out in a loud voice at rallies, we can stay informed, and we can wrestle with the complexity of this war.  We can help our Israeli friend and family, and help ourselves be healed.

For we need healing too.  This war is tearing our Jewish community apart.  We are screaming at one another.  The temperature continues to rise with the language of violence permeating our conversations.  We are dividing ourselves into two communities. 

A few years ago, Natan Sharansky and Gil Troy wrote an article in Tablet Magazine in which they call Jews who are avowedly Anti-Zionist, “Un-Jews.” [viii]  As they write, “We call these critics “un-Jews” because they believe the only way to fulfill the Jewish mission of saving the world with Jewish values is to undo the ways most actual Jews do Jewishness. They are not ex-Jews or non-Jews, because many of them are and remain deeply involved Jewishly, despite their harsh dissent.”

This division between “Jews” and “Un-Jews” is not new.  In the Babylonian Talmud,[ix] our rabbis over fifteen-hundred years ago, called those Jews who were outside their circle Amei Haaretz which we often translate as the uneducated.  The rabbis saw Amei Haaretz as a threat because they observed Judaism and ritual practices differently than they did.  The rabbis were so worried about Amei Haaretz that they forbid one another to eat at the same table, to live in the same neighborhood, to marry one another, and even justified violence against them.  Coexistence was not possible.[x] 

Deborah Barer, at the Shalom Hartman Institute, connects this ancient struggle to our modern moment: “We have been operating from a sense of threat...  We have closed ranks in order to protect that which we hold most dear, and in doing so, we have framed a conversation as a dispute between us and them, between the “Jews” and the “un-Jews,” rather than as an exploration of what is and what should be, of what is possible and how to build it.”[xi]

This is such a difficult time.  It’s often much easier to divide ourselves into our different camps instead of wrestling with what is and what should be.  It seems simpler to spout out our own facts, terms, or opinions, instead of discussing together what is possible and how to build it.  For Israel is in an existential crisis.  Missiles reign down on its cities, and we’re still waiting for the hostages to come home.  And at the same time, thousands of innocent children and the elderly have been killed by Israel’s bombs, while too many Gazans are starving.  Our dream of vibrant home for the Jewish people living peacefully with her neighbors seems so far away.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches: “[The] path chosen by [Jacob] is not for the fainthearted… It is not easy to face our fears and wrestle with them, refusing to let go until we have turned them into renewed strength and blessing.”[xii]  If we believe Israel is always in the wrong, we aren’t wrestling.  If we believe that Israel is always in the right, we aren’t wrestling.  If we can’t respect and hear differing opinions, we aren’t wrestling.

We are called Israel.  It’s the name of our people and it’s the name of our land.  We are not the ones who walk away.  We are not the ones who forego our ethical responsibilities.  We are not the ones who deny what is happening.  We are the ones who wrestle.  Wrestling is not easy.  Jacob was wounded in that nighttime attack and forever after he walked with a limp.  Our wrestling is not for the fainthearted and there might be wounds.  But wrestling is what we do. We are the ones who wrestle with ideas. We are the ones who wrestle with each other.  We are the ones wrestle with ourselves.  For we are Israel: the Ones who wrestle.  Amen.

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[i] Genesis 32:24-33

[ii] Genesis 32:29

[iii] Rabbi Shai Held, “Judaism is About Love,” p. 191

[iv] “Tablets Shattered: The End of an American Jewish Century and the Future of Jewish Life,” by Joshua Leifer, p. 209

[v] “Tablets Shattered,” p. 210 - 219

[vi] Beresheit Rabbah 77:2

[vii] “Tablets Shattered,” p. 210

[viii] https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/news/articles/the-un-jews-natan-sharansky

[ix] “When Community Becomes a Zero-Sum Game: Lessons from a Troubling Talmudic Text” by Deborah Barer, in Sources: A Journal of Jewish Ideas: Summer 2025, p. 85-88

[x] “When Community Becomes a Zero-Sum Game…,” p. 87

[xi] “When Community Becomes a Zero-Sum Game…,” p. 91

[xii] Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, “Covenant and Conversation, Genesis: The Book of Beginnings,” p. 241

When does the night end? - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5786

 

Some of us are night owls – we like to stay up way too late!  Some of us are early risers – we wake up way too early!  And some of us are both – worrying about the state of world - we don’t seem to sleep at all! 

Long ago,[i] there was a Beit Midrash – a House of Study, far from here.  The students of that Beit Midrash loved Torah so much, that they never went to sleep.  They studied throughout the night until the early morning hours. 

