Note: this sermon was delivered on the morning of Rosh Hashanah 5786, September 23, 2025, by JRC Rabbi Rachel Weiss. The full transcript is below.
One of the most delightful things I did this past summer was serve as the Cultural Consultant for the Music Theater Works professional production of Fiddler on the Roof. For months I sat in on production meetings, helping with the details: the ritual objects, the costumes, the pronunciation of Hebrew and Yiddish, even the choreography of a Shabbat table. We worked to reflect the authenticity of the 1904 Pale of Settlement Jewish shtetl, with the context of today’s immigration and refugee crisis at the forefront.
Considering I wasn’t cast in the 1992 ETHS production of Fiddler, it was both redeeming and fun. I did lobby for a walk-on as the rabbi—but to no avail. After all, I was there for the authenticity of Tevye’s times, not ours.
Tevye, as Sholom Aleichem wrote him, is more than a character. He is an archetype of the late 19th century Jew on the verge of exile, searching for his place in a changing world. He breaks the 4th wall barrier to talk with God (and us) out loud, weighing one against the other:
On the one hand, tradition. On the other hand, the changing needs and his compassion for his children. But on the other hand… Tradition, Tradition!
When the world shifts, whether the national or international scope, inside your own family or community, where do you draw the line? When do you bend? When do you stand firm? And when the world is burning down around you, what do you carry with you on the wagon out of Anatevka?
Tevye’s constant refrain—“on the one hand… but on the other hand…”—isn’t just shtick. Reconstructionist Judaism embraces it as a question we all face at some point: When do I stay rooted in what I know, and when do I allow myself the flexibility to change?
And now, you’ll have “Tradition!” stuck in your head for the rest of the holiday. You’re welcome.
Our tradition offers us a different stage, one we return to every Shabbat: Psalm 92, Tov Lehodot, “It is good to give thanks.” Gratitude is not just an attitude but a discipline. To give thanks is to pause, to notice, to name our blessings before life slips by unnoticed.
The psalm then continues: Tzadik katamar yifrach, k’erez balvanon yisgeh. “The righteous shall flourish like a palm tree, like the cedars of Lebanon.” A beautiful metaphor, but if you’ve ever been to the Mediterranean coast of the Middle East, or the botanic gardens, you’d see that these two trees are very different.
Palms bend with the wind, flexible, supple, responsive.
Cedars stand tall and unmoving, deeply rooted and solid.
It’s a good metaphor, that humans are like trees, just like Torah is an eytz chayim, a Tree of Life. We too are seeking pathways full of peace. If the way to righteousness is to be flexible and responsive, but also firmly planted and unmoving, which one do we follow?
Judaism’s answer: both. The challenge is knowing when to be which.
Jewish practice thrives on dichotomies: blessings and curses, a time to be born, a time to die, a time to destroy, a time to heal, a time for silence, a time for speaking. These merisms—naming the ends of the spectrum to represent the whole —remind us that life usually happens somewhere in the middle. Rarely are we all cedar or all palm and most of the time, we’re both. We humans are capable of holding multiple ideas and feelings at the same time, even when they are in conflict. A time for everything under the sun.
But because we are so capable of living in complexity, how do we know where on the spectrum to be in these times that are pulling us to binary options and allegiances? When do we plant deep in our convictions, and when do we respond and change?
That is exhausting, and can be haphazard, confusing, and lonely. And it feels, at times, like there’s no right way to speak or act without betraying some part of ourselves or those we love.
So how do we decide? When given binaries, we embrace the nuance of spectrum, but we also need clarity. This is where Judaism offers us a gift: to know which way to turn, we return not to rigid answers, but to values.
When JRC broke ground on our building in 2006, we recycled most of the old building into the foundation of the new one, and placed 18 new pillars, each dedicated to a Jewish value which were chosen by our children: Joy, Tikkun Olam, Respect, Learning, Community, Peace, Spirit, Love, to name a few.
More recently, in 2023, our Israel-Palestine Working Group created a covenant based not in uniform beliefs, but on shared values and behaviors: Those values included Tikkun Olam (repair), B’tzelem Elohim (every human created in the Divine image ), Pikuach nefesh (saving a life), tzedek (justice), din (accountability), Wide Tent, Connection, Responsibility, and Shalom.
That is Reconstructionist Judaism: we take tradition seriously, we take today’s world seriously, and we guide our choices by values—so we can live authentically, even when today’s world calls for traditions to change.
This values-driven process was expressed in Lithuania in the 1800’s, where the practice of musar became a vehicle for using our Jewish traits and virtues as a basis for moral conduct. It’s the Jewish version of SEL – Social Emotional Learning – which is found in most of the elementary schools our JRC kids attend. Middot, another name for values, is the name of the educational learning program at our Reconstructionist Camp Havaya.
