Rabbi Perry's Kol Nidre Sermon

The Most Tragic Sin is Silence: A Reckoning for Jews About Democracy

On Rosh Hashanah, we began to chart the maps forward for the year ahead. Tonight, on Kol Nidre, we reflect on the promises we have made - to loved ones, to our community, to society, to ourselves and to God. Kol Nidre asks us to face some hard truths; we have missed the mark, broken promises, delayed aspirations, rationalized our shortcomings and stifled empathy for others in the world.  With the haunting melody of Kol Nidre still surrounding us, we put a spotlight on this brokenness and take stock of the times we failed to live by the values of our faith. Yom Kippur strips us of food, water and the materialism of life; we confront our mortality and gather with humility and courage to imagine a different way forward.

After Humankind ate from the Tree of Knowledge they became acutely aware of their frailties and mortality. They knew life was going to be hard, that they were going to need to work and that there would be pain. The Torah tells us that once Humankind’s eyes were opened: God called out to the human, Ayeka—‘Where are you?’  That same question echoes tonight.

Such a simple question:  Tonight our phones and smart watches can pinpoint our latitude and longitude: 42.598713, -71.363625. But Ayeka is not a question of geography—it is a question of the soul. It is an existential question that asks us to reflect on the state of our world and our place within it. What are the coordinates of your soul this evening? What are the coordinates of our country and our world?

Some of us are on the threshold of new beginnings and others are living in the shadow of loss. Some face financial struggle while others feel alive with purpose and gratitude.  And yet—no matter where each of us may be individually, we are here together. Together we are less afraid to respond to God’s question, Ayeka, because we are not answering alone.

As I reflected on this question, both personally and as I prepared to speak during tonight, I was taken by an image shared in the book Unfolding by Rabbi Karyn Kedar. She writes:

“Off the coast of eastern Asia, the mapmaker drew a boundary with heavy black paint. And then, on the other side of the line, he wrote in blue simply, Hic sunt dracones, “Here be dragons.” The year was 1510, and the map was on a small red copper globe about 4.5 inches in diameter.” Later an even older globe was discovered. Although this one was crafted out of an ostrich egg it too “bears the same inscription, hic sunt dracones, ‘here be dragons’.”

As Rabbi Kedar points out, no one has been able to clearly discern what the original mapmakers meant by this phrase. “Here be dragons”, however clearly sparked the imaginations of countless philosophers, writers, artists and poets. And as I thought about God’s question to humankind, Ayeka, it captured my attention as well.

Over the last year, I have thought often about how the map our lives as Jews overlays with the timeline of history. For me, there is no escaping the fear that as a people and as a society, we have travelled into the realm of dragons.

Years ago, my grandmother told me how her father had to escape in the middle of the night, swimming across a river in Eastern Europe to avoid being forcibly conscripted into the Czar’s army. Her grandfather fled the Pale to escape pogroms. Neither man knew what the future would bring. And yet, I believe neither of them felt they were entering the realm of dragons — they were running toward the hope of survival and freedom.

In 1883, Emma Lazarus wrote her poem, The New Colossus, to help fund the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty.¹  It is hard to imagine that our ancestors — Jewish and not — did not know those words, or at least the promise they represented. When our families arrived at the turn of the century, they did not believe they were sailing into a land of dragons, but into a land of opportunity, freedom, and welcome. Of course, history teaches us that our  ancestors often met discrimination, antisemitism, redlining, quotas, and prejudice. These barriers were not unique to Jews: Irish, Italians, Chinese, and many others faced them as well. And for the African American community, whose ancestors were forced here in chains, the journey itself was like sailing straight into the very mouths of dragons.

Tonight, I feel called to ask a modern-day Ayekah, “Where are we?”  Are we ready to courageously chart a path towards a resilient democracy where all people can flourish or will we allow the dragons of hatred, lies, and authoritarianism redraw the map of our nation? These are not abstract questions — they are the urgent questions facing us as Jews and as Americans in this new year of 5786.

I know that my words will resonate with some, but that others might think that there is no place for this type of sermon on Yom Kippur. I am willing to take that risk. As I have taught in years past, Jews are required to build their synagogue sanctuaries with windows so they cannot pretend not to see.  As Jews we are bound by the mitzvah -Lo tuchal l’hitalem, not to hide from what is happening in the world.” (Rabbi Amy Ehlich)

There simply is no escaping that we are living in unprecedented times. Many American ideals are at risk. The freedom of the press and judicial independence are being eroded. Companies and universities are being threatened with financial repercussions and academic freedom and the freedom of enterprise are under attack. Just this week, we saw generals summoned and threatened with dismissal for dissent, and women threatened with dismissal as incapable of serving — signs that the line between politics and military power is eroding. As for our personal liberties? The rights to adequate health care and  reproductive rights have experienced significant erosion, alongside numerous other fundamental rights. Are we in the realm of dragons?