Just as the sun would rise, they would gather together to recite their morning prayers.  The students were tired after their nightly studies.  They wished to recite their prayers as soon as the day began, so that they could go to bed.  There was only one problem!  The students weren’t sure when the night officially ended, and the day began.  Don’t forget this was a long time ago.  Our zealous students didn’t possess Apple Watches, iPhones, or even old school digital clocks.  They were truly perplexed.  They had no good answer.  So, they approached their beloved rabbi. 

“Rabbi,” they asked.  “When does the night end and the day begin?”

The esteemed rabbi, as do all good teachers, turned the question back to the students!   “Great question!  Go outside during the darkest hours of the night and pay very close attention to changes in our world.  Come back to me with your answer.

Early the next morning, the Know-it-All arrived first before anyone else had gathered. “Rabbi, I was wandering amongst our village when I saw a house in the distance.  When I recognized that it was indeed my house and not the house of my neighbor, that was when the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi turned towards the student and with shake of the head, said: “No Bubele, that is not quite right.”

A second, very studious student approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as it was getting lighter outside, I wandered near my farm, when I saw an animal in the distance.  When I could see whether it was a sheep, a horse, or a cow, that is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

The rabbi gave a forced smile and with a slight look of sadness, said, “No Motek, that is not quite right.”

The rabbi’s youngest student, one who loved being outside timidly approached their teacher.  “Rabbi, as I wandered amongst the beautiful flowers, I began to make out all the vibrant colors: the reds, the blues, and the yellows.  I believe this is the moment that the night ends and the day begins.”

As tears streamed down the rabbi’s face, the rabbi said, “No Habibi, that is not quite right.”

Student after student shared their answer with the rabbi… the rabbi became sadder and sadder.  Finally, the rabbi turned towards all the students and became visibility angry.  “Beloved Ones, you don’t understand!  You divide your home from your neighbor’s home; one animal from another; one color from all the others.  Our world is already filled with too much division and separation.  Do you need to divide us even further?  Isn’t our world broken enough?  Is that what Judaism is about?”

The students turned to look towards their rabbi.  Then rabbi, please, tell us the answer!  “How do we know when the night ends and the day begins?”

The rabbi gently looked at each of the students.  “The answer is simple.  When you look into the face of the stranger beside you, one who is so different from you, and you realize that this person is your brother, your sister, your beloved sibling, then and only then has the day begun.  Until that time comes, it will always be night.”

It is so wonderful to gather with you all in our beautiful meadow as we welcome the New Year 5786!  As always, we pray that this New Year will be a time of health, happiness, joy, and peace for us all.  Yet, even amongst these hopes and dreams, a feeling of darkness, sadness, fear, and trepidation seemingly permeate our lives and our world.  On this New Year, may the shofar awaken us, and our world, from our slumber.

You know, as do I, that our society is more fragmented from one another than ever before.  We divide ourselves into different camps: “us” and “them.”  Even scarier, in 2025, we are more separated from human contact than ever before.   Study upon study has shown that because of technology, social media, new work environments, and the comforts of home, we are isolating ourselves from one another.  We are lonelier and more unhappy.  We seemingly lack the tools on how best to build strong and deep relationships. 

Over the course of these High Holy Days, I seek to answer the same question in different ways: “How do I be a Jew in this moment?”  My answer tonight: “to be a Jew is to be in community.”  Our esteemed rabbi shared a poignant, yet simple lesson.  The dark night will only end when we are in one another’s presence and recognize in each other, our humanity.

Luckily, our Jewish tradition provides us with the tools to make that a reality.  As Dr. Erica Brown teaches, “The biblical expression “panim el panim,” face-to-face, is used in the Hebrew Bible multiple times to suggest the highest level of intimacy in communication.”[ii]  Ancestors like Jacob and Esther, prophets like Moses, Miriam, and Ezekiel, turn towards the Holy One and one another, during challenging times.  These face-to-face encounters strengthen our relationships.[iii]  Jacob, seeing his brother for the first time in decades, shares in awe, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God”[iv]  Panim el Panim, face to face encounters, remind us of our deep connection to humanity, divinity, and morality.

Over the last few decades, the third spaces, the places outside of home and work, where we gather have been decimated. As Robert Putnam has taught us: very few of us these days are part of a bowling league, attend regular civic meetings, or make sure to be present at a movie’s opening night.  And yet, you are here!  I want to lift up that you put life on hold, perhaps even had a little bit of stress getting everything and everyone together, to be here.  This evening, you’ll meet old and new friends, you’ll eat, pray, study Torah, and build community. 

