A Sermon I Never Thought I Would Give, But Here We Are
In 2009 I went on an organised trip to Germany with a group of rabbinical students. Although I didn’t have any immediate concerns about the trip, as it grew nearer, I started to discover a little old Jewish voice inside of my head who was feeling quite anxious about going to Germany.I named him Gerald. I tried to reassure him.Gerald was afraid we might have to take trains in Germany. I told Gerald that German trains generally don’t end up at concentration camps anymore. Gerald wasn’t sure if he believed me.I was able to keep Gerald’s fearful inner voice relatively under control … right up until I got off the plane in Berlin and came face to face with the most ARIAN looking Passport control officer I have ever seen. “RUN!” Gerald screamed inside my head, and I almost did. But then the passport officer smiled. I took a breath. This is not Nazi Germany, I reminded Gerald. We got our passport stamped. We met up with our group. It turned out that we loved Berlin. It was a great trip. And over the years, I forgot about Gerald,Ten years later, In 2019, my very good friend Rabbi Marci Bellows Lindenman began her Kol Nidrei sermon with these words: “I never thought I would have to give this sermon.”It was a sermon about antisemitism, in the wake of a year that included the tragic and terrifying shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. Six years later, (and sixteen years after I discovered Gerald), I find I can’t avoid this sermon any longer, and my friend's words resonate strongly with me, as I, too, once thought I would never have to give this sermon.As she wrote back then: “I (once) naively thought that Anti-Semitism was a thing of the past. Something to discuss historically, but never in the present tense. Yes, we knew that there were still minor incidents here and there, and that polite anti-Semitism remained in certain circles, but it was assumed that the world, and especially (North America) would never allow Anti-Semitism to surface anywhere near the mainstream.”Since the turn of the century, we’ve all seen and experienced how being Jewish in the Diaspora has changed dramatically. We’ve watched with growing concern as the golden age of North American Jewry - one that I now feel deeply grateful and privileged to have grown up in - seems to have faded into a thing of the past.I’m not alone in noticing this. Last year, Franklin Foer of the Atlantic, wrote an article called, “The Golden Age of American Jews is Ending.” In it, he describes growing up in a time when Jews were woven into the very fabric of American culture, “(when) the national authority on sex was a diminutive bubbe (named) Dr. Ruth; (When) schoolkids in Indiana read Anne Frank’s diary . . . (When) the most-watched television show was Seinfeld, (and when) even (people who aren’t Jewish) knew (all) the words to Adam Sandler’s “The Chanukah Song,” . . .Foer describes how, “by the mid-’90s, experts had declared the end of anti-Semitism.” In 1994, Leonard Dinnerstein, “a historian who devoted his life’s work to studying anti-Semitism, concluded his magnum opus (with) the admission that his scholarly obsession was becoming a relic.” In fact, he went so far as to say that not only had it, “declined in potency” but that it would, “continue to do so for the foreseeable future.” I guess he couldn’t see past the turn of the century…In Foer’s piece in the Atlantic, he discussed how throughout the 20th century Jews invested in, “a distinct strain of liberalism that combined robust civil liberties, the protection of minority rights, and an ethos of cultural pluralism. . .It was (our) fervent hope that (this brand of) liberalism would inoculate (North) America against the world’s oldest hatred. (And) for several generations, it worked.”North of the border, our experience was much the same. Recently, David Koffman, the Chair for the Study of Canadian Jewry at York University, published an article about Canadian Jews in a post-Oct 8th world, where he also describes the 80’s and early 90’s as, “a kind of golden age (in which) Antisemitism was weak and rarely interrupted daily life,” and in which, “Jews had reached peak levels of social acceptance and visibility - on Bay Street … on Parliament Hill, and at the addresses of Canadian culture.”Koffman describes how Canadian Jews felt a “communal confidence”, leading us to a shared sense that as Jews in Canada, we were, “valued citizens, free to live Jewishly . . .” But now, “looking back from 2025, in the wake of so many dramatic changes . . . Koffman observes