Parshat Lech Lecha: To a Place You Do Not Know

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Parshat Lech Lecha: To a Place You Do Not Know
Rabbi Angela Buchdahl

As a rabbi, I am accustomed to family emergencies necessitating a change in plans, and even though I’m on Sabbatical, I knew I needed to be here with my Jewish family.

High emotions over our upcoming mayoral elections have roiled our community. I sent you a letter reaffirming my condemnation of anti-Zionist and antisemitic rhetoric, my steadfast support of Israel and Zionism, and explaining why I no longer sign public letters and why I do not endorse specific candidates. Some of you agreed with my position. Some of you, very emphatically, did not.

I was flooded with emails of support, and I want to thank all of you who shared those words with me. But I want to offer even more thanks to those of you who privately and respectfully shared your disagreement with me. I have been listening, and I want to respond in person tonight because that is what you do when you care about your family.

We arrive this week at Parshat Lech L’cha, the beginning of the Jewish story. God calls Abraham and Sarah to leave their home and comfort for a place they do not know, promising: “you shall be a blessing.” But before we think of the grandeur of that destiny, imagine the uncertainty — the feeling of being strangers in unknown territory.

Many of you have shared that this is how you feel right now: that this is an existential moment for our Jewish community. Some fear that in the most Jewish city in the world, we are becoming strangers once again. I share many of those fears.

I fear living in a city, and a nation, where anti-Zionist rhetoric is normalized and contagious, where Israel is singularly and repeatedly called out and demonized as the worst actor on the world stage, where our children feel ashamed to call themselves Zionists, or afraid to wear Jewish symbols, or worry they can only belong if they are the “good kind of Jew.” I am terrified by how anti-Zionist rhetoric and antisemitic tropes have led to some deadly violence against Jews.

Mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani has contributed to a mainstreaming of some of the most abhorrent antisemitism. His shocking 2023 accusation: “when the boot of the NYPD is on your neck, it’s been laced by the IDF.” This crosses the line clearly into antisemitism – not only demonizing Israelis but echoing the age old antisemitic trope that Jews across the world are the root cause of our problem here. His false claims of genocide, his reluctance to label Hamas a terrorist organization, his unwillingness to condemn phrases like “Globalize the Intifada” and absolute opposition to Israel as a Jewish state contributes to an atmosphere of denigration and ostracization of Jewish people everywhere. In addition to dangerous rhetoric, his pledge to shut down the NYPD’s Strategic Response Group, which broke up violent protests at Columbia, could mean that when Jews are under attack, we may not feel protected. It is hard not to fear that the environment we witnessed for our Jewish children on Columbia’s campus after October 7 could be a preview of the way that New York City could start feeling for all Jews. For so many in this community, this is reason enough to determine your vote unequivocally.

We must acknowledge that these hateful ideas did not begin with one candidate. They are part of broader systemic forces — in academia, politics, and social movements — that have sought to delegitimize Jewish peoplehood and the existence of a Jewish state. These narratives thrive in environments that favor moral oversimplification: where the world is divided neatly into oppressors and victims without understanding Jewish history or antisemitism. We are a people who hold moral nuance, that holds love and critique together. To love Israel is not to deny its flaws; to criticize Israel is not to deny our people’s right to exist in safety and sovereignty. Antisemitism flourishes when the world loses its capacity for that complexity — and we must not lose it ourselves.

I also know that for many Jews – equally committed to Jewish life – this feels like an existential moment for other reasons. I have heard from Central congregants and had the opportunity to speak with students at three different Hillels just this week, and many, especially our younger generation, feel like strangers right now in their synagogues or in institutional Jewish life.

They tell me they worry that the Jewish community is becoming too focused on fear and what can be done to us, as opposed to focusing on our own robust energy and agency. They lament that Jews have made this mayoral election about a single issue when other issues are just as urgent and pressing for them. They praise Mamdani’s efforts to meet with Jewish business leaders, civil leaders, and clergy to hear their concerns, and they point out that he has moderated some of his rhetoric, and emphasized repeatedly that he will protect the Jewish community of NY, and taken more than a symbolic step in asking Police Commissioner Tisch to stay. I would not quickly trust a campaigning politician changing his lifelong positions. But I hear those who believe we must engage even with those we deeply disagree with, or risk isolating ourselves from the broader good of this city.

