The following is a Yom Kippur sermon from Rabbi Adam M. Wright of Temple Emanu-El in Birmingham

During the early hours of October 7th, hundreds of Israelis documented their last moments of life by texting to their families a “goodbye” message before Hamas murdered them. I want to share some of the messages with this congregation.

• “Mom, I love you all, someone’s here. I’m holding the door, people are here, can’t write. I love you all.”
• “Eliran, I love you. Help mom with Shani and Tatu, that’s all I ask.”
• “It’s the end. They got to me. Honey, Sorry about everything. Take care of the kids. Send a kiss to mom.”
• “I love you guys. I’m sorry.”

The colloquial word “goodbye” is a 16th century English contraction meaning, “God be with you” because they didn’t know when or if they would ever see someone again. But, as time progressed, “goodbye” became another way of saying “see you later.”

And, now, never would I have ever imagined reading different nuances of “goodbye” in a text message right before the largest mass murder of Jews since 1945, ultimately reviving the 16th century definition of knowing that their “goodbye” was a THE final farewell knowing they would never see their families again.

I don’t have the words to capture the terror that so many families faced when their lives changed forever in a matter of mere seconds on October 7th.

A “Goodbye,” followed by “I love you.” And, “I’m sorry.” And, again, we are left to ask: “How can God allow this to happen once more?” There’s an obligation we learn in rabbinical school that rabbis must respond to any theological crisis – regardless how horrendous the circumstance and regardless how brutal the adversity is. In this sense, it is not valid for rabbis to say simply, “We have no words.”

There are times when this obligation is easier said than done. Living a Jewish life with meaning and joy whether as clergy or as a congregant, post October 7 now is the most difficult mission in contemporary Jewry, especially as we grapple with God and suffering.

The late chief rabbi of Great Britian, Jonathan Sacks, once wrote that –

“Despair is not a Jewish emotion. For there is a Jewish way of telling the story of our situation. What happens is not chance but a chapter in the complex script of the covenant which leads, mysteriously but assuredly, to our redemption. Crisis in Jewish history has always led to renewal, not despair. So it must be now.”

But, I am a Jew. I’m a rabbi. And, I have some questions about this quote. Here are a few:

• How do we find the strength to write the next chapter?”
• “What does redemption even look like or feel moving forward?”
• “How do we find renewal post October 7th with a broken Israel and a fragmented Diasporic Jewish community?”   

These questions are so hard to answer. But, it’s not the first time as a Jewish people that we faced them. We figured out how to live a meaningful Jewish life 85 years ago after the Holocaust. And, so we must do it again after October 7th. And, we don’t get a pass on dodging these questions because it’s happening now. It’s not a history lesson.

Regardless of the pain, the theological crisis, and anguish from October 7th and its igniting of record highs of Jew Hatred and violence throughout the Diasporic world, Judaism still commands us to live a life of significance, creating lasting memories and sacred moments.

But, here lies the hard truth:

If we sit this one out because it’s too hard to care and decide not to be proactive in our Judaism, it’s not just us who truly suffers. It definitely affects the next generation of Jews who will lose out from enjoying the richness of our religion and tradition. This is something that I, and, frankly we cannot allow to happen on our watch.

For those Jews who choose to be on the sidelines and for those Jews who don’t make Judaism a foundational core in their lives is the very thing that will give Hamas and anti-Semites the victory. For except this fact: any Jew hearing this today must realize that our direct decedents never gave up on their Judaism despite the world they faced. Because if they did, we as the Jewish people would not exist.

On October 7th, the victims were murdered for the sole crime of being a Jew. It was so important for them to say their final goodbyes as Jews. And, the question I ask this morning: What will our message be as Jews to those who were slaughtered?

Because we are the Jewish people who are their living heirs as a global Jewish family to ensure their murder is never forgotten, and to ensure their memories are forever a blessing, and to ensure their martyrdoms – as Johnathan Polin, the father of Hersh, said at his funeral – are a revolution. When the history books are written, what will our chapter say about us?

The first and foremost response is that we cannot take life for granted. Each day is a blessing; each day we have the power to do good, to repair relationships, to celebrate the joy from family and friends, and to be thankful for the gift of life.

And, we can’t take Judaism for granted anymore. I want to say this one more time: We cannot take our Judaism for granted anymore. Our rabbis teach us that the second temple was destroyed because of the baseless hatred toward fellow Jews. If there is a call for Jews to stop ridiculing other Jews, now is the time.

Whether our synagogue is located on Highland Avenue or Overton Road, or if we live in Tel Aviv or in Monsey, New York, we were all once standing shoulder to shoulder together at Sinai thousands of years ago. It’s time to stand together once more, but this time in perpetuity. Because, I’m really tired of labels and identities – Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox.

Before Hamas murdered our people, they didn’t ask about movements; they didn’t ask if we are Ashkenazic, Sephardic, or Mizrahim; they didn’t ask if we were members of the JCC or if we donated to our local Jewish agencies. They didn’t ask where we send our children to Jewish summer camp. They didn’t ask if we kept kosher or could understand Hebrew or Yiddish.

Second: My family grew tired of my frequent use of statistics in my HHD sermons. No more numbers. But…just this last time…data suggests that for Judaism and our Jewish identities to flourish, it can’t be focused solely on Tikkun Olam (Repairing the World) which has been misinterpreted in its original presentation in the Talmud and in Kabbalah.

Rabbi Samson Hirsch, the Father of Modern Orthodox Judaism, taught us to be active in the world – to feed the poor, to assist by word and deed; this is how we display the total noble breadth of our Judaism. We will always do this. But, it’s not only the way “we do Judaism.” Synagogues must be a place for spiritual refuge, Torah study, and prayer.

It cannot be a place where political punditry permeates regardless of party affiliation, or regardless of policies and issues. And, especially not through a rising practice of universalism in the synagogue, seminaries, and Jewish nonprofits that deludes our core identity, spirituality, and particularism. The soul of Judaism in the synagogue is designed to be centered on God, Torah, and Israel.

Third: I want to speak to our members with young families. A few years ago, I stood at this same spot – right here on this bimah – urging this demographic to make Judaism a priority.

I thought my success on the tennis court in juniors and in college allowed me the authority to criticize your kid’s passion for their athletics. I remember saying, “they are not going to go pro.” My hubris attempt to predict something that I had no control over didn’t work. My call to action fell on deaf ears. I regret this. For: you are the next generation of Jews we are counting on to lead us.

I don’t know what to do to get the demographic of young families excited about temple life. We have tried many programs and relied upon countless studies to find the perfect remedy to get you back and involved – whether actively participating in temple life through volunteering on committees or in governance – and coming to Shabbat services often. And…it didn’t work.

I know that you love Judaism in your own unique and special way. Your children attend Jewish summer camp, which is crucial for fostering a strong Jewish identity. But, the synagogue is the most historic and vital institution to ensure Judaism’s survival. It’s here we celebrate simchas. It’s here we comfort the mourner. It’s here where we learn the tenants of our faith. It’s here where we will prepare your children how to advocate for their Jewish identity and Israel on the college campus.

One of the greatest lessons I ever learned in rabbinic school was to acknowledge that we make mistakes. It’s ok to say, “I don’t know.” But, I know this – if we are going to write the next chapter of Jewish life post October 7th, we need our young families not only engaged, but ready to take the helm.

At this pivotal moment in Jewish history, what do you want your Jewish legacy to be for your children, your grandchildren, your great grandchildren, and for Jews in Birmingham, the Diaspora, and Israel? Only you can decide your legacy. And, your legacy is forever.

Finally – we need to recognize that October 7th is not the only challenge to overcome.

• We need to understand, know, and care that American Jews are less likely to attend religious services regularly.
• Our Reform and Conversative seminaries are in utter disarray, with low enrollments and financial challenges. 
• We are not having enough children; the Jewish population is declining.
• Just under half of American Jews have been to Israel.
• We have record high rates of unaffiliation.

Max Nordau, a co-founder of the Zionist Organization together with Theodor Herzl, once said, “The Jew learns not by way of reason, but from catastrophes. He won’t buy an umbrella merely because he sees clouds in the sky. He waits until he is drenched and catches pneumonia.”

We are the preverbally drenched people who have pneumonia. And, it’s time to buy the umbrella. Judaism cannot bleed out, with the final chapter documenting the tortured goodbyes through text messaging from innocent Jews on a Jewish holiday in the early fall of last year; we don’t want this final chapter highlighting our dismal statistics and the fracturing of our people in the Diaspora and in the State of Israel.

Nordau wasn’t wrong. But, to complement his metaphor of having pneumonia, we have a Z-pack. We know that we have a lot of work to do if we want to turn this around. I think we can, because we have always found a way.

If there is one thing that we learned about October 7th is that Judaism needs Jews; and Jews need Judaism.

We need to stop taking our Judaism for granted for all of us need to be part of it, making it better, stronger, and, making it more joyful.

We want our Judaism to shine, representing our core purpose for living. We want our Judaism to repair the brokenness of our communities. We want our Judaism to comfort the mourner and to celebrate the bride and groom. We want our Judaism to love Israel unconditionally despite her imperfections.

We want our Judaism to love all of Am Yisrael, even when there are differences of ritual and practice. We want our Judaism to embody Torah study, prayer, and a heightened sense of spirituality.

We want our Judaism to remember to celebrate the joy and the gift of Shabbos – to take a break from the profane of life. Light candles. Come to shul. Spend time with family. Put aside the cell phone.

When the history books are written about us, our chapter will articulate how we empowered our Judaism during the most difficult time in decades. We want future generations to know how we used our Judaism to ensure that the victims and soldiers’ memories are forever a lasting blessing and never forgotten.

We want future generations to know that we remembered to be thankful for each day that we have on earth, recognizing the power to pursue peace, love, and compassion. We often associate a revolution with war. But, our revolution is not violent. It’s our pledge to ensure that Judaism is fortified forever. And, Judaism needs Jews; and Jews need Judaism.