Rabbi Weitzman: Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5786

Rabbi Greg D. Weitzman, Senior Rabbi

Rabbi Bunam used to tell this story:

A poor man from Krakow dreamed, night after night, that a treasure was buried under the bridge leading to the royal palace in Prague. Finally, he set out on the long journey. When he arrived, he found the bridge heavily guarded, but he lingered nearby. A guard noticed him and asked what he was doing there. The man told him about his dream. The guard laughed and said, “You fool! Don’t you know? For weeks now I’ve been dreaming that there’s a treasure buried under the stove in the home of a poor Jew in Krakow!”

The man rushed home, dug under his stove - and there it was. The treasure had been at home all along.

It’s a beautiful reminder that sometimes we go searching far and wide for meaning, for answers, for treasure - when in fact, what we’re looking for is right here, close to home.

Which brings me to a question I’d like to ask: Have you ever wondered - what’s the point? I know that sounds like a big question. Maybe even one that makes you shift a little in your seat. But it’s one worth asking: What’s the point of all this - of being here, of belonging to a synagogue, of living a Jewish life?

Sometimes, if we’re honest, we don’t always know the answer. We find ourselves asking questions like:

• Why am I here?

• What am I getting out of this?

• What does this community mean for me and my family?

And those are important questions. But today I want to offer a shift in perspective: maybe the point isn’t just about what we get. Maybe it’s about what we share - what we build together.

For too long, synagogue life has sometimes been thought of as a kind of transaction: I pay my dues, and in return, the congregation provides services - a bar mitzvah, a wedding, a funeral, a clergy member who shows up when needed. And yes, those things matter deeply. But if that’s all we think synagogue is, then we’re missing its heart.

The real point isn’t simply what the synagogue can do for me. The point is us. The relationships. The connections. The community. The moments we carry together.

Elie Wiesel once said, “The point of Judaism isn’t to make better Jews. The point is to make better humans.” That’s what Congregation Beth Emeth is here to do.

So let me put it in a different way: Belonging here isn’t about passively becoming a better Jew - it’s about actively engaging in Jewish life. It isn’t about outsourcing your child’s Jewish identity to the congregation - it’s about growing it together, as a family, as a community.

The joy of belonging here comes not just from what we receive, but from what we give and what we create side by side. Because Judaism at its core is about relationships. And a congregation is about showing up - for one another, and for something bigger than ourselves.

I believe that at the core of Jewish life are the relationships that we have made along the way. In the congregation world, we know that a congregation is about showing up for one another.

It’s about the person who calls you six months after your loss and says, “I’m thinking of you. Want to get dinner?” It’s about the friend at Torah study who says, “I’ve missed you. Where have you been?” It’s about the people who sit with you, sing with you, cry with you, and celebrate with you.

That - that is the meaning and mission of this place.

And maybe that’s why I love this Hasidic story told about a young boy who came to synagogue on Rosh Hashanah. He was poor, simple, unlearned. He didn’t know the words of the prayers, didn’t understand the Hebrew, couldn’t follow the service. But his heart was bursting.

So as the congregation prayed, he began to whistle the one tune he knew. The people were horrified - “How dare he disturb the holy prayers of Rosh Hashanah!” But the Rebbe stopped them and said: “Don’t you see? That whistle, that pure cry, cut through to heaven itself. It opened the gates. All of our polished words - God may or may not need them. But a true cry, a sound from the heart - that is the shofar of the soul.”

The shofar we blow today is like that boy’s whistle. It is not sophisticated music. It is raw. It is honest. It is a possibility itself - because it reminds us we don’t need perfection to begin again. To enter the year with optimism doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means trusting that even our simplest cry, our most unpolished prayer, has the power to open the gates of heaven - and maybe even the gates of our own hearts. And just like that boy, each of us has something to offer - our own song, our own presence. This year, I invite you to bring it to Beth Emeth: to show up, to engage, to lift the song of your heart with ours.

And I have felt that song - your song - again and again. On so many occasions, I have discovered the treasure that is Congregation Beth Emeth. In conversations we’ve shared. In the moments when someone has come to my office and said, “Rabbi, I didn’t even know I was missing this. I didn’t realize how much I needed to sit, to sing, to feel part of this place.” And in the moments when someone has asked me quietly, “Rabbi, how can I feel that spark again?” Each time, I realize - that’s the treasure. That’s the shofar. That’s the magic of this community. What happens here when we show up for one another is not abstract. It is life-giving. It is transformational. It is not about polished prayers or perfect words - it is about showing up, and bringing your heart.

The shofar asks us: What if this year could be different? What if we are not defined by yesterday, but by the possibility of tomorrow? Rosh Hashanah is not only the birthday of the world - it is the birthday of possibility. Tonight we stand at the edge of a new year, with its pages unwritten, its blessings not yet revealed.

And that brings us to this moment at Beth Emeth.

Because in truth, there is a difference between mission and vision.

The mission is what we do.
The vision is who we are.

So what do we do as a synagogue? That’s pretty clear.

We are a Beit Tefilah - a house of prayer.
We are a Beit Knesset - a house of gathering.
We are a Beit Midrash - a house of learning.

That is our mission - timeless and steady.

But who we are - that’s the vision. And that’s where you come in.

Psalm 27 begins with