Rabbi's Blog

Yom Kippur - 5785

This morning, let's begin with a story. It's 1932 and there are two elderly Jews in Germany sitting at a cafe reading the morning paper. One is reading the Jewish newspaper. The other is reading the German national newspaper. Upon seeing his friend reading the national paper, he asks, “Why are you reading the German paper? Why aren't you reading our people's paper? The Jewish newspaper!” His friend quickly answers, “Well, in the Jewish newspaper, it constantly speaks of how we are being persecuted in Poland and killed in Russia as well as being hated here in Germany. Yet, when I read the German national newspaper, it says that we control the banks, we control the media, and apparently, we even control the entire world. When I read that, it makes me feel better.”

          This story underlines the reality of early 1930s Europe. Jews were free enough to have a cup of coffee at their local cafe, but they also were surrounded by the realities of antisemitism. They could choose which newspaper they would read at breakfast, while at the same time Jewish rights in Germany were beginning to be chiseled away.

That was in the early 1930s. And yet, throughout this past year, it seemed like, to paraphrase Shakespeare, what was past, was really just prologue. Consider the following true stories, some of which come from our own congregants.

          One of our 20-somethings is walking from her work towards Grand Central Station. She is enjoying the sounds of the streets and the coolness in the air as the breeze blows down the chasm of the avenue. She smiles as she walks because she feels a sense of accomplishment, just as any of us would, being a 20-something working in New York City. And then, she feels a projectile of spit hit her, followed by the words, “Arab killer!” In her shock, embarrassment, and anger, she casually looks down to see her Star of David necklace laying gently just below her neck. The perpetrator takes off, while she is left wondering, “How could this happen in 2024 in New York City?”

          A dad and his eight-year-old son are playing their regular game of catch on the front lawn. Both are enjoying it not because it is for skill development. The 8-year-old’s skills are far beyond that. They are enjoying their game of catch because that's what the two of them do - just get lost in the cadence of catch, aim, throw, catch, aim, throw. Suddenly, a gray pickup truck stops on the road beside their front lawn. The driver stares at the father, while shouting words of hate about Democrats and Jews. Before the truck drives away, the driver sticks his head out the window spitting at the father and son. The father, who has family who experienced the Holocaust, looks at his son and thinks, “Some of my ancestors survived the camps only to have future generations experience this?”

          And what about what has been going on, on the college campuses. From the Ohio State student who was punched in the nose and the Berkeley student who was choked and hospitalized, and the SUNY New Paltz student who was harassed in an elevator in their residence hall. Things are getting so bad on some of our college campuses that some of these campuses have shomrim (guardians). Basically, this is a hotline that Jewish students can call so they don't have to walk to class alone. That way they can feel that they won't be attacked.

          For almost a decade now, we have been talking about how antisemitism has been getting worse and worse and worse. And for many of us, that antisemitism has been something that has been happening “in front of us.” Now, I think we all can admit that the antisemitism is happening “to us.” And this intimacy of antisemitism is not the main thing that has alarmed me this past year. Personally, what has affected me the most is the normalization of the antisemitic attacks. So many seem to feel that it is OK to perform such acts of antisemitism. Further, others do not feel the need to speak out against it.  

I feel that the way we got to this normalization of antisemitism is from the tactics that have been used in other forms of hatred and bigotry. The process starts with dehumanization. This is just a fancy way of saying that people try to legitimize their actions through some shred of bigotry. The more that people spew the antisemitic rhetoric, the more people feel it is OK to act on their biases. This past year, we heard the unoriginals: Jews control the power brokers and they are schemers. Yet added to that, we have been called brutal, bloodthirsty, and killers. That dehumanizes us. And if some people think we are sub-human, then it's OK to spit at us and hurt us. These people think that we deserve it. Dehumanization leads to normalization and the ability to legitimize any act of antisemitism. This is what we've seen this past year. But what can we do about it?

I have 3 action messages for us on this Yom Kippur. First, in response to the current climate of antisemitism, I charge each of us: To speak out! We must not be silent! We must stand against antisemitic slurs and propaganda as well as help people to understand the slippery slope that they may go down. There are choices to be made by all peoples, and we must call their attention to that. Noah Tishby, in her fabulous work on antisemitism and race, beautifully empowers us, teaching:

Six million Jews don’t have to die for us to consider it to be a cataclysmic event or twelve hundred or even one. The insidious lies are the stepping stones. The dominoes. If we don’t put an end to the spread of anti-Jewish hate on the internet; if we don’t put an end to people chanting “From the river to the sea”; if we don’t put an end to people spitting at Jews walking to work; if we don’t put an end to people tearing down posters of children kidnapped by a terrorist organization; if we don’t put an end to people romanticizing another intifada; if we don’t put an end to university presidents allowing the call for our genocide in the name of free speech, it will all happen again.  … [We must not forget,] “The Holocaust happened because of millions of individual choices.”

If we are going to stop the present antisemitism, it must start with us standing up and speaking out.

Yet, standing up and speaking out can be very hard. This leads me to my 2nd action message: Feel pride! All of us must feel proud of our Judaism and our Jewish identities. We must feel proud to be Jewish. We need to feel comfortable wearing our stars and our kippot. Yes, we must be smart. Pride doesn't mean putting it in people's faces. Pride doesn't mean putting ourselves in dangerous spots. No, it means first and foremost, coming and participating in the synagogue, recharging our “Jewish pride” battery. Coming to a Shabbat service where we can wear whatever Jewish symbols we want, can be extremely empowering. Maybe you go to shabbat dinner with friends where you feel proud of your rituals and your culture. Joining us for a study session or kicking back at a cigars and whiskey night allows you to take off your armor, feel comfortable in your Jewish surroundings, and most importantly feel proud to be a Jew. Being Jewish in 5785 should never feel like a stain. Being Jewish means feeling joy and pride. So this year, don't just stand up and speak out, but feel a sense of pride - A pride in being Jewish!

Lastly, as we head out into 5785, responding to the antisemitism that is around us, I want all of us to have hope. After listening to the first part of my sermon, you might all be thinking that a message of hope may seem a little naïve. Perhaps that is because you are confusing optimism with hope. Rabbi Jonathan Sachs explains, “These two concepts, often confused, are in fact utterly different. Optimism is the belief that things will get better. Hope is the belief that, together, we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue, hope is an active one. It takes no courage – only a certain naivety – to be an optimist. It takes great courage to sustain hope. “

Have the courage to have hope. Our people, from the Israelites in Egypt to our ancestors in the Shoah never lost this all-important value. To lose hope is to fall into the darkness. And though there is darkness, there is a lot of light. And while it may seem like many of our partners have left us behind, we still do have some. There are non-Jewish college students who are shomrim on our campuses. There are non-Jewish politicians that actively call out the difference between free speech and hate speech. There are partners.  And most importantly, we are not alone, because we have each other.

But we must remember that hope is not passive; it is active.  And with those thoughts of hope, we work together to make things better. And we take that hope, and we wrap it with a sense of Jewish pride. And with that gift of hope and pride, we then use that to nourish us, giving us the strength we need to stand up and speak out against the antisemitism that comes at us in 5785.

There is an old midrash which teaches us that during the high holy days,  we should always carry two notes, one in our left pocket and one in the right. One note reads, “The world was created for me.” The other note reads, “I am but dust and ashes.” Initially, we think that this midrash is trying to teach us about balance. And yet, I think that this is actually teaching us about the three charges that I have for us, in light of the pandemic of antisemitism that persists. Though we carry a note that tells us, “I am but dust and ashes,” we are challenged not to fall into the depths of despair. We must have hope. “The world was created for me” teaches us that we must feel a sense of pride in who we are as Jews and in how amazing Judaism is for our identities and the world. And when we bring these two notes together, we are bringing together pride and hope, giving us the strength to stand strong. May it be God's will that we stand strong against the darkness, and may we also feel a sense of pride, as well as a sense of hope, that we will work to make things better.

May it be God's will. Amein.