To Be a Jew Today: A Blessing for a Broken World

Watch the sermon video.

In 2018, just seven short years ago, on this very bimah, I asked you a question:  What does it mean to be a Jew today? My then-answer is on my website - PaulKipnes.com.

Back then, the air felt calmer. Antisemitism was a whisper, not a roar. Israel was admired, not attacked. Jewish identity was lighter to carry.

But in 2025, the question cuts sharper. Because hatred has grown louder. Because Israel is embattled and vilified. Because antisemitism has exploded. Even some of our own feel uncomfortable, embarrassed to be Jewish. Think about that. Even some of our own feel embarrassed - embarrassed! - to be Jewish.

So I ask again: What does it mean to be a Jew today when the world tells you: Don’t be?

Let’s not pretend: it hurts. It hurts to see swastikas spray-painted in neighborhoods. It hurts to hear classmates or colleagues question our people’s very right to exist. It hurts to scroll through feeds, seeing Jew-hatred reposted like it’s entertainment. And it hurts even more when we start to shrink from our Judaism. When we start to doubt. When we wonder if maybe it would be easier to stay quiet, to downplay, to disappear.

Why be a Jew today? That’s the question we’ve been forced to ask ourselves again and again for thousands of years. 

So let me name aloud what weighs on so many of our hearts: The war with Hamas, and with those who seek Israel’s destruction - the Houthis, Hezbollah, Iran to name a few - is heartbreaking. The plight of Palestinians in Gaza - especially the children - is heartbreaking. The continuing captivity of 48 Israeli hostages, perhaps up to 20 of them still alive, is excruciatingly heartbreaking.

And even as we hope and pray that the Principles for Peace presented by the President, already accepted by Israel, and supported by most of the Arab world, will be accepted also by Hamas, we might still be heartbroken by what hatred has wrought in our world. 

It is possible, it is necessary, to accept all these truths at once: to affirm Israel’s right and need, to defend her people from terror, and to free the hostages that the world has forgotten or would like to forget, and at the same time to let our hearts ache for innocent lives caught in the crossfire.

This is not weakness. It is Judaism. It is Torah reminding us that every human being is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of the Divine. It is our prophets who cried: do not grow numb to suffering, even when it is not our own.

I know: some will say my words are too soft. Others will say my words are too harsh. That’s how I know I am in the Jewish place - the place where compassion and covenant meet, where we can love Israel fiercely and still refuse to let our humanity harden.

To be a Jew today is complicated. To be a Jew today is courageous. To be a Jew today is crucial. Maybe more crucial than ever. 

To be a Jew today is to embody hope in a hopeless time. To be a Jew today is to carry a mission more than 3,000-years-old - and to remember it matters, here and now.

Because when the world witnesses oppression and shirks its responsibility, Judaism retells the story of Passover - that liberation is possible, that no Pharaoh lasts forever.

Because Judaism roots us in memory. And every Passover we remind ourselves that we were slaves in Egypt, and so we must never tolerate the persecution of others.

And because when the world tells us to fear others, Torah commands us, more than thirty-six times - v’ahavtem et ha-ger ki gerim hayitem b’eretz Mitzrayim, to love the stranger, insisting we remember when we ourselves were treated as strangers. 

We were thrown out of land after land after land. Pushed to the margins, stripped of rights, stereotyped as different, told again and again you did not belong. Small laws became walls. Walls became expulsions. And still we Jews carried the memory, turning exile into empathy, loss into love.

And because when the world insists we throw up our hands and let darkness drown out the light, we retell the story of Chanukah - where one small flame became many, where hope multiplied against all odds. And Judaism does even more. 

When the world wants to feed us easy answers, Judaism insists we ask difficult questions, that we wrestle with Torah, that we argue with God - with God! For Jews, doubting and questioning is not weakness, it is holy - because questions open the door to dialogue, and dialogue draws us closer to each other and to God.

When the world wants us to ignore tyranny, Judaism demands justice - tzedek, tzedek tirdof, the Torah states, justice justice you shall pursue. Why mention tzedek not once but twice? Because Judaism requires that we pursue justice, knowing it will never be easy, but it will always be necessary. Pursue justice for yourself and justice for me;  For those we know and for those we don’t; Justice for our people… and justice for everyone else too. 

When the world wants us to give up, Judaism reminds us: We are a people of values and vision, a community that carries Torah’s teachings through time. We offer unique wisdom and witness to the world. 

We are called to state unequivocally: We can do better. The world can be better. Because, Judaism teaches, olam chesed yibaneh, the world is built on kindness. And because, Judy Friedman of blessed memory taught us: live with kindness, lead with kindness, build with kindness.

And yes: When the world says you are broken from birth, Judaism says, no, you are born into blessing, in the image of the Divine. 

Of course, in Hebrew, there is no word for hopelessness. Because Judaism insists we always dream of a messianic future - an end of war and famine, violence and hate, when the lion shall lie down with the lamb, and when all peoples shall come together as one. This is not a burden, it is a blessing. This is not a problem, it is a promise. 

But let’s be honest: it’s also complicated. Jewish identity is layered and messy. Israel inspires and frustrates. Our people bring pride and provoke questions. 

Yes, it’s complicated. Judaism is both the story we have inherited and the sacred calling we are called to embody. It is memory we preserve and the meaning we create. It is survival and also renewal. 

So when all is said and done, this is what remains: To be a Jew today is to bring blessing into a broken world - or at least to try, again and again.

That’s why the shofar is not one sound, it is many. It is tekiah - strong and whole, a call to conscience. It is shevarim - broken, like the heartbreak we carry in this difficult time. It is teruah - urgent, like the cries of Jews everywhere who yearn for safety and dignity. And it is tekiah gedolah - the great, long note that reminds us that all hope is not lost. 

On this Yom Kippur,  may the sound of the shofar carry us: toward courage, toward compassion, toward connection, and toward pride. For to be a Jew today - in all its complexity, all its courage, all its compassion - is to be exactly what the world needs now.

So rise up. Rise up from despair, rise up with hope, rise up toward renewal: Yes, everyone, rise - please rise. And hear the sound of the shofar, calling you home. 

Tekiah Gedolah