When Standing Together Hurts: Rosh Hashanah, Israel, and Radical Acceptance

We have just finished Shabbat Nitzavim, and Rosh Hashanah is now only hours away. As we prepare to stand before God, the Torah reminds us of something essential:

“Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem lifnei Hashem Elokeichem…”
“You are standing today, all of you, before the Lord your God.” (Devarim 29:9)

Standing Together — Then and Now

Moshe gathers the nation: leaders and workers, elders and children, men and women, strangers and converts. The Ramban explains that this moment was not just about renewing the covenant, but about including every Jew. No one was excluded.

That’s why we always read Nitzavim before Rosh Hashanah. On the Day of Judgment, we stand not only as individuals but as a people — together, in all our difference.

Rabbi Taragin’s Provocative Question

Rabbi Moshe Taragin has asked: Is there valid Jewish identity without Torah and mitzvot?

For many, the instinctive answer is no. But October 7 told a different story. Jews of every background — religious, secular, cultural, assimilated — rediscovered their Jewishness.

Some live their Jewishness through tikkun olam and moral activism. Even when their critique of Israel is sharp — sometimes painfully so — they still believe they are fulfilling a Jewish calling. Their voice may be uncomfortable, but it is undeniably Jewish.

Five Levels of Jewish Identity

Rabbi Taragin describes at least five layers of Jewish identity:

1. Biblical / Covenantal — Rooted in Torah, mitzvot, prophecy, and destiny.
2. Cultural / Historical — Shaped by memory, Hebrew, holidays, carrying “Joseph’s bones” across history.
3. National / Peoplehood (Hayehudim) — Loyalty to the Jewish people itself, like Mordechai the Ish Yehudi.
4. Ethical / Tikkun Olam — Pursuit of justice and repair of the world, even when it clashes with Israel.
5. Faith & Moral Clarity — Conviction that the Jewish people are here to gift humanity with ethical sensitivity.

Each is incomplete alone, but all are real. All of them are nitzavim hayom — standing today before God.

Classical Voices of Validation

• Rav Kook taught that even secular pioneers who turned away from mitzvot while building the land were driven by sparks of holiness.
• Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote that Judaism’s greatness lies in its plurality within unity. In The Dignity of Difference, he said that God speaks in many voices; silencing one weakens the whole.

Together, they echo Nitzavim: kulchem — all of you.

Radical Acceptance — A Personal Reflection

Here is where this message becomes very personal for me. One of our daughters went through a period of serious mental health challenges. During that time, we found a support group that taught us the basics of DBT — Dialectical Behavior Therapy.

One of its core principles is called radical acceptance. The group posed a scenario: “What if your child came home and told you they wanted to tattoo something on their body you could not accept? What would you do?” The answer was: you may not agree, you may even ache inside, but your child is still your child. The task is to love them, to validate their feelings, even when you cannot approve of the choice.

Sometimes the challenge is even more radical. What if your child came home and told you they were trans? That may clash with your deepest values and expectations. And yet the same answer applies: they are still your child. You don’t have to agree, but you must not erase them from your love.

This, I believe, is one of the hardest challenges for us as a Jewish people today. Some of our brothers and sisters have gone so far in their critique of Israel that they side with our enemies, calling us “colonisers,” “genocidal,” even “Nazis.” It wounds us deeply. And yet, Rabbi Taragin’s lens helps: their activism often grows from a moral impulse. Misapplied? Yes. Misguided? Certainly. But the root instinct — to act from conscience — is still Jewish.

Radical acceptance in a Jewish key means we don’t erase them from the covenant. We may argue, we may weep, but they remain part of nitzavim hayom kulchem. Like parents with children, we love even when it hurts.

Radical Acceptance – Rooted in the Torah

Psychology today uses the term radical acceptance — facing people and situations as they are, without judgment. But the Torah introduced this long ago. Leviticus (19:15) commands: “With righteousness shall you judge your fellow.” Rashi explains this means judging others favorably, giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Rav Kook taught that every person is created b’tzelem Elokim — in the image of God. If we truly saw others this way, hatred would be impossible. Even when people stumble, their divine spark remains, like the sun shining behind clouds. Radical acceptance in Torah is not just psychological comfort; it is a spiritual responsibility to honour the holiness in every soul.

The Talmud models this in how it treats disagreement. Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai clashed on hundreds of laws, even on sensitive issues like marriage. Yet the Talmud records that they still married into each other’s families and lived in unity. The rabbis preserved both opinions, teaching: “These and those are the words of the living God” (Eruvin 13b). Disagreement was never grounds for division.

How different this is from today, where disagreement often leads to cancellation or even violence. The tragic bullet that killed Charlie Kirk shows what happens when a society cannot tolerate opposing voices. Torah teaches another way: recognise the image of God in every person, judge others favorably, and respect different opinions. This is the path to dignity, freedom, and genuine peace.

