This Rosh Hashanah, give your rabbi a break

A shofar is blown, heralding the arrival of the new year. Photo by Getty Images

Contributing Columnist Jay Michaelson September 22, 2025

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As Jews enter the time of year when we reflect on our words and deeds, I have a recommendation for where to begin: Give your rabbi a break.

The Days of Awe are always a stressful time for cantors, rabbis and other clergy. There are sermons to prepare, services to coordinate, and, for better or for worse, it’s showtime, when hundreds of hitherto-unseen congregants pack into their temples and synagogues.

But Israel’s war in Gaza has made this period not just more stressful, but downright dreadful — not simply because of the violence itself, but because of the verbal violence with which our community debates it. I know this because, as a non-congregational rabbi with many friends in the business, I am a rabbi-whisperer — a confidante, even a consigliere.

And I can tell you, based on my sample space of a dozen or so, that most rabbis are miserable.

Regardless of where their congregation stands politically, they are torn between right, left and center. If a shul is left-leaning, it’s between the anti-Zionists on one side and the pro-Israel centrists on the other. If the shul is right-leaning, it’s between the bring-them-home-now folks who support Israel but want a swift end to the war and the Israel hawks who want to keep fighting until Hamas is destroyed.

Even if the congregation has found ways to accommodate nuance, complexity and disagreement, I know rabbis who can’t say what they believe because they’ll alienate an active member, or a donor, or a schmendrik with a loud voice. Did the rabbi condemn the loss of innocent lives in Gaza and the fact that Hamas is still holding innocent Israeli hostages? Which did she do first? Did he make a false equivalence between the two sides? If so, which side should she have favored? Did the prayer for the state of Israel come before the prayer for peace, or after? Did the rabbi come out against the war too soon, too late, or never?

I could, without exaggeration, list another 50 of these questions, each one a fraught litmus test for moral acceptability, a stumbling block placed in the way of the spiritual leader who dares not misstep lest he or she be pilloried over holiday dinner tables.

I am not exaggerating here (except that there are, as of yet, no literal pillories). Rabbis are afraid to say anything, but also afraid to say nothing. They, like the rest of us, feel some degree of ambivalence — a majority of American Jews support the state of Israel, but oppose the practices of the Netanyahu government. Already, without getting into the topics of food distribution networks and the biases of major media outlets, that’s complicated.

And yet, rabbis tell me, even a single misstep to the right or to the left invites criticism that, really, should have no place in a synagogue community.

This abominable level of uncivil discourse has to stop. I know for a fact that it is causing some rabbis to question whether they want to remain in their present pulpits. And even for those who are committed, it is an endless drain on energy and time — worrying what this person will say, or whether that person will quit the ritual committee.

Moreover, even if Jews have a longstanding tradition of arguing with their communities (remember the Jew on the desert island who built two synagogues — “the one I go to, and the one I won’t be caught dead in?”), this is not derech eretz; it’s not the way we should be as Jews or as human beings. We should do better.

What could “doing better” mean in practice?

Here’s one thing it doesn’t mean: giving up on our moral commitments and Jewish values. As I’ve written about many times, Israel’s military campaign in Gaza raises a host of moral, communal and ethical issues. To those more on the Right, Israel is defending itself against an implacable foe, and the world is holding it to a higher standard than any other country. To those more on the Left, Israel’s claims to legitimate self-defense expired long ago, and the country has never properly balanced military necessity and minimizing the loss of innocent life.

These are radically different positions, and so disagreement is inevitable. Moreover, that kind of sincere disagreement — a machloket l’shem shamayim, a dispute for the sake of heaven (i.e. moral values and religious beliefs) — is part of the Jewish way to live as a moral human being. We are meant to disagree, and even to argue.

But let’s face it: We’re long past the time of disputing for the sake of heaven. On the contrary, for months now, American Jews have been arrayed in a circular firing squad in which any deviation from the Correct View is punished by vituperation, threats, acrimony, cancellation (as has happened to me) and accusations of antisemitism, complicity in genocide, self-hatred, you name it. We have lost the thread here. We are not going to bring liberation, security, or whatever other value you cherish by attacking one another or our spiritual leaders in this way. 

So here are three invitations I extend to you, no matter your politics, on the eve of this New Year.

First, let’s practice savlanut, patience. Patience is hard, and not one of my strong suits; the Hebrew word has the connotation of suffering. Google’s AI Overview describes the etymology well: “It signifies the ability to endure difficulties, delays, or frustrating situations with grace and tolerance, rather than simply waiting or being calm.”

Exactly — that is Jewish patience. Yes, the rabbi, or fellow congregant, or family member will say something not merely distasteful, but perhaps even morally offensive. But you can take on the spiritual practice of enduring it. You disagree strongly. With a little mindfulness, you can feel the disagreement in your body: muscles tensing, face flushing. But you can endure it. You don’t have to repress your reaction; you only have to repress the urge to say or do something about it. Give savlanut a try.

Because, second, you can choose to prioritize shalom bayit — peace in the home, whether familial or congregational — over the other important values in play.

It is important for American Jews to take a moral stand regarding Gaza. I, obviously, have written many times about what I think that moral stand should be. But is the right context for that moral argument the community where you also celebrate b’nai mitzvah, mourn the loss of loved ones, observe the cycle of Jewish holidays, and stand together against the real threats of antisemitism from left and right? Are these the minds that you, and you alone, must endeavor to change?

I submit that there are other venues for political action. Give the rabbi a break. Focus your attention elsewhere.

Finally, try shmirat halashon — ‘guarding the tongue.’ If you are absolutely compelled to object to something someone said, and there is no venue more appropriate than your family dinner table, consider how gently your reproof might be worded. Treat it as a challenge, if you like: How open, how non-violent, how non-overstated can your words be? How can you deescalate the argument?

This — not the brute verbal force that typifies our current political discourse — is real strength. “Who is strong?” ask theTalmudic rabbis, answering, “the one who can subdue his or her will.” The real test of strength is not whether you can outwit your opponent in some debate, but whether you can remain a mensch, a good human being, even as you do so.

Sometimes the answer to that question is simply: No. And in that case, Psalm 65:1 reminds us, lecha dumiya tehillah, “Silence to you is praise.” Sometimes, the best thing you can say is nothing at all.

For a long time, I found it preposterous when people didn’t address the proverbial ‘elephant in the room.’ We’re all thinking about it, I’d say to myself, so why not say it?

Now, let’s just say I have a new appreciation for elephants in the room, and simply letting them sit there. The Israel/Palestine elephant is just too hard to talk about in the ways that we usually talk about things. It is too fraught for ordinary discourse, let alone vituperative tweets and emails.

And some of this is actually a good thing. It’s good to have strong opinions about a defining moral issue of our time, and, again, I’m not saying we shouldn’t have those opinions, or shouldn’t protest, debate, or take action on the basis of them. Absolutely, the pursuit of justice (as we perceive it) is a moral and Jewish imperative.

But sometimes, in some times and places, the best thing to do is, as the kids say, to STFU for the sake of shalom bayit. I want to suggest that congregational life is often not the best venue for vitriolic political debates, precisely because we are so close to one another. And I especially want to suggest that it’s unhelpful to expect our rabbis and cantors to share and demonstrate our political views. We share many other things: our lives, religions, communities, and many though not all of our values. That is more important than ‘taking a stand’ in a way that, definitionally, will exclude some even as it includes others.

This ‘discourse’ is tearing our community apart. I see it firsthand. We can and should do better. Let’s start by giving the rabbi a break.