Dear Friends,
We live in a moment where judgment comes quickly and often harshly. We see it in politics, on campuses, in public life—and, if we’re honest, at times within ourselves.
Into that reality, Pirkei Avot, which we read between Passover and Shavuot, offers a teaching that feels almost impossible:
Joshua ben Perachyah teaches: “Judge every person favorably.” (1:6)
At first glance, it sounds naïve. In truth, it’s anything but. It asks us to go against instinct, to choose generosity of spirit at a time when it is often in short supply.
Judgment is easy. It gives us clarity and certainty. It allows us to believe we understand not only what we’re seeing, but why others say and do what they do.
Withholding judgment is hard. Understanding takes time. It requires humility. It asks us to sit with complexity rather than rush to conclusions.
Because the truth is, we rarely see the whole story. We see a moment, not the years behind it. We hear words or witness actions, but we don’t see the struggles, fears, or private battles that shaped them.
Perhaps that’s why the Talmud teaches: “A person cannot truly understand another until they have stood in their place.” (Berakhot 58a)
And since we can never fully stand in another’s place, we are called to pause and ask what we might be missing. Because when there are gaps in the story, we fill them in ourselves. And too often, we fill them in harshly.
Judging favorably doesn’t mean abandoning our positions or excusing harmful behavior. It means resisting the urge to reduce another person to a single moment. It means holding onto the possibility that there is more to the story than what we see or believe. It means questioning our own assumptions.
We all have moments we wish we could take back. Times when we spoke poorly, acted out of character, or failed to act when we should have. In those moments, we don’t want to be defined; we want to be understood. Seen in context. Given the benefit of the doubt.
Pirkei Avot asks us to offer others what we hope for ourselves. But in a world that feels so charged, so divided, where emotions run high and stakes are real, that’s no small task.
Perhaps that’s exactly why this teaching resonates so strongly with me this year. Because if we lose the ability to see one another with generosity, if we stop allowing for the possibility of good intent, we will continue to see a decline in civility. We will increasingly close off relationships we once valued. We will lose sight of what it means to believe that each person is created b’tzelem Elohim—in the image of God. And, ultimately, we will erode the very foundation of community.
This teaching does not ask us to be naïve. It asks us to be intentional.
To slow down.
To pause before we conclude.
To ask: Is there another way to see this person?
In a world that rushes to judge, choosing to see generously is not weakness. It is moral strength. It is spiritual discipline. It is an act of faith. And it may be one of the most important things we can do for one another, and for the kind of community we are trying to build.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen