A Quick Update
As the war between Israel and Iran enters its second week, the reports coming from Israel are heartbreaking. More often than not, conversations with friends have been disrupted by alerts that Iranian missiles were incoming and the other person had to run to their shelter.
I pray for a quick resolution to this conflict. I pray for the safety of Israel and the Israeli people. And I pray for the well-being of the Iranian people. This war is not with them but with the regime that has subjugated them for decades.
Thank you to everyone who joined Rabbi Gewirtz and me earlier this week for a frank conversation with our friend Prof. Itzik Mizrahi from Be’er Sheva. Over 110 households joined the call. Look for additional opportunities to learn in the coming weeks.
Many of you have asked what news sources you can turn to and how you can help.
News Sources: I read the Times of Israel and the Jerusalem Post and watch i24 News. I also find the podcasts “For Heaven Sake” and “Call Me Back” incredibly informative.
How to Help: There will be countless ways to help in the weeks and months to come. At the moment, however, United Hatzalah, who support the injured in the Israeli Homefront, is conducting an emergency campaign to help maintain their services. You can donate here.
May God protect the People of Israel and all the peace loving civilians in the region.
______________________________
Dear Friends,
Last week I had two powerful and deeply instructive experiences in our nation’s capital. The experiences couldn’t have been more different from one another, yet together they hold up a mirror to where we are as a nation and who we are called to be as Jews and as human beings.
I was in Washington, D.C. for a gathering of pro-Israel rabbis. Over two days, we had the chance to meet with remarkable leaders, including Israel’s ambassador to the United States, Dr. Yechiel Leiter, and Professor Deborah Lipstadt, who served as the U.S. Special Envoy to Monitor and Combat Antisemitism. We spoke with freshman Congressman Wesley Bell, who shared his story of going from trial attorney to national policymaker—and the values that led him on that journey.
But the moment that will stay with me forever came late one evening, when 34 of us joined Senator Cory Booker for a private tour of the Capitol. For two hours, Senator Booker walked with us through parts of the building few get to see. He taught not just American history, but American values. He spoke with conviction about humility, servant leadership, and the sacred responsibility elected officials have to promote the well-being of every citizen. He pointed to artwork and architecture, to statues and quotes carved in stone—and then gave them life through the lens of what America ought to be. He ended by reading aloud a letter written to Harriet Tubman—words of praise for a woman whose moral courage helped shape a more perfect union.
It was inspiring. It was hopeful. It was everything we want our nation to be.
And then, the next morning I experienced something very different.
My dear friend and colleague Rabbi Sam Klibanoff, who serves an Orthodox congregation in New Jersey, and I were asked to return to the Capitol steps for a few moments of follow-up filming for an interview we had done earlier. As Rabbi Klibanoff— visibly Jewish, wearing his kippah—was being filmed walking across the steps, two large men approached. As they neared him, they began to verbally accost him with crude and hateful language. They kept walking, then came toward me. One of them stepped into my space, looked me in the eye, and said—with an expletive I won’t repeat—“What are you looking at you %&*ing Jew?”
We weren’t surprised. But we were shaken.
Two experiences, barely twelve hours apart. One lifted up the best of what America can be. One exposed the worst of what has been unleashed.
As I traveled home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the contrast. And I kept returning to this thought:
I’m not someone who usually embraces binary thinking. I think the world is complex, and the human experience is rarely either/or. The Jewish tradition, after all, is built on nuance, argument, and the possibility of holding multiple truths at once. But in this case, I think the binary holds—because we have a choice.
We can choose the path Senator Booker illuminated—one of humility, dignity, shared responsibility, and moral courage. Or we can allow the ugliness, the hatred, the fear of the “other” to consume us. We can choose to be a nation that lifts people up—or one that tears people down simply because of how they look, how they worship, or what they wear.
Our tradition is clear: “B’tzelem Elohim bara oto”—“Each person is created in the image of God” (Genesis 1:27). If we believe that, truly believe it, then there is no room for dehumanization. No room for hate. Not on the Capitol steps. Not anywhere.
And when the Torah commands, “Tzedek, tzedek tirdof”—“Justice, justice shall you pursue” (Deuteronomy 16:20), it’s not a suggestion. It’s a mandate. Pursue justice even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s costly. Even when it would be easier to look away.
Pirkei Avot reminds us: “B’makom she’ein anashim, hishtadel lihyot ish”—“In a place where there are no people, strive to be a person” (Pirkei Avot 2:5). That is, in a place where people fail to show up, we must step in. In a time when the moral compass feels off-kilter, we are called to reorient it.
We are Jews. We are heirs to a tradition that refuses to give in to cynicism. We don’t look at the world and say, “This is just how it is.” We look at the world and say, “This is not how it has to be.”
That is our role. That is our work. That is what it means to be a Jew and an American right now.
And that is the nation we are called to help shape—each of us, in our own way, every single day.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen