In this era of growing cynicism, a-historical and ignorant thinking, moral relativity, and pessimism, we Americans, Jews, Israelis and people around the world have a critical choice before us – to succumb to the malignant forces in our respective governments and political leadership, or to act on the appeal that President Abraham Lincoln famously said in his first inaugural address in 1861 to act according to the “better angels of our nature.” As Rabbi Nachman so passionately advised, we are “forbidden to give up hope” for a better world order.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote about the nature and importance of hope:
“There is nothing inevitable or even rational about hope. It cannot be inferred from any facts about the past or present. Those with a tragic sense of life hold that hope is an illusion, a childish fantasy, and that a mature response to our place in the universe is to accept its fundamental meaninglessness and cultivate the stoic virtue of acceptance. Judaism insists otherwise: that the reality that underlies the universe is not deaf to our prayers, blind to our aspirations, indifferent to our existence. We are not wrong to strive to perfect the world, refusing to accept the inevitability of suffering and injustice … Hope is one of the very greatest Jewish contributions to Western civilization, so much so that I have called Judaism ‘the voice of hope in the conversation of humankind.’”
As we begin this new Jewish year, Judaism reminds us not to lose hope no matter what is happening in our lives or in the world around us. The Jewish people’s longevity is evidence enough that hope abides. Otherwise, we would have vanished long ago from the pages of history.
Hope is emphasized throughout Jewish history, tradition, liturgy, theology, ethics, culture, and art despite our people’s suffering from antisemitism, persecution, expulsion, murder, war, terrorism, and assimilation. How else can one explain the consistency and dogged determination of Jewish rebirth after so many catastrophic events, except through unalloyed hope?
Hope has buttressed our people’s spirit from the ancient Hebrew enslavement to the Exodus from Egypt; from our people’s wandering in the desert to the forging of the Covenant at Sinai; from the frequent rebellions against Moses’ leadership to the ancient Israelite’s entrance into the Promised Land; from the destruction of the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem to the creation of a thriving Diaspora; from the Crusades, Inquisition, and pogroms to our immigration to the New World and Palestine; from the fires of the Holocaust to the establishment of the State of Israel; from the suppression of Soviet Jewry to their massive emigration to the United States and the Jewish Homeland; from terrorism and war in Israel to our undying “hoped-for” peace.
In every instance, the Jewish people’s will to survive, to reaffirm who we are, to re-create ourselves as a people, and to adapt to and then thrive in new circumstances are evidence of our people’s determination, willfulness, familial and community cohesion, values, and hope.
What is it about hope that persists in the Jewish heart? It would seem to anyone who knows Jewish history that hope is defiance against reason and against the lived experience of our people, an illusion based in magical thinking.
However, despite our people’s history, hope gives us the confidence to carry on, take chances, plan for the long term, create families, bring children into the world, support Jewish community and the State of Israel, and stand against cynicism, pessimism, and despair no matter what challenges we face and what obstacles make progress seem improbable.
The first chapters in the Book of Genesis set the stage almost four millennia ago. God exists. Moral values infuse creation (after each day the biblical text tells us “וירא אלוהים כי טוב – and God saw that it is good”). Order and purpose are at the core of our nature as human beings and our perception of our moral role in the universe. Although humankind consistently struggles morally and ethically, our people’s wrestling with good and evil (we are called ישראל – Yisrael, a people that struggles) and our consistent searching for the efficacy of transcendent values infuse the Jewish heart and soul with hope that we can overcome every malignant force that allies itself against us.
Our keeping focus on the kind of world we want to inhabit while doing everything possible to prepare ourselves for the fulfillment of a higher moral and ethical vision, which is what we Jews have done over the millennia, inspires hope in the Jewish heart and renewed energy, a sense of purpose, and a positive attitude.
There is no place for a moral person to hide in a world challenged “to do justice, to be compassionate, and to walk with humility before the Eternal” (Micah 6:8). Judaism calls upon us to overcome cynicism, pessimism, and despair, and to bring hope to others through our performance of deeds of loving-kindness and our advocacy of justice.
Judaism and the Jewish people’s lived experience teach that we are at our best when we’re driven by the pursuit of justice infused with compassion, that no matter what our personal circumstances, tradition calls upon us to right the wrongs that produce human misery. Those who help others become, as a result, more resilient in the presence of evil. It is when we reach out to others that we are elevated to our highest humanity. Through activism we also become less fearful and anxious, perhaps more saddened by the suffering we encounter in the world, but unbowed as we struggle on behalf of the well-being of those we seek to help.
There are so many inspiring stories across cultures and nations of how one individual changed the course of history for the better. All great social movements started with a single person whose will and hope thrust them forward to do great deeds.
Theodor Herzl, the father of modern political Zionism as a response to rampant antisemitism in Europe, envisioned the return of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel and, in 1898, predicted that a Jewish and democratic state would be established in Palestine in fifty years.
Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man on a Montgomery, Alabama bus in 1955 and became a symbol of African American courage, pride, and dignity, leading eventually to the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.
Think also of the courageous Russian opposition leader, lawyer, and anti-corruption activist Alexei Navalny, who, on 20 August 2020, was poisoned on the presumed orders of President Vladimir Putin of Russia with a Novichok nerve agent and was hospitalized in serious condition. He was whisked away to Germany to recover, and then he returned to Russia to lead the opposition once again against Putin’s autocratic and deadly rule. Navalny knew he would be arrested as he descended from the airplane at Moscow’s airport. He was imprisoned and then murdered, allegedly on Putin’s orders, because Navalny represented hope against tyranny.
Activism for the good is founded upon memory of past sufferings, on our ability to rise after a tough ordeal, on the faith that we can recover and be stronger than we were, and on our capacity to remain hopeful without illusion. We Jews have good reason to despair and be cynical and pessimistic in the shadow of our history of persecution, suffering, victimization, and wandering, but Judaism forbids it.
Elie Wiesel put it this way in his Nobel Prize for Peace acceptance speech: “Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair.”
Dr. Martin Luther King said in his final address in Memphis on 3 April 1968, less than twenty-four hours before he was assassinated: “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now; because I’ve been to the mountaintop … I’ve seen The Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to The Promised Land.”
Dr. Jerome Groopman distinguished the difference between hope and optimism: “Hope differs from optimism. Hope does not arise from being told to ‘think positively,’ or from hearing an overly rosy forecast. Hope, unlike optimism, is rooted in unalloyed reality … Hope is the elevating feeling we experience when we see – in the mind’s eye – a path to a better future. Hope acknowledges the significant obstacles and deep pitfalls along the way. True hope has no room for delusion.”
In this New Year 5787, despite the rampant corruption, cynicism, political extremism and polarization, wars and violence all around us, we Jews continue to hope. It is hope itself that will save us from the toxicity of cynicism and despair.
L’shanah tovah.
Note: This blog is edited from the final chapter of my book Finding Your Moral Compass – Jewish Values for the Twenty-First Century (Toronto: University of Toronto New Jewish Press, 2026). See the most recent review of my book here – https://www.jewishbookcouncil.org/book/finding-your-moral-compass-jewish-values-for-the-21st-century. The book is available through the Jewish Book Council of America, the book’s publisher or on Amazon.
