Dear JCCNS Members and Community,

According to Judaism, Rosh Hashanah marks the anniversary of the creation of humanity. As such, the holiday—and the period of reflection that precedes it during the month of Elul—invites us not only to look back on the year that just passed, but, more importantly, to consider who we aspire to be in the year ahead.

Rabbi Asher Resnick teaches that the essential question of Rosh Hashanah is “whether we will appreciate what is truly valuable and make the proper choices in the coming year.” The judgment of Rosh Hashanah, therefore, is rooted in our free will and the choices we commit ourselves to moving forward, and the strength and sincerity of those commitments on this holy day.

For me this is both a liberating and profound idea. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l wrote, “The very fact that we can do teshuva—that we can act differently than we did previously—tells us that we are free.” Teshuva, the Jewish concept of “return,” invites us to examine our lives, recognize where we have lost our way, and return to our truest selves.

This notion of “return” reflects the purity of our intentions and our innate desire to be and to do good. It reminds us that growth and change are always possible. In my study of psychotherapy this was a recurring theme, and it is not surprising to me that one’s capacity to grow, to cultivate resilience, and to live more meaningful and fulfilling lives continues to reveal itself at every stage of life.

I believe that, as we approach the High Holidays, it is imperative to reflect on the opportunity the coming new year offers each of us to discover—or rediscover—what is truly valuable in our lives. I would submit that gratitude, a core Jewish value, plays an immeasurable role in helping us make the right choices. Judaism teaches us to cultivate gratitude through the myriads of blessings prescribed in our sacred texts, each offering an opportunity to thank God for the goodness in our lives. When we live with gratitude, we become more attuned to our blessings, to what is truly important to us and, ultimately, to what matters most in our relationships with others and with humanity. Gratitude has a way of focusing and sharpening our perspective and helping to guide our choices.

This year I was blessed with my first grandchild—talk about being grateful! Observing my granddaughter’s curiosity, innocence, and sense of wonder as she experiences the world has been a profound gift. She delights in things that I so often take for granted, but through her eyes, I have discovered a deeper appreciation for the everyday blessings that surround me. She has added an entirely new dimension to my own sense of awe and gratitude. This has been a welcome and eye-opening reality for me at this stage of my life.

As I consider other values I hope to cultivate in the coming year, I find myself wondering how many of them are universal—how many do we all share, regardless of our individual experiences or beliefs—and I am sure there are many. I have also come to appreciate a fascinating teaching in Judaism: that there can be such a thing as “too much of a value.” In other words, virtues must always be measured and tempered by wisdom.

I find this insight especially relevant in the times in which we live. In Pirkei Avot (Ethics of our Fathers) a piece of wisdom has stayed with me since I first heard it many years ago. To paraphrase: when one is kind when one should be cruel, one ultimately becomes cruel to those who deserve kindness. The word “cruel” may sound harsh, but the teaching underscores the importance of wisdom and reflection before automatically leading with a particular value, even one as admirable and desirable as empathy.

Empathy is commonly defined as the ability to recognize, understand, and share the emotions and perspectives of another person. At first glance, this sounds wholly positive, and in many ways it is. Yet the Jewish notion that even virtues can become distorted when taken to excess invites us to examine empathy more carefully and ask whether it too must be guided by discernment.

This very topic is explored in the recently released Suicidal Empathy by international bestselling author Gad Saad. In the book, Saad asks what happens when a society elevates victimhood to a virtue and comes to view punishment itself as inherently “cruel.” He argues that the result is a disease that he calls “suicidal empathy”—a form of compassion so untethered from wisdom and accountability that it ultimately undermines the very society seeking to be kind. The book bears the subtitle, Dying to Be Kind and its cover shows a striking image of a sheep holding a sign that reads, “Free the Wolves.”

Many of us have the good intention to lead with kindness and compassion while striving to positively impact our world. However, in an environment fraught with unnecessary hatred and divisiveness, we are challenged to balance the actions informed by our own values with results and measurable outcomes. Saad’s insight should encourage us to look critically at any one of our values and consider what may be the practical effect of our actions. At the same time, empathy and kindness remain core values and it may be even more necessary for all of us to lead with empathy, albeit tempered with wisdom and a little less certainty of one’s position. Honest disagreement should not lead to hatred or an assumption of ill intent, as it often does today.

As we reflect on the gift of free will and the values we aspire to embody in the year ahead, may we commit ourselves during the days leading up to Rosh Hashanah to living with integrity, spiritual purity, gratitude and a sincere desire to seek wisdom. May we have the courage to make thoughtful choices that reflect our highest values and aspirations, and the humility to learn, grow, and begin again when we fall short.

God willing, we will all be blessed with a year of health, meaning, and fulfillment—one in which we make wise choices, deepen our connections with one another and with God, and live lives that reflect our truest and best selves.

Wishing you all Shanah Tovah u’Metukah.

Marty Schneer