More than ever, we need strong and vibrant communities.  We know that the best way to combat loneliness and isolation is to be together face to face.  And I believe, that one of the most important mitzvot, commandments in our Jewish tradition is Kedoshim Tehiyu, “You Shall Be Holy,”[v] for our rabbis teach that to live a holy and sacred life, we must be together in community.[vi]  Whether at Bolton Street Synagogue, your community pool, your neighborhood, your school, or your community gatherings, we Jews must do our part to strengthen community.  That only happens when we leave our homes, when we gather in person, when we see each other panim el panim, face-to-face.  We also must do our part to visit those that are homebound, who are sick, who can’t be with us in person, to make sure they see a smiling face.  

But what happens when we lose sight of each other’s faces?  In the Torah, we learn of a phrase called Hester Panim[vii] – when God’s face is hidden from view.  The theologian Martin Buber adapted this idea in his masterpiece “The Eclipse of God.”  As Buber writes: “When history appears to be empty of God, … it is difficult for an individual and even more, for a people, to understand themselves as addressed by God. … During such times the world seems to be irretrievably abandoned to the forces of tyranny.”[viii]

Now, I know that many of us grapple with our beliefs around God and divinity.  That’s ok!  What I ask is that you interpret Buber through his words of warning.  Buber was writing after the horrors of the Holocaust, but his ideas are unfortunately very timely.

At this moment, we watch the rise of authoritarianism, tyranny, and violence in our own country and throughout the world.  When we hear politicians and leaders speak about fellow members of society as pests or animals, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When ICE agents hide their faces with masks, leading to a lack of accountability or anonymity, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.  When online bloggers disguise their true identities, when we aren’t sure if it’s a person, a BOT, or AI, that is Hester Panim – our faces being hidden from one another.

 It is precisely at these moments that Martin Buber called an eclipse, when we lose sight of each other’s humanity.  We know what happens when the stranger, the outlier, or the minority is no longer seen as a human being.  Our Jewish history serves as a stark reminder that when society is unable or unwilling to see one another’s faces, we let the forces of tyranny win.

So what must we do?  How can we lift-up one another’s humanity?  Rabbi Rami Shapiro teaches, “Whenever you see another… you can recite this line to yourself: ‘I see this face as an expression of God’s Face.’”  Perhaps you will change the wording of this prayer.  I urge you to make your own.  But think of the impact!  Each time we look into the face of another, we see their humanity and divinity.  Multiple times a day, we can do our part, to bring a bit of light into the dark night surrounding us.[ix]

There is so much danger when we are hidden from one another, so let’s take off our masks and open our hearts.  This New Year, let us truly see each other and do our best to be seen. This New Year, let us hold one another accountable, including our government, for their misdeeds.    This New Year, let us recognize that the stranger, the immigrant, those who look, act, speak, or love differently from us are our brothers, our sisters, our beloved siblings.  This New Year, let us prioritize our time, to be in community, gathering panim el panim, face-to-face, to end this dark night and bring on the morning light.  

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[i] An old Chasidic story.  This version is based upon “Day and Night” by Rabbi Ed Feinstein, found in “Capturing the Moon” p. 54

[ii] Erica Brown, “Seeing Ruth’s Face” – May 27, 2020 - https://ejewishphilanthropy.com/seeing-ruths-face/

[iii] Genesis 32:31, Exodus 33:11, Deuteronomy 34:10, Ezekiel 20:35

[iv] Genesis 33:10

[v] Leviticus 19:1

[vi] Me’or VaShemesh-Parashat Kedoshim, R. Kalonymos Kalman Epstein

[vii] Deuteronomy 31:18; Babylonian Talmud, Hullin 139b

[viii] Martin Buber, “Eclipse of God” – Chapter 16

[ix] Rabbi Rami Shapiro, “Seeing the Face of God” – September 3, 2022 - https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/seeing-the-face-of-god/

Letting Go of Hate - Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5785

 

One of the highlights of this past summer was spending time with my oldest friend.  He’s a proud Jew who cares deeply about Judaism and Israel.  We’ve had lots of debates over the years!  We don’t always agree on every issue, but our discussions always feel important.  We were in the midst of an intense conversation about the current crisis in Israel, when a woman wearing a headscarf walked by.  She looked to be Muslim.  My friend turned to me and asked, “Do you think she hates us because we are Jews?”  I was surprised.  “No, of course not.”  He looked at me.  “I’m sorry, but I do.”

My friend is a compassionate and kind person who cares deeply about the world.  But, at that moment there was fear and perhaps a bit of anger.  She had said nothing and did nothing to us.  My friend didn’t know her story or her opinions, and yet, in his heart, he believed she hated us because we are Jews.  I silently asked myself: If we believe others hate us, does that mean we hate them too?

