Choosing Hope

Sermon delivered at Temple B’nai Abraham, Livingston, Rosh Hashana Day I, 5785

Shana tova.

Reflecting on this past year of 5784, I think it’s fair to say that our people are in serious need of a better year ahead. As we gather during these Days of Awe, we come together to confront our challenges and the changes we need to make. On an individual level, we have the tools of t’shuvah—of repentance and return—and the support of our community to guide us. I wish that we had similar tools for the collective challenges we face as a people, because if we had, we might have resolved these challenges long ago. Instead, we find ourselves demoralized and disheartened, needing a path back to hope.

I recently heard the story of Craig Stiles, a man who looked upon the world and saw disaster everywhere—an environment on the verge of collapse, people suffering from disease, hunger, and war, and a growing economic gap that seemed unbridgeable. Every attempt to solve these crises had failed, and humanity was losing hope.

Stiles needed a solution, as the world needed humanity’s hope. So, Stiles, a brilliant physicist, built a time machine and traveled 100 years into the future. He returned with news of a utopian world—where humanity solved climate change, ended poverty and war, and made remarkable developments in aging and disease. People, inspired by his vision and the knowing that it was possible, made it all a reality.

Years later, when masses gathered to celebrate the appearance of the time machine at that moment when it had materialized in the future, the machine failed to appear, and Stiles admitted to the journalist with him that had all been a hoax.

You see, Stiles had manufactured hope, offering a vision of the future that people desperately needed. That vision pulled them forward, turning doubt into faith. The reporter, initially shocked by the truth, chose to keep Stiles’ secret, recognizing that this “bubble” of hope had served its purpose.

This story, The Toynbee Convector by Ray Bradbury, makes clear to me just how essential hope really is in times like these. As dark as things may seem—nationally, globally, and particularly with Israel and the rise of Antisemitism—we need to know that there is still light on the horizon. A day will come when peace prevails, when our neighbors won’t turn against us in hatred but instead accept us as brethren and human beings.

For nearly a year, Israel has been locked in an existential war with enemies committed to our destruction. Hostages remain in captivity, and peace feels more distant than ever, with both Palestinians and Israelis deeply fearing the others’ intentions, and with our being on the precipice of all out war with Iran, if not already there. As Yossi Klein HaLevi so aptly put it, we’ve had a rude awakening from “the fantasy that we could exist with genocidal enclaves at our borders.”

We live in a world consumed by falsehood and slander, with many justifying Hamas’ actions on October 7, and even more with unfair expectations for Israel’s self-defense. Many accept that Muslims are entitled to their nations yet take umbrage with Jews having a single state. Despite being perennial outsiders in any land but Israel, Jewish Israelis are labeled as colonialist settlers. We are gaslit by our detractors to the point where many of us have doubted, or had to defend, what should be abundantly clear: that Israel has a right to exist and Israelis have a right to defend themselves. Period.

Antisemitism—veiled and overt—has become acceptable in governance, academia, and the public square, right here in the nation we call home.
It would be understandable if we, like our ancestors during the fall of the Second Temple and exile from the land of Israel, fell into total despair.

But that is not our way. Hope is woven into the fabric of who we are. It empowers us as we enter each new year and sustains us through the darkest times.

How long did we, as a people, hold onto hope for our return to our homeland? Nearly 2,000 years. We endured discrimination, libels, hatred, and violence, on scales small, immense, and everything in between. Despite devastating losses, we survived and emerged stronger.

Rosh Hashanah is a time of hope—a time when God reminds us that we matter, that no matter how far we’ve strayed, t’shuvah—return—is always within reach. We have a direct line to the Holy One and with it, the possibility of a better future.

We just have to reconstruct that vision of what could be. We need to look beyond the dangers of the present and focus on the future we dream of. We may not have immediate solutions, but that should never stop us from planning what comes next. If the next steps escape us, we do what we teach students to do in exam writing. We skip ahead. We don’t give up. We maintain our hope, knowing that things will turn out for the better, and we know this because we will be relentless, creative, and committed. As the father of modern Zionism, Theodor Herzl, said: אם תרצו אין זו אגדה—“If you will it, it is no fiction.” If we can conceive it, it can become our reality—a world redeemed, our people safe and in peace wherever we are. We just need to reorient ourselves toward that future, to believe in our kishkes that it can happen. Then, we take it from there one step at a time.

Here’s some good news: this hope doesn’t require Stiles’ deception. We just need to pause and recognize the positive movements happening, even amid war and rising Antisemitism.

In our communities, new friends have emerged. October 7 brought with it a sense of extreme loneliness as we realized that many who we thought we could count on were absent. But allies new and old have stepped forward, from sources expected and unexpected. At our Juneteenth Shabbat this past year, we felt a warm embrace when more than 60 friends from Metropolitan Baptist Church in Newark, led by Reverend Dr. David Jefferson Jr., joined us for services.

In our time of need, it has become clear that law enforcement—at the local, state, and national levels—stands with us and sees Hamas for who they truly are. Despite the rhetoric from some politicians about Israel’s so-called “crimes,” we still have bipartisan support, with a majority in Congress recognizing Israel as an ally fighting for its existence.

