Israel-Hamas War

In the aftermath of trauma, there is a natural desire to protect, to retaliate, and to secure our own safety at all costs. But in seeking safety, in seeking justice for our own pain, we can risk perpetuating cycles of violence that dehumanize others — and ultimately ourselves.

The rabbis of the Talmud knew there would be times when we would have no choice but to build our sukkot beneath a thick shadow cast by mountains. They knew there would be moments when it would feel audacious to build a sukkah at all.

Can we sing our longings this year in a way that lets all the feelings come through? Can we allow our heartbreak to summon us toward something new?

Unetaneh tokef grants us no illusion of covering up our failures, both of deed and of will. It says that we are counted and our deeds are measured, whether we like it or not. Our discomfort is what this day demands, not the easy promise of reconciliation and repentance.

[These High Holy Days,] may we ask hard questions. May we see ourselves from both the throne of din and the throne of rachamim. And may we, steeped in self-compassion and God’s compassion, do better.

We must continuously strive to implement justice, as it is so easy to backslide when our attention and our resolve falter. Even during a time of war, when we are at our most vulnerable, we must still check ourselves to see if our conduct is as moral as possible.

In the wake of the events of October 7, 2023, many of us in the global Jewish community have found ourselves longing for liturgical language to speak to the sense of loss, hopelessness, and heartbreak we have felt over the past year. The following words are an adaptation of El Malei Rachamim (“God full of compassion”), a prayer traditionally recited over the dead at funerals and during Yizkor on Yom Kippur, created by Rabbi Sharon Cohen Anisfeld, President of Hebrew College.

We offer these texts, sermon ideas, articles, talking points, and insights about the Israel-Hamas war and its reverberating effects to make it a little easier to meet the needs of your community at a tremendously difficult time. 

We are not just meant to see the good land, but the whole of it, even what is hard to look at. And when we witness injustice, bitterness, and badness, we are meant to take up the sacred task of picking up the shattered pieces of destruction and building something good, building something worth gazing upon.

How can we take on our own “marking of the doorposts” for this moment? What am I prepared to do, or say, to help bring this cursed war to an end? How might I “mark” myself as someone committed to the collective liberation of Palestinians and Israelis?