Unfortunately, this isn’t a new problem.  Throughout Jewish history, there have been many moments filled with fear of the other.  One surprising story is that of Elijah, the prophet.  You know Elijah!  We open the door for him at each Passover and provide a seat of honor when we welcome every baby into our community.  He represents… but wasn’t always such a compassionate figure in Jewish tradition. In the Bible, Elijah possessed a different type of temperament.  He was unpredictable, boiled with rage, and was filled with zeal. 

During the ninth century BCE, Elijah was a prophet of Adonai.  The rulers of Israel, King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, wished to bring a new religion, the worship of the idol Baal to the people.  Queen Jezebel persecuted the prophets of Adonai and murdered many in cold blood.  Elijah decided to act.  He brought the priests of Baal together for an old-fashioned showdown.[i]  Each side would ask their God to accept a sacrificial offering.  The prophets of Baal prayed their hardest, but nothing happened.  When it was Elijah’s turn, a fire came from the heavens and accepted his offering.

That’s all fine and good.  It’s what happens afterwards that is surprising and deeply troubling.  Elijah tells the Israelite people: “’Seize the prophets of Baal, let not even one of them get away.’  They seized them, and Elijah took them down to the Wadi Kishon and slaughtered [the 450 prophets] there.” 

Elijah flees and hides out in a cave.[ii]  Adonai appears and asks him: “Why are you here Elijah?”  He responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  God tells him to stand on a mountaintop.  A great and mighty wind passes, but God was not in the wind.  An earthquake occurs, but God was not in the earthquake.  A fire appears, but God was not in the fire.  Finally, God appears in a soft murmuring sound.  God whispers, “Why are you here Elijah?”  Again, he responds, “I am moved by zeal for Adonai.”  And then… God fires him.  Literally, God says: “Go, find your replacement, Elisha the prophet.”  Because Elijah is a whirlwind of anger and vengeance, Adonai believes he’s not fit to be a prophet.

We’re living in a time where many possess a zealousness for their cause.  Hateful rhetoric and vitriolic statements raise the temperature to a boiling rage.  Certain politicians tell lies about Haitian immigrants, a modern blood libel.  Some leaders of the Israeli government unapologetically state their wish for a Greater Israel and the destruction of all Palestinians.  While at the encampments on college campuses, some chant “From the River to the Sea,” which whether knowingly or not, undermine Israel’s right to exist.  I’m worried that this type of rhetoric fans the flames and leads us towards the fiery actions of Elijah.

Judaism has always recognized that vitriol exists.  We can’t rid our world of hateful rhetoric, but we can do our part to keep hate in check.  In the Book of Deuteronomy, we learn: “You shall not abhor an Edomite for such is your kin.  You shall not abhor an Egyptian for you were a stranger in that land.”[iii] 

Too many times in the Torah, we are commanded to attack or destroy our enemies like the Midianites, the Moabites, and the Amalekites.  Why here are we specifically told to “not abhor” an Edomite or an Egyptian?

Our sages[iv] teach that during the time of Joseph, the Egyptians welcomed us with open arms.  While the Edomites were our kinspeople.  Their patriarch Esau was the brother of Jacob.  They’re family.

But you might be thinking - These statements are outrageous!  The Egyptians enslaved us and were our taskmasters for over 400 years; the Edomites our ancient enemies.  The Torah here teaches a valuable and sometimes very difficult lesson.  We can redefine our relationship with our perceived enemies, even our current or past enemies[RS1] .  The Egyptians could be viewed as taskmasters or those who welcome us.  The Edomites could be foe or family.  We too can reframe our  relationship with all those whom we disagree.

Perhaps there is a clue in a second interpretation to this verse: “You must not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian.”  At the heart of Torah is the belief that each one of us is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the divine image.   Each of us is a unique individual who possesses our own beliefs, our own opinions, and our own actions. We are told to not abhor an Edomite or an Egyptian not THE Edomites or THE Egyptians.  We are to see humanity in each person.   

That’s hard in our black and white society.  Too many can’t distinguish between Prime Minister Netanyahu’s policies and the Israelis who protest after each Shabbat at Hostage Square.  Too many can’t differentiate between a Hamas terrorist and a Palestinian civilian. Too many can’t separate a college student who feels passionate about the suffering of Palestinians and one who has bought into antisemitic rhetoric.  I pray that we take a step back and don’t jump to conclusions about a person’s beliefs.   I sincerely believe that the only way to mitigate our feelings of distrust and fear is by breaking down barriers and learning more about who we each are as individuals.