In addition to the very real external threats highlighted in this election, I fear what has happened within our Jewish community, across the nation and right here at Central. It endangers all of us: it’s the way we are trying to impose a litmus test on other Jews, essentially saying you’re either with us or you are against us. Pitting Jew against Jew. Rabbi against Rabbi. Too many in our community are no longer willing to sit at the same table with people - even family members - who disagree with them. 

Whoever becomes our next Mayor, we will still have to fight the larger threats facing this Jewish community, and we cannot address them effectively if we are divided. 

A great deal of the difference in these Jewish responses — and the generational divides within our community — could be explained by the Jewish memory that each of us holds as most central. Yossi Klein Halevi from the Shalom Hartman Institute distinguishes between what he calls Passover Jews and Purim Jews, who prioritize two contrasting Jewish commands to remember:

Now, Passover Jews are shaped by the Jewish command to remember we were slaves in Egypt - so we must look out for those who are the most vulnerable. This Jewish memory teaches the need for empathy, bridgebuilding and justice for all peoples.

Purim Jews are shaped by the Jewish command to “Remember Amalek” – understand that in every generation there are enemies who rise to destroy us, so we must look after the Jewish people. This Jewish memory teaches the need for vigilance, courage and self-protection.

Both memories are sacred, and both are necessary. Compassion without caution is reckless naïveté; vigilance without empathy is paranoia or despair. We need both of these Jewish orientations to inform how we move through the world.

There are both Purim and Passover Jews in this congregation. Your primary Jewish memory might pull you to vote differently from the person sitting next to you. To your left and your right are people who voted for Trump and Harris. Who will vote for Cuomo and Mamdani – maybe even Sliwa.

My commitment is to keep all of you in this sacred community. Because Judaism is not an echo chamber.

I will continue to speak carefully and thoughtfully about moral issues that unfold in the political realm. I thanked President Biden for standing with Israel after October 7, and I thanked President Trump for helping bring home the hostages after others failed. I have been an outspoken advocate for Israel, even as I have criticized its government when it veers toward extremism or forgets the dignity of others.

I will not remain silent when politicians ignore our tradition’s command not to oppress the stranger — whether that stranger is a refugee, a transgender teen, or someone depending on food stamps for their next meal. None of this requires endorsing a candidate.

In this way, I can speak about issues from my Rabbinic perspective while respecting you to vote your own conscience. 

It's not hard to foresee the dangers of political endorsements. Once a rabbi can tell you how to vote, imagine donations being given, or withheld, in exchange for a rabbi’s thumb on the scale. Or imagine how politicians could start trading political favors for the votes of a community. The Johnson amendment, and Central’s policy of non-endorsement, is a principled stand which is important for the health of our country, our faith and this congregation. The distinction is important – we can advocate on political issues, but we will NOT endorse or specifically denounce candidates.

Similarly, I no longer sign public letters, even those whose sentiment I share. Too often, such letters are weaponized by politicians or the media. My words should come from this pulpit directly for you. That is how I best serve you — directly with my own voice.

This has been a painful week. The Jewish community faces real threats, and we need to confront them without turning on one another. The Sages remind us that both Temples were destroyed because of sinat chinam – internal strife, senseless hate. We can argue robustly and should, as our Sages did. But disputation does not require defamation.

At the end of the day, this divides us and hurts us all. That would be the true danger – a fracture in our Jewish family, including this one. We are carrying real fears. We are facing real threats. And because of that I want to share and end with some hope from the young people I got to meet this week who lifted my spirit. At Yale’s Jewish Asian Shabbat, more than 450 students gathered for prayer, song, and yes — kosher egg rolls. What a surprise they invited me to headline that. At Brandeis, dozens of young Reform leaders told me they study, sing, and serve together every week, and I got to join them for Havdalah, a song session, and a beautiful conversation. At Harvard, one student reflected that part of Chabad’s appeal is its simplicity — because he was craving belonging more than ideology. These students are our future. They are our Jewish future. They are grounded, joyful, and searching for meaning. They don’t want to be defined by fear, even as they recognize danger. They want a Jewish community where disagreement doesn’t mean disconnection — where we can teach them both commands to remember: that we were the stranger, and that we must remain vigilant against real threats. Like Abraham and Sarah, many of us feel we’ve entered uncertainty. We are walking through the wilderness again. But we have walked this path before — and we will find our way forward if we walk it together.

We will honor both our vigilance and our empathy, both our particularism and our universalism. We will listen, even when it’s hard. And in doing so, I am confident we will fulfill God’s promise - And we will be a blessing.