People are showing up more than we’ve seen in years. Synagogue attendance across the country has surged, and we see it here as well. More people are joining or rejoining synagogues, recognizing the power of and need for community. In times of trauma, we rely on each other, we show up, and we support one another.

We are seeing hope in Israel too. Even amidst war, displacement, and political challenges, Israelis are standing together more than they have in years, recognizing that they can only survive by uniting. During our mission in February, a high-profile private sector leader shared that, with the exception of those in government, Israelis are finally embracing the concept of אחדות—of unity.

Israelis from across the spectrum are energized. Even if not serving, they’re engaged – protesting for the return of hostages, collecting goods and preparing food for the displaced and for those in active duty, doing whatever they can to get everyone back home, safe and sound.



Though most Israelis typically complete their military reservist obligations by age 45, many are continuing to serve, some well into their sixties. In July, we worked alongside one such Israeli in his tomato fields, who, like those in the early days of pre-state Israel, divides his time between working the land to feed his people and defending the land to protect his people.

Women have proven themselves to be a vital part of Israel’s fighting force. Many of us remain unaware of a major military success on October 7. On our July mission, we met with Ohr Ben Yehuda, commander of the southern base that houses the Karakel unit—the first coed fighting force in Israeli history. On October 7, with just 13 soldiers on base due to the chagim, they found themselves facing over 100 terrorists. Though outnumbered, this small, mostly female group successfully defended three bases without a single loss. Hamas could not say the same. It’s no surprise that Hollywood has already reached out to Ben Yehuda. Israel is certainly recognizing just how much women contribute to protecting our homeland.

Importantly, locals have not given up on peace. Jews and Muslims, Israeli and Palestinian, continue to come together for dialogue, joint projects, and hope. Some of these groups even doubled down after October 7, navigating their pain and concerns with a shared recognition that there will be a “day after”—and that they must keep working toward a future where their people can live side by side.

You may be familiar with Standing Together, an organization with chapters across Israel where Israelis and Palestinians collaborate on issues of mutual interest, including joint patrols in mixed neighborhoods to prevent riots and attacks. A rabbinic friend of mine, living in Abu Tor—a mixed Arab-Israeli neighborhood of Jerusalem—told me that, while during previous attacks his Arab friends had warned him to avoid certain areas, after October 7, the whole community came together for what they called Beit Kafé Lashon, or “the language café.” Their only agenda was conversation, nurturing relationships, and sharing culture in both Arabic and Hebrew.

Most significantly, Israel’s recent remarkable accomplishments in Lebanon have restored its reputation as a power to be feared and respected throughout the Middle East. In a recent Times of Israel interview, philosopher Micah Goodman explained that Israel finds itself in a zero-sum situation, needing to be loved by the West and seen as the good guys, while simultaneously being feared by its neighbors. On October 8, Israel was loved, but not feared, and Israel’s actions this past week have restored its deterrence without losing its allies.

Yes, times are dark, and there’s no end in sight. These glimpses are no panacea for our current crisis, and we cannot let down our vigilance. But no one can endure this level of heightened stress forever. At some point, we need to see an end, even if it’s just a glimmer of hope or an idea. We need to believe there will be a “day after”—both in Israel and here in the US.

We don’t need anyone to paint a hoax of hope on the horizon, because the hope we need has actually been here all along. The key is that we have to share it and spread it to all those who need to hear it—friends, family, journalists, professors, influencers, politicians, and anyone else who could benefit from a shift in perspective, and even better if they can then spread this message to others.
Our most important job, as supporters of the Jewish people and the state of Israel, is to speak up—whether in conversation, letters, or on social media—so others might gain a deeper understanding of the complexities we face. We need to shift the narrative from one of anger and protest to one that allows for decency and debate.

If we can move the needle from Antisemitism and anti-Israel sentiments to an acknowledgment of the situation’s complexity, we will be much closer to a positive result. We must continue supporting frontline organizations—NGOs for peace, the Israeli military, the ADL, AIPAC, and Jewish institutions like our Hillels and synagogues that provide spiritual and emotional care while supporting Israel and Jews worldwide.

My teacher, Rav Yitz Greenberg, recently observed that what we need right now is not optimism, but hope. Optimism is the belief that things will turn out for the best in the long run, but hope, “is a dream that we accept can become a reality.” To be optimistic means believing that things will get better for the Jewish people. Hope, on the other hand, is the dream of peace, coexistence, safety, and self-determination—not just for us, but for everyone. It’s the belief that this dream will become reality, as long as we each do our part

This Rosh Hashanah marks the first new year since October 7, 362 days since too many of our people were taken, since our world was turned upside down. May this be the year we have longed for, where, as God sees us, we—humankind—will see each other and bring lasting peace to Israel and the world. On this Rosh Hashanah, may we recognize that this vision will only become reality when each of us takes on the mantle of doing all that is within our God-given power to make this hope—this dream—a lasting reality.

L’shana Tova u’l’shalva – A happy and peaceful New Year to us, and all of humanity.