Contemporary Reconstructionist life calls this process Values Based Decision Making, which we employ at JRC when we are confronted with complex moral, communal, and personal dilemmas: We have significant organizational financial needs, and we also believe in an economically diverse community. We are dedicated to egalitarian Judaism, and a member’s family needs a shiva minyan of only men with a male rabbi. It considers the values at play and the emotional, moral, and practical aspects, balancing between caring for oneself and caring for community and the world. We engage with contradictory truths with values to discern when to rely on one practice or the other.
Of course this can be applied to questions of sliding scale dues or egalitarianism, but in this moment we can name numerous polarizing, painful, and very live to which we might apply this Jewish rubric. Too many to just pick one for this sermon, so instead a system to approach them all.
This work takes vulnerability, just as when we learn texts in hevruta partnership, where the goal of exploration together is not to change the other’s mind or reinforce what you already believe, but to be vulnerable enough to allow your own self to be changed. And isn’t that kind of change exactly what Rosh Hashanah and Teshuva asks of us?
On this day which celebrates Creation, we celebrate wholeness. 7 are the days of creation, 7 is number of shofar moments on last night’s Shofar Walk, 7 circles at a wedding, 7 the days of shiva. Today I want to lift up 7 values I find myself using to discern when to be a Palm Tree and when to be a Cedar.
- Shalom – Peace and Wholeness: Shalom asks: does this path lead to greater peace, integrity, and wholeness—for myself, others, and the world?
- Areivut – Mutual Responsibility: Kol Yisrael areivim zeh bazeh – the whole Jewish people is responsible for one another. Our decisions are not merely personal; they affect communities, families, and the vulnerable. If my comfort causes harm, change is needed. If my stance protects the vulnerable, I stay rooted.
- Masoret – Tradition (!): We are heirs to millennia of wisdom and practice. What in this tradition still carries truth? What needs reimagining? If a tradition grounds us in holiness, we hold fast. If it no longer serves justice or love, we adapt and change.
- Tzedek – Justice: Who is helped and who is harmed? Justice may demand change—of systems, behaviors, and cherished institutions. When injustice persists, we must bend—even when it’s uncomfortable. To stand with justice requires that we consider who is harmed, who is helped, and whether dignity is upheld.
- Emunah – Faithfulness: This is integrity and reliability in relationships. Am I showing up with honesty and commitment to people, traditions, or causes—even when challenged? If faithfulness deepens love and trust, we remain steadfast.
If rigidity breaks valued relationships, we must adapt.
- Ve’ahavta le’re’echa Kamocha: Love your fellow humans as you love yourself. This implies that you love yourself. What does love for our own people look like, and how might we love our neighbors who are different? Does staying planted or responding with flexibility nurture compassion and connection?
- Teshuvah – Return, Repair, and Transformation: This season’s central practice: turning and returning. Judaism honors the process of reevaluating where we stand. What must we leave behind; what do we carry forth? Teshuvah invites reinvention, but also return to our best, truest values—even if that means change. Hashiveinu, venashuvah.
How might we know which way to lean when we are pulled from one pole to the other? We ask, does this bring peace and wholeness? Does it honor responsibility and justice? Does it deepen my relationships and foster love and respect? Does it help me return to the parts of myself that I hold most dear?
How we apply Jewish values is up to each of us. Creating a community that holds these values together is up to all of us. How do we hold, support, and lift each other up in this tender work? We must be both palm trees and cedars, helping each other to discern when to stand firm and when to flex, centering our Jewish values to inspire us to act. This is the work of cheshbon hanefesh— the soul-accounting we aspire to in this new year. Like Tevye, we will often find ourselves saying: “On the one hand… but on the other hand…” And sometimes, both hands hold truth, and our values will help us bend or root in the moment.
This is not supposed to be easy, with simple and unified outcomes. Because we are yisrael, the descendants of the one who wrestles with God, whether that is the God of Torah, The God of Tevye, the Kaplanian Power that Makes for Salvation, or the godliness we seek in each other and in ourselves.
In this new year of possibilities ahead, I hope that we explore less of finding the one right place, and more of exploring the right values to help us understand the world. May we be both palms and cedars, bending and standing tall with wholeness, responsibility, tradition, justice, faithfulness, love, and repair. In this new year, let us hold each other up like the branches and roots of the trees, building and rebuilding, growing and seeking righteousness together.
Rabbi Rachel Weiss
Rosh Hashanah 5786/2025
September 23, 2025