Fifty years ago, Norman Lamm, one of the pillars of 20th century Orthodox delivered a sermon that he called,

“Confessions of a Confused Rabbi.” The context of Rabbi Lamm’s remarks was more fraught with political tension than our current moment. In the summer of 1970, the was deep in the

Vietnam War and the invasion of Cambodia, reckoning with the killing of students at Kent State University by the Ohio National Guard, and struggling with the anti-war movement and the rise of radical nationalist movements like the Black Panthers. Rabbi Lamm shared with his congregation the dilemmas with which he dealt in those times as a rabbi trying to remain both relevant and uncontroversial.

Upon discovering Rabbi Lamm’s sermon, I was inspired to do the same in our very tense time. On this evening of Yom Kippur, I ask your forgiveness as I indulge in some personal reflection, revealing some of the confusions that I have been dealing with in recent months. My hope is that, in the spirit of Yom Kippur, my thoughts and struggles will be received as honest and authentic as is my intent.

Rabbi Lamm referenced the Ḥasidic master Rabbi Yitzḥak of

Vorke, and his interpretation of the verse, “you shall not deceive one another,” which we will read during tomorrow afternoon’s Minḥah service in Leviticus 19. Rabbi Yizḥak taught, “we know that a Ḥasid always must go beyond the letter of the law when following a precept of

Torah. How can one observe the law ‘you shall not deceive one another’ in such a manner? By not deceiving yourself.” In this way, I want to confess, and not deceive myself, even if that means that I ask more questions than provide answers, raise more dilemmas than resolve contradictions, or even, as the expression goes, afflict the comforted, rather than comfort the afflicted. After four years together, and five

High Holy Day seasons, I pray that we have built enough trust to allow me to do this on this holiest of days.

Firstly, I would like to address the larger issue of the role of politics from the pulpit. One of the questions that we discussed in rabbinical school was: how does a Rabbi decided whether or not issues we might call “political” are addressed from the pulpit? Where does a

Rabbi draw the line between politics and values? I firmly believe that the pulpit should not be politicized. The is so much bigger than politics, and the Torah is eternal, while politics are temporary. A d’var

Torah, literally “a word of Torah,” must not be an editorial you could read in the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal, with a sprinkling of Torah verses or teachings from the Rabbinic sages. Moreover, attending six years of rabbinical school and seven years of professional rabbi-ing does not give me the authority to speak on any subject other than Torah. Well, maybe super-heroes, given my 30-plus year engagement with the genre.

On the other hand, the pulpit should not be irrelevant, and any issue should be seen from a Jewish perspective. Jewish tradition has a clear position on some things, and Jewish texts have a moral voice to add to the conversations of the day. However, the frequency with which a rabbi speaks about “political” issues is still a big question mark for me.

I recoil from the idea of speaking about these issues too much, running the risk of being too controversial, and jeopardizing my relationships with congregants who are part of synagogue life to escape politics, and would rather engage with spirituality, community, and what Jewish life has to offer. And yet, if you are thinking about them, I am sure you want to know what your tradition has to say about them.

There are times that demand a Rabbi speak up on issues, at least with delicate subtlety. However, there are so many morally ambiguous areas of life that are not black and white, where there is no clearly defined Jewish position. Most of what we would call “political issues” are of this kind, whether they are on questions about abortion, gun laws, immigration, or welfare. Torah can have a voice in all of these issues.

Actually, let me rephrase: Torah has many voices on these issues. If a rabbi is being intellectually honest, he or she must be able to bring tradition to support both sides and illustrate that the Torah does not point in one direction. In previous sermons I have brought Torah to argue that abortion is highly frowned upon, and yet necessary in some situations, and showed that tradition wants us to defend ourselves, even as violence is discouraged. I have explained that the Torah is just as suspicious of foreigners as it demands that we welcome the stranger, and illustrated that Torah wants us to keep and enjoy the fruits of our labors, while also requiring that we help the poor.

Contemporary Rabbi David Wolpe has pointed out that the passion with which we hold a conviction says nothing about its correctness.

While even-handedness might feel uninspiring, it is all the more important that we use it to temper our emotions and self-righteousness.

Rabbi Wolpe further explains that what we call “moral issues” are almost always political stances we agree with, while “partisan politics” are stances with which we differ. The multivocality of Jewish tradition requires us to moderate our partisanship so that we better understand the issues with which we are dealing. This is one of my questions in its broad strokes.

Another place of confusion for me is how to respond to the news.

It feels like every bit of breaking news requires that we add our voice to the conversation, responding from a place of righteous indignation. I tend to take the opposite approach. Quick responses and hot-takes often miss the nuance, complexity, and most importantly, better information we need to properly understand an issue before adding our opinion to the mix.

The Malbim (Rabbi Meir Loeb ben Yechiel Michael), a 19th century biblical commentator, once went to a lecture by a teacher. This teacher gave a long talk, devoid of insights or perspectives. Afterwards, the Malbim famously commented about how this person had wasted his time. He explained that “The Book of Ecclesiastes gives us a list of twenty contrasts, such as ‘a time to love and a time to hate,’ and ‘a time to cry and a time to laugh.’ In all of these contrasts, there is a middle ground. A person can be in a state when he or she neither loves nor hates, or when one is neither crying nor laughing. However, there is one contrast in this list that is puzzling: ‘a time to remain silent and a time to speak.’ Up till now,” says the Malbim, “I could not understand where the middle ground between the two could be. After having heard this speaker, I see that it is possible for a person not to remain silent, and yet say nothing!” (Quoted in Telushkin, The Book of Jewish Values, p. 29)

In other words, to quote the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, “Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking.”

