Rabbi’s message - Aug 19, 2025

This Shabbat, my socials were covered in yellow.

Not because of a love of bees or sunshine. But thanks to the national protests throughout Israel. An estimated 500,000 people in just the single city of Tel Aviv alone emerged to protest against the current government and almost every aspect of their decisions, from their attempts at “re-balancing” power with the judiciary to their failure to bring home the hostages and foster peace. Outside of my favorite Israeli city, protests, strikes and transportation stoppages occurred throughout the country, from Eilat to Acco and beyond. Over 1 in 10 Israelis found themselves in the streets this Shabbat. 

Now, I am, generally, not what I sometimes call a “David Brooks” rabbi. Not that there is anything wrong with that. There are just so, so many Jewish voices in this arena, from the excellent podcast Call Me Back to my personal love-hate relationship with the popular Ezra Klein. But this moment feels different. This feels different because the overwhelming Israeli protests this weekend speaks to the interior, spiritual work that continues to draw me to the rabbiniate. To witness so many friends from every walk of life in Israel - teachers and civil engineers, office workers and archeologists, artists and high-tech executives - express their voice and their dream for change was deeply moving. 

And yes, protests are loud. They’re full of drumlines and chants and frustration and passion. But at their core, they are really quiet things. They start in the hush of the heart, in the stillness of a sleepless night, in the whisper (or knowing Israelis, the volley) of conversation around a Shabbat table: This is not the world I want. Or even more bravely: This is the world I still believe we can build.

That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about — that beneath all the signs and songs and sirens is a remarkably Jewish act: a confrontation with hope. Not cheap hope, not naïve optimism, but the gritty, grown-up kind that stares reality in the face and still chooses to dream. It is the hope we sing of during Hatikvah; it is the hope of Theodore Hertzl’s “If you will it, it is no dream”. That’s the hope I saw waving as a yellow flag across my feed last Shabbat. 

And that brings us to our spiritual work. In just a few weeks, the shofar will sound, and with it, the ancient call to look inward and forward. So, let's begin where all meaningful change begins — with a question: What are our hopes for the coming year? Not just for the headlines, but for our homes. Not just for the protests, but for our prayers. Over the coming days, may we find the strength to ask this question honestly, and the courage to listen closely for the answer.

Shavua Tov, Rabbi Lauren