Our great sage, Hillel, takes this a step further, in his most famous statement: “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, the rest commentary.  Now Go and Learn!”[v]  Other religions often downplay Hillel’s interpretation of the Golden Rule and believe that his double negative is pessimistic.  “Where’s the love?” they ask.  We know there can’t always be love.  Not every political position is worthy of empathy.  There are views that are beyond the pale. Too many of us this past year have encountered antisemitism and hateful rhetoric.  We can’t ignore these comments, we must speak out.  But, we can act differently when we encounter malice.  We might want to fight fire with fire.  We might want to stew in anger.  Hillel reminds us that we must not mirror their hate or fan the flames of distrust.   

That’s not always easy.  When we’re hurt or harmed, we often just want to lash out!   Rabbi Sharon Brous in her new book, The Amen Effect,[vi] shares a different approach on how to face hate. A few years ago, a Shock Jock who had an incredible reach became an unapologetic purveyor of racism, misogyny, homophobia, and ableism.  He felt he was permitted to speak freely and share a long list of perceived grievances.  After he published an inflammatory piece targeting transgender people, Rabbi Brous recognized that his rhetoric could lead to harassment, violence, discrimination, and even criminalization of transgender friends and family members.

She reached out and asked for a one-on-one meeting.  When they met in person, she told him that his words broke her heart and endangered the safety of her congregants and people that she loved.  Unfortunately, that meeting didn’t change anything.  His writing still fuels racism and anti-trans hatred today.

Rabbi Sharon Brous summed it up this way: “Even though the meeting was a failure, it didn’t feel like a waste of time.  It was the effort to try and puncture even one layer of the thick residue of hate around his heart.”[vii]

Rabbi Brous could have hated the Shock Jock for his vicious words and actions.  She could have upped the ante, pouring more hate on his hate, enflaming tensions, but she didn’t.  Instead, she did the difficult work of sitting down and talking.  She hoped that by sharing her views, it would change his ugly rhetoric.  It didn’t work that time, but every conversation is a possibility.  Every discussion is a moment of action.  Every meeting can puncture a small residue of hate in their hearts.  That is the power of a conversation because we aren’t screaming into the void.  These days, we do too much screaming and not enough talking. 

By putting herself out there, Rabbi Brous also changed herself.  When we step up for what’s right, when we speak up for our values, when we stand alongside our community and our loved ones, we too change for the better.  We reaffirm who we are and what we believe.  We open our hearts to bring more justice and love into this world.

Long ago, Elijah was unpredictable and boiled with rage.  He boarded a fiery chariot and flew to the very Heavens.  That should have been his end, but our sages gave him a second act.  Over time, in their stories, Elijah learns and grows.[viii]  His zeal for the enemy disappears and transforms into an undying support for the downtrodden.  Elijah appears in every generation.  His greatest miracle is the opening of hearts and the transformation of how people act towards one another.  Each Passover, we welcome him into our homes, not because of his zeal, but because he will herald the coming of the Messianic time.  He reminds us that even when hate and fear are seemingly everywhere, we must not close our hearts from the world.

My friend and I have known each other for a long time.  We’ve had many enriching and challenging discussions and I’m sure there will be many in the future!  Our conversation this summer is still with me.  I hear his worries and his fears, but once again, I answer “No” to his question. I won’t assume that  every person hates us because we are Jews.  And perhaps I’m putting words in his mouth, but, “No, I don’t believe we are justified to hate others, even if they do hate us.” 

I know this is not an easy time to be a Jew.  We are scared and worried.  I believe firmly in my heart that there is a different path than hate or fear.  We have little ability to upend the political leadership in Iran, Gaza, or even in Israel.  We are unable to change every person’s perspective, especially those who harbor antisemitism in their hearts. But we do have the power to focus on our own emotions and our own actions.  We can locate the sliver of humanity in each person.  We can live by Hillel’s maxim “that which is hateful to you do not do to another.”  We can speak up for our values, our community, and never back down.  We can live our days filled not with fear or retribution, but with justice and love. It might be naïve, but I believe this is the only path forward, to make our community safe, and to bring peace to us all.  Amen.

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[i] I Kings 18

[ii] I Kings 19

[iii] Deuteronomy 23:8

[iv] See Rashi and Chizkuni’s commentary on Deuteronomy 23:8

[v] Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a

[vi] The Amen Effect by Sharon Brous, p. 166-168

[vii] The Amen Effect, p. 168

[viii] Becoming Elijah: Prophet of Transformation by Daniel C Matt, pp. 148-151

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