When I speak to you about something happening in the world of great import, I want to have something to say. There are some things about which I have remained silent, not because I do not have something meaningful to say about it, but because I fear that in this divisive time, you, my congregants might either be too attracted to or repelled by my comments. I don’t want to feel that I’m for or against “your side” of the argument. That is not the kind of rabbinate that I want. In our world of social media, hot takes, and righteous indignation, the exercise of nuance, complexity, and patience is really, really difficult. Speaking about something important is especially challenging today, because of our sub-optimal conditions. I cannot speak with you, only at you through the screens that you are watching, or because you might be reading these words on your computer screen at some later date. The best sermons feel like conversations, and our distancing precludes that. We cannot interact. I can’t read the room and tell how you are responding to my message. As I explained on Rosh Hashanah, our separation for six months has proved to me time and again that I am a rock star, not a movie star.

How should we as , as Americans, as human beings striving to be moral individuals, grapple with the issues that face us today? We should start from a place of enlightened self-interest, a philosophy that is articulated best by the great sage Hillel the Elder: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?”

The former tells us that we must look out for ourselves and our families.

The latter tells us that we must take into account the greater communities of which we are a part. Therefore, enlightened self- interest. These are some of the questions that I grapple with: As Jews, we must be ever aware of the Antisemitism in our midst, and have a zero- tolerance policy for any of it, no matter its origins. Whether I see Neo-

Nazis or the promulgation of Alt-Right conspiracy theories that have their basis in pre-modern Christianity; whether I see anti-Zionism or the sublimation of Jewish identity to join progressive causes on the far-left; whether I see attacks on observant Jews from Blacks and Hispanics that don’t fit on our defined continuum. Let’s not debate anymore about which is worse. It’s all Jew-hatred, and we must have zero tolerance for it.

It is especially concerning when this reaches our highest levels of government. Every one of us, but especially Democrats, should be disappointed that the Democratic Party, still the home of most of the

Jewish vote and ardently Zionist for decades, has drifted farther to left on , especially among its younger and most vocal members, and its leadership, many of whom are Jews, failed to officially and formally condemn blatantly antisemitic comments from its own members in

Congress. Similarly, every one of us, but especially Republicans, should be disappointed that the President, whose accomplishments on fighting antisemitism and working towards a safe and secure Israel and Middle

East peace are undeniably unprecedented and historic, has given voice to and emboldened far-right groups and antisemitic conspiracy theories, through insensitive comments, his flirtation with the Alt-Right at the beginning of his Presidency, and his careless retweeting of these groups and theories.

As Americans, in the midst of our pandemic, we need to carefully consider the balance between public health and safety on the one hand, and personal liberty and economic well-being on the other. All of these are important values, and yet, they have been politicized to the point where anyone arguing for public health is criticized for wanting to destroy the American way of life, and anyone arguing for liberty is criticized for being selfish and caring more about money than people.

Instead of turning an important debate about basic rights and concerns into ad hominem attacks on the other side, it would benefit our nation to have a much-needed robust conversation about how we respond to

COVID-19, working towards the health and safety of all, while also maintaining economic vibrancy and protecting the liberties we hold so dear. In our moment of racial tension, we as moral human beings need to work to ensure that the lived experience of Black Americans is a positive and flourishing one. However, we must carefully consider our approach. We must not be lured by simple catchphrases that sound innocuous, but in some cases, offer cover for a radicalism that desires to rewrite the past, destroy the future, and may actually hinder real benefits for the Black community. The story of Black Americans has not been pretty one, but it has also been a story of great success. We must be able to hold two equal truths: affirming the legacy of oppression and racial bias, and at the same time, recognizing the prosperity that has come to many Black Americans who have achieved the American dream. How do we, as one minority that has experienced its share of persecution, support the struggle for racial equality in a way that is constructive and helpful, and not pandering or patronizing?

Things are complicated, and in our era of hot-takes and knee-jerk reactions, a little confusion might be the way to cool down and heal our divide. There is a word for holding two different, and potentially conflicting emotions at the same time: ambivalence. Ambivalence is generally regarded as a negative thing, but Jewish tradition has a healthy attitude towards holding multiple and conflicting truths. This is the path

I choose. Yom Kippur invites us to be honest with ourselves, and to be honest means that we question our deepest passions. Our most passionately held beliefs might be wrong, if only we look inward and temper our fervor with a bit of confusion and ambivalence.

I apologize if I have confused more than enlightened. It’s a habit of mine. Ask any of the teens that I teach. I rarely give answers, and nearly always respond to questions with more probing questions. Such is Jewish life: it is better to ask a good question than to give a good answer.

I would like to conclude with the same teaching with which Rabbi

Lamm ended his sermon 50 years ago. In the opening chapter of the

Torah, chaos precedes creation. Before spoke and the world came into being, there was a great primordial mess, what the first chapter of

Genesis calls tohu va-vohu, loosely translated as “yuck and muck.” On this Yom Kippur, I pray that we engage in confusion and take delight in it. After our day of fasting and reflection, let us fill our plates with a healthy diet of reason and intelligence, skepticism, good will, doubt, faith, enlightened self-interest, openness to change, willingness to accept criticism, hope, prayer, and a nice helping of Jewish tradition. Maybe, after all of that, our confusion just might be transformed into some clarity. Once we properly confront the complexities of our moment with the right attitude, we, like God in the first creative act, can yet turn chaos into clarity. Ken Y’hi Ratzon. May this be God’s will. Amen