Living a Fuller Jewish Life
Earlier this month, I marked a milestone that is difficult for me to comprehend—sixty years in the rabbinate. I was young, newly married, and full of hope and determination.
photo from the Singer Family Archives
Myra and I were in Washington, D.C. in 1966 where I served Temple Sinai. The Civil Rights Movement marked a pivotal change in the history of our country and had a profound influence on my approach to the rabbinate, shaping my lifelong commitment to social justice and to championing causes for Judaism.
What I did not see coming was the dreadful rise in antisemitism that we see today.
Looking back, I have witnessed times of great hope and times of deep anxiety for the Jewish people. Today's world reminds us once again that hatred has not disappeared. Antisemitism has become more visible, more vocal, and for many Jews, more personal.
People sometimes ask me, "Rabbi, what should we do?"
The obvious answers matter. We should support our Jewish institutions. We should be mindful of our safety. We should speak out against hatred wherever we encounter it.
But after sixty years, I believe our greatest response is something deeper.
We must live a fuller Jewish life.
Image created by David Holifield. @davidholifield from Unsplash
Hatred has always sought to make Jews smaller—to persuade us to hide our identity, lower our voices, or retreat from public life. Our answer cannot simply be survival. It must be to embrace Judaism more fully: gathering for Shabbat, studying Torah, celebrating our festivals, teaching our children, caring for one another, and opening our hearts to those in need.
This is where I return once again to a teaching that has influenced much of my rabbinate: ahavat chinam—love without cause.
Some misunderstand this teaching to mean that we should ignore evil or pretend hatred does not exist. It means neither. Judaism has never asked us to abandon wisdom or fail to protect ourselves. Rather, it asks something even more difficult. It asks us not to allow hatred to define who we become.
When we answer bitterness with bitterness, hatred has already claimed a victory. But when we choose compassion, generosity, justice, and kindness—not because they are earned, but because they are holy—we refuse to surrender the best of ourselves.
The world does not need Jews who are merely enduring these difficult days. It needs Jews who are living their values so visibly that others can see the light they bring.
Isaiah reminds us that God's kindness does not depart from us, even when the mountains tremble. If we are to walk in God's ways, then our kindness must not depart from us either.
After sixty years as a rabbi, my hope for our future is not simply that we will remain a people who survive. My prayer is that we remain a people who inspire—through faith, through courage, and through ahavat chinam.
May we continue to be that light.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Merle E. Singer