how, “that sense of Canadian Jewish stability (has become) deeply unsettled, confused, and anxious.”Anxiety around rising antisemitism is certainly something I’m hearing regularly, and feeling within myself, as a newly returned Canadian rabbi. Only last month, I felt my own kishkes squirm as a National Post headline flashed across my computer screen: “31 Liberal MPs lead call to action against rising antisemitism in Canada”.The article centered around Liberal MP Anthony Housefather leading this response after a stabbing in Ottawa that the police called “hate-motivated.” In the article, Housefather was quoted as saying, “...right now, there is a deep sense of unease, fear and unsafety among many Jewish Canadians. . . “ While antisemetic attacks might once have been considered rare, it is now “becoming normalized”. Housefather cited data on police-reported hate-crimes from Statistics Canada, noting that, “while Jews make up only one per cent of Canada’s population, (we) are the victims of 70(%) of reported religious-based acts of hate” - a number which increased by 71(%) between 2022 and 2023.In light of these concerning statistics, I can understand why I’m hearing more and more stories about local Jewish families who don’t want to be identified as Jews by the other families in their children’s schools.In light of these statistics, I can understand why members of our temple come to me wanting to talk about 1930’s Germany, wanting to talk about whether or not we are taking security seriously.In light of these statistics, our fears and questions seem reasonable: Does Canada still care about its Jewish citizens? Will our government and police protect us? Are comparisons to Germany in the 1930s justifiable? Are we still safe in Canada?Last year, my friend, Rabbi Bellows Lindenman, gave an updated version of her sermon on antisemitism. In it, she discussed the importance of maintaining perspective, even when things seem to be spiraling out of control. She shared a quote from another colleague, Rabbi David Wolpe, who once served on the antisemitism advisory committee at Harvard, and who was once asked on a panel about antisemitism: “Rabbi, what gives you hope?” Rabbi Marci describes his response as “remarkable”.He said: “I imagine myself in a conversation with my great great great grandfather and I say to him it's terrible what I’m seeing at Harvard… and he says you’re at Harvard? and I say yes, yes… but there’s a lot of antisemitism and anti Israel sentiments there. And he goes there’s an Israel? And I said yeah but you should hear, (they are) talking about (reducing) some of the billions of dollars of aid that goes there, and he said, America is giving billions of dollars of aid to Israel? and I said you know what You’re right, we have problems, but (not like those of our) great great great grandparents. We are very very blessed.”Last month when I felt my heart-rate rise at the National Post headline about Housefather and antisemitism, what helped me regain a sense of calm were a few sentences toward the end of the article where it read, “The (stabbing) was condemned by Jewish groups and political leaders, including Prime Minister Mark Carney, who pledged solidarity with Canada’s Jewish community, stating, ‘We stand with you against hate and threats to your safety, And we will act to confront antisemitism wherever it appears.”We are absolutely justified to be concerned about antisemitism in Canada. We absolutely need to be vigilant and proactive, and you absolutely should reach out to our Am Shalom leadership to hear about the improvements to our building’s security that were recently introduced, and to ask how you can support our ongoing efforts to keep our Jewish community safe.At the same time, even as I find myself writing my own version of the “sermon I thought I’d never have to write”, I feel confident in saying that we are not (yet) in a situation that is comparable to 1930’s Germany. In 1935, Germany was introducing the antisemetic and racist Nuremberg Laws. Jews were losing their civil rights and liberties.Here in Canada, in 2025, our Prime Minister may not be perfect, and we may not agree with some or all of his stances and statements in relation to the war in Gaza, but as the National Post article reminded me, Carney has proposed legislation “to criminalize unlawful fear and intimidation outside places of worship, schools and community centers.”Our government isn’t perfect, but they’re also not targeting us. They still seem to be concerned with the rights of their citizens.I find this reassuring. But Gerald does not.