Human Doing and Concern for the Other

It is not enough to “accept” people in thought. Torah demands that acceptance move into action. We are not only human beings — there is a phrase called human doing. Concern for the other must shape how we act every day.

The Torah constantly repeats the command to care for the vulnerable: the poor, the stranger, the widow, and the orphan. This isn’t abstract compassion — it is practical responsibility. To judge someone favorably is to see their dignity; to care for them is to act on it.

Rav Kook taught that love for Israel — and love for humanity — must be alive in the heart, but it must also express itself in deeds. When we see the divine image in another person, we cannot remain indifferent. Radical acceptance means not only refraining from judgment, but also stepping forward to help, support, and uplift.

In a world that often rewards self-interest, the Torah calls us back to something deeper: living not only for ourselves, but with constant concern for the other. This is what transforms radical acceptance into radical responsibility.

Last week, I attended an evening of inspiration at Makor Chaim Yeshiva High School in Nvei Daniel, led by Rabbi Dov Zinger. His message was simple yet profound: prayer is not only words but a state of being — silence, gratitude, request, and silence again.

Prayer, he reminded us, is not about changing God. It is about changing us. It reminds us who we are, why we are here, and what it means to be truly human.

Photo of Rav Zinger leading the discussion – Free coffee for those who spot me in the photo. Photo courtesy of Yossi Baumol – posted on Facebook

Prayer and the Other

Rabbi Zinger emphasised that prayer cannot exist in isolation. It must overflow into connection with the other, noticing, embracing, and uplifting those around us.

At his monthly Rosh Hashanah-style gatherings, this comes alive: through music, teaching, smiles, embraces, and the deep acknowledgement that you are seen, you belong. I have experienced it personally — even a simple hug from him felt like a prayer in motion. For Rabbi Zinger, to pray is to connect with God, with ourselves, and with each other.

Rosh Hashanah’s Higher Purpose

As Rosh Hashanah approaches, these teachings grow sharper. On this day, we acknowledge God – a Higher Power who created and sustains the world. We refer to God as our King and Father in Heaven. Life is fragile, often painful, and full of questions we cannot answer. Yet pain can also lead to humility, growth, and opportunities for kindness.

That is where human doing and prayer meet: prayer teaches humility before God, and life demands that we turn that humility into kindness toward others.

A Story of Connection

This truth came alive in the story of Dhruv, a widower who moved into a silent apartment block after losing his wife. One rainy evening, his 90-year-old neighbour, Mrs. Kapoor, dropped an apple that rolled to his feet. Dhruv picked it up, walked her home, and noticed her old corded phone. “My son calls every Sunday,” she said softly. “But the week is long.” Dhruv recognised the silence in her home — it was the same silence in his heart.

He knocked again the next day. One visit led to another. Soon they shared stories of her childhood, his grief, and even laughter.

When Dhruv’s grandson Karan was being bullied at school and shut down completely, Mrs. Kapoor tapped her phone and said: “Bring him to me. Not the boy — his voice.” She sang him a silly song and told him how, as a girl, she disarmed a bully with kindness. For the first time in weeks, Karan laughed. That night, he slept peacefully.

Word spread. Soon Mrs. Kapoor’s phone became “Story Time Sundays” — a lifeline for children, lonely seniors, struggling parents, even a grieving veteran. A building once defined by closed doors came alive — all because one apple rolled across the floor.

The Phone and the Shofar

Mrs. Kapoor’s phone became a call to life and connection. The shofar is the same: a cry that pierces silence, awakens the heart, and calls us back — to God, to ourselves, and most of all, to each other.

And so, when the shofar sounds on Rosh Hashanah, hear it not only as a personal wake-up but as a national call:

• Hear the Torah Jew, rooted in covenant.
• Hear the cultural Jew, carrying memory.
• Hear the peoplehood Jew, loyal to the nation.
• Hear the activist Jew, even the critic, whose conscience cries out for justice.
• Hear the Jew of faith, seeking clarity and vision.

Each blast is like the cry of a child returning home. Some returns feel radical, even disorienting. But the shofar is God’s way of saying: they are still Mine — and they are still yours.

As Isaiah promises:
“And it shall be on that day, a great shofar shall be blown, and those lost in the land of Assyria and those cast away in Egypt shall come, and they shall bow to the Lord on the holy mountain in Jerusalem” (Isaiah 27:13).

The shofar gadol is the sound of radical acceptance — God calling every Jew home, no matter how far they have wandered.

Closing

That is the meaning of nitzavim hayom kulchem — all of you are standing here today.
That is the message of Rosh Hashanah.

When we hear the shofar this year, may we practice our own radical acceptance: embracing one another in difference, even in disagreement, as one people standing before God.

Ketivah v’Chatimah Tovah — may we all, in all our differences, be written and sealed together for a year of life, blessing, and renewal.