Happy birthday, humanity. We have work to do

Last week, a wonderful woman I admire and adore and I went for lunch and talked about God and faith and the state of the world.

She’s angry, as are many.

In the shocking wake of October 7 and everything else that has followed, the kaleidoscope twisted, and the world is different.

Several of my friends – like this one – are furious at God–furious that no divine hand came down to protect us from the horrors that unfolded. They ask me how I still have faith, how I’m not consumed by the same rage.

The truth is, my faith didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t something I was raised to hold tightly. Judaism was part of my life, but God wasn’t a constant presence, and I’ve never believed that God is all-powerful. In fact, I’ve accepted the idea that God can be all-powerful or all-good–but not both. And I choose to believe in a God that is a force of goodness. A partner in our struggles, our hopes, and our desires for a better world.

As I experience it, God doesn’t control the chaos or order the world for us. Instead, we are set in motion to make choices, to try to be decent, to try to do the right thing. God may control the cosmos, but here on Earth, we have the responsibility to act.

So, October 7 didn’t shake my faith in God, because I don’t believe God could have stopped such horrors. That’s not how I understand God’s role. The devastation we witnessed wasn’t about God failing us; it was about humanity failing itself.

What did shatter for me that day was my faith in people. I’ve always believed that at their core, people are decent, kind, and good, that intentional harm was rare. But on October 7, that belief was ripped apart. The cruelty, the violence, the inhumanity – I wasn’t prepared for it. It broke my heart, and it’s been a long, difficult climb through these feelings. Every day, I wrestle with how to reconcile my desire to trust, love, and believe in people with the reality I saw.

And now, as Rosh Hashanah arrives, I’m remembering this.

Rosh Hashanah marks the day we Jews believe God created humanity in all our spectacular, messy, complicated glory. And as we reach this sacred moment, I’m trying to hold onto the idea that maybe, despite everything, there is still hope.

Even though my trust is shaken, I look around dazzled and amazed : We are still here on Earth, still capable of partnering with one another–and with God, if we choose to believe–to make this world as kind and compassionate and just spectacular as it can be.

There are angels all around us, whether you believe in the cosmic kind or simply see the decent humans who do care for one another, who show up in times of darkness to be a spark of light.

Like even last night as we braced for an imminent Iranian cruise missile attack, I sat at a bar in Jerusalem at the end of the world under a cotton candy sky. Depeche Mode plays. Then someone sings REM’s It’s the End of the World as We Know It. And a table full of Jews and Arabs buy each other shots and wish each other health and safety.

In that moment, the fog lifts and the air is sweet and I remember that fear will have you believe the mumbling voices in the darkness instead of the quiet, clear voice in your own heart… we can choose which voice to listen to.

Yes, it’s an ongoing, conscious effort, and despite what happened since October 7, and what is still happening, I refuse to give up. I will make the active decision, day after day, to seek out those who also want to partner for the good, who are driven by love, kindness, and decency. That’s how we can rebuild, one small step at a time.

Yes, my faith in humanity is still pretty shattered – but I won’t let the forces of darkness stop me from doing everything I can to pick up the pieces and rebuild – even if some days it just feels like we are sweeping up dust.

Maybe it’s also a little stardust – a cosmic wink and nod from our partner up there, reminding us: where there’s life there’s hope.

So happy birthday, Humanity. We have work to do.