No matter what the National Post says, he has been piping up more and more often of late, and less and less quietly.I now know that Gerald is the voice of inherited trauma. Science is beginning to be able to explain this, but it can’t tell me whether or not the National Post should make me feel better about the future of Canadian Jewry, or whether it’s fooling me into complacency.Yael Shy, the founder and CEO of Mindfulness Consulting, and an educator at the Institute for Jewish Spirituality reminds us that anxiety is, “a natural response of the body to perceived threats. . .For many of us,” she writes, “anxiety has roots in actual trauma . . .For Jews who have endured numerous atrocities, a predisposition toward anxiety is understandable. . .In today’s world (there) are many real and pressing fears. In this context, anxiety and worry can be seen as rational responses . . . However, living with persistent anxiety is debilitating and harmful. It does not help us to confront the very real challenges we face. . . (and) it can ultimately leave us depleted and ill.” It is important, Shy writes, to, “approach our anxiety with compassion, acknowledging its role as a protective mechanism without letting it monopolize the driver’s seat of our lives.”Rabbi Carni Rose in Winnipeg, recently discussed the dangerous realities in which we are living, bringing forward a well known text from Rabbi Nachman: The whole world is a very narrow bridge. But the most important thing, is lo lehit-pach-et klal. to not allow yourself, “to become abjectly fearful.”“I don't want to become so fearful,” he said, “that I become frozen in action … not doing the work that needs to get done . . .We still need to march forward and to continue to press on the issues that are most important. And we should (also) take care of ourselves.The first mitzvah that I want everyone to remember,” he concluded, “is u'shmartem Nafshoteichem. Take care of your n’shamas. . . Take care of your souls.”We have to figure out how to find a balance between reasonable vigilance, and panicked hand-writing. We can’t let the old Jewish voices of yesterday get the better of us. We have to figure out how to remain level-headed; How to feel safe without going into hiding.How do we do that?This time of year offers us one powerful option: Forgiveness. It’s a tricky one. Uncomfortable to contemplate; Maybe even revolutionary. And yet, could we find a way to balance our anxiety through maintaining a reasonable level of caution while also figuring out how to let go of the hurt and anger through the deeply difficult work of forgiveness?A poem, from contemporary liturgist Alden Solovy, is entitled Forgiving the Unforgivable.Don't ask me To forgive the unforgivable. I am human, The way You made me, The dust of the earth Animated by Your divine spirit Subject to pain and loss beyond understanding, Subject to violence and horrors beyond comprehension.Don't ask me To understand trauma or despair. I am human, Living in the world As You made it, Imperfect, incomplete, Subject to the whips of humans Subject to the whims of history.Yet You ask us To suffer the consequences Of Your creation, The misdeeds and the horrors Perpetrated by brother against brother, Sister against sister, Human against human.God of mercy, Help me to remember That You have given us the choice To build or destroy To offer kindness or wretchedness To offer nobility or disdain, To love freely or to hate without limit.Perhaps then I might be ready To begin to forgive You, Myself, Others. Perhaps then I might be ready To breathe Into wholeness again.Is forgiveness enough to help us resolve our anxiety over antisemitism?
No. But it’s a start. A thing we can do, not because we think antisemites have asked for our forgiveness, but because letting go of hurt and anger is simply healthier.Back in 2009, Gerald and I learned how to heal some of our inherited trauma by confronting the realities of modern-day Germany, and holding them up against our fears about the past. Gerald learned that most of the time, he is not needed. He can quietly let me go about my life.And at the same time, recent events have reminded me that I need Gerald to speak up when he feels danger is near; to hold me accountable as a Jew who knows her history; to make sure I’m not being overly naive about the changing times we are living through.Through forgiveness and a healthy level of caution, we can find the balance we need to move forward into 5786 in safety and in health.And if you want to hear what else we can do, come back tomorrow morning, when I will speak about how to be out and proud as Jews in a world that seems to want to send us back into hiding.In the meantime, may we begin the Jewish New Year by taking a deep breath.
5786 will bring us reasons to be concerned. It will also bring us reasons to hope.As we move into the new year together, let’s try to find a healthy balance between the two; Let us try to forgive and let go of our hurt; Let us manage our anxiety through reasonable levels of caution so that we don’t become so afraid for our lives that we forget about the business of living.Kein Yehi Ratzon. May it be God’s Will.