In July 2014, while traveling on the west coast, I wrote an email to my congregation. The next week, I wrote again. And then again. I wrote every week, including from Seoul that August while I visited my daughter. I’ve written from hotel rooms and hospital rooms, in every season, through tears and with joy.

In more than 10 years I have never missed a week. Mostly I wrote about the Torah portion or a Jewish holiday, but often something happening in the wider world. And almost always, the message was upbeat. Even when things happening in the world weren’t so great.

But recently I entered a new phase of my rabbinate. I don’t lead a congregation. It’s become harder to motivate myself to write, and even harder to make sure my message stays upbeat. Without a congregation, why should I keep writing?

That’s probably why the Torah portion struck me differently this week. It’s called Lech L’Cha, “go forth,” and in it we begin to get to know Abraham and his family.

I realized that these chapters of Genesis give us a bird’s eye view of Abraham learning; learning how to interact with God, how to pray, how to respond to difficult situations, how to be a husband and a Jew. How to become Abraham.

He was not perfect. The episode in Egypt, when he asked Sarah to pretend to be his sister and allowed Pharaoh to take her as a concubine, is more than upsetting. At other moments, when he rescued his kidnapped nephew without hesitation, he was admirable.

Throughout, we see that he was simply human, grappling with a new reality. It helps us to both understand him and forgive him his failings.

As I grapple with my new reality, I think that perhaps I need to keep writing every week. I know that only a few hundred people read this blog. It would be nice if there were more (and if you can help make that happen, please do! Ask friends and family to subscribe).

I think that I need to use my voice, because it’s all I’ve got. We are facing a changing reality in our nation, and I believe each of us must take part to ensure that America remains the home that we cherish.

What will that look like in the months and years to come? I have no idea. Nor do I know what will be required of me. But I am reminded of something Howard Thurman once said: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”