Tonight I started writing about scapegoats and antisemitism. Scapegoats because this week’s Torah portion tells of the goat that was sent into the wilderness to atone for the sins of the Children of Israel. And you know why antisemitism is on my mind. It’s on all of our minds as we watch the outbursts on college campuses.

But the truth is that I don’t want to write about scapegoats or antisemitism, and I don’t want to watch more videos of college encampments, and people shouting about getting rid of the Jews, and I certainly don’t want to get any more nasty emails from strangers accusing me of being a Zionist (which, of course, I am – I believe fully in the right of Israel to exist).

I want to go back to just being a rabbi, helping people with the normal trials and tribulations of life, leading services, teaching, performing lifecycle events. I’ll be starting a new job in July and I’m looking forward to getting to know my new congregation.

But the world has changed and I’m not sure we can ever go back. The events of October 7 are burned into our memories, and we are still praying and agitating for the return of the remaining hostages. It has not ended. Neither has the war that the Israeli government unleashed on Gaza in response.

And so I am adapting. We all are. We are learning how to navigate uncharted territory, and we are doing our best to go on with the important work of living our own lives fully – loving our friends and family, worshiping together, finding meaning in our daily lives, and doing our part to make the world a better place.

Living fully also means fighting hatred and antisemitism, caring about the lives of Israeli babies and Palestinian babies. It means understanding that it is possible to hold two truths simultaneously. Possible to care about the civilians on both sides of the border, those who have died and those whose lives have been destroyed.

And this week, as we prepare to observe Yom HaShoah, it also means remembering the Holocaust and the six million Jews who were murdered, and renewing the vow: Never Again.

There is a story in the Talmud about a man on a boat who began drilling a hole under his seat. The other passengers stopped him, saying that he was endangering everyone on the boat. He claimed that it was his right; after all, the hole was under only his seat.

We’re all in the same boat. Although it often feels that the answer isn’t in our hands – terrorist organizations decide to attack, governments decide to go to war, and we are stuck in the middle – we must continue to stand up for what is right and to speak our truth. 

The noise that the students are creating cannot be allowed to drown out other voices, especially when the students stray from being supportive of the Gazans into blatant antisemitism, anti-Israel rhetoric, and hate-filled speech.

And us? Our task is to continue. Continue speaking our truth. Continue to find ways to make our voices heard. Without shouting anyone down, but speaking clearly and honestly.  

The Talmud teaches that it is not incumbent upon us to complete the task, but we are not free to desist from it. We can’t. Because otherwise some idiot is going to drill a hole in our boat.