This summer I visited two museums in Washington, DC. The National Portrait Gallery celebrated America’s diverse story — portraits of presidents and pioneers, scientists and artists, as well as images of the Stonewall uprising and leaders in the fight for LGBTQ rights.  Hanging proudly were portraits of trailblazing women, including Rabbi Sally Priesand, the first woman ordained as a rabbi. Courage, diversity and voices once silenced filled those halls. Now, many of these exhibits are under attack, threatened for removal.

I also visited the nearby Museum of the Bible. Unlike the Smithsonian institutions around it, this museum is privately funded and driven by a Christian agenda. While beautiful, I found it to be deeply disturbing. Jewish texts were stripped of context and our story bent to serve a Christian narrative. The message was clear: America is a Christian nation.

The contrast could not have been starker: one museum celebrated pluralism and truth-telling; the other promoted distortion and exclusion. As Jews, we must pay attention. We know too well the dangers when truth is erased, when censorship becomes the norm, when history is rewritten, when religious nationalism rises unchecked.

Why should we, as Jews, care? Historical events warn us that without an inclusive democracy that honors the rule of law and the separation of powers, without a strong democracy that protects voting rights and civil rights for all people - including minorities - Jews have not been safe. Without a vibrant democracy, we risk sailing in the realm of dragons.

This past summer, Dr. Anna Orenstein passed away. A Holocaust survivor who spoke at our Kristallnacht commemoration in 2017. At that time she warned that America reminded her of pre-war Germany. In the months leading up to her death, she passionately spoke about how much America was becoming more and more like the Germany of her youth: warrantless masked arrests, minorities being othered, legal status being revoked for dissent, consolidation of powers. Dr. Orenstein knew once you sail over that black line terrible things can happen and that it is hard to steer back to safe shores. She refused to be silent and beseeched us to act.

The Jewish Council for Public Affairs points out:

• “There is not inclusive democracy without Jewish safety and no Jewish safety without inclusive democracy.

• Antisemitism thrives as a conspiracy fueling democratic decline. and rising antisemitism.

• The conversation about antisemitism has become too siloed and narrow and antisemitism has become weaponized in a way that is hurting the Jewish community."²

So where do we go from here? Other courageous souls have traveled this territory before and their words and actions can guide us.  At the historic March on Washington in 1963, Rabbi Joachim Prinz called on Americans then to speak up against prejudice. He said: “When I was the rabbi of the Jewish Community in Berlin under the Hitler regime, I learned many things. The most important thing I learned in my life and under those tragic circumstances was that bigotry and hatred are not the most urgent problems. ‘The most urgent, the most disgraceful, the most shameful and the most tragic problem is silence.'³ We must not become a nation of silent onlookers.

So Ayeka? Where are we and where on this map of life can we find that place known as hope. The Kabbalists believed that the act of creation left brokenness, and we must be God’s partners in the work of repair. Each mitzvah, each act of justice, releases sparks of light.

We can defend our institution and live with integrity.

We can pursue truth and support just causes.

We can strengthen Jewish life and community.

We can build friendships across differences and speak out for those with no voice.

We can as Timothy Snyder urges, practice courage even with small gestures.

When I think about these uncharted waters, I find comfort in the words of Rabbi Sharon Brous, “We rarely recognize the magnitude of our strength while we are living it. Only later, looking back, do we see that we were far more powerful, far more resilient, far more capable than we ever allowed ourselves to believe.”

Tonight as we hear God’s question - “Ayeka”? Where are you? -  we may feel cast into the territory of Hic sunt dracones - Here be dragons. Yes, Yom Kippur is a moment in time when we are invited—sometimes pushed—beyond the heavy black line, into uncharted waters. To ask ourselves: who am I where the map ends? Who am I when God calls?

Rabbi Nachman of Beslov taught, “The day you were born is the day God decided the world could not exist without you.”  And on this night of when we remember that Ayeka is not a question of geography, but rather a question of the soul, this reminder by Rabbi Kedar can help us navigate in the days ahead.

“The soul’s journey is often invisible while it unfolds. But one day we look back and see the path we forged, the lives we touched, the strength we carried without knowing.”

A safe and courageous journey to each of you my friends.

1 YOUR HUDDLED MASSES - David Perlstein

2 JCPA High Holiday 5786 Talking Points

3 TODAY IN HISTORY - WJC leader at 1963 March on Washington: 'Silence in ... The Problem of Silence: Rabbi Joachim Prinz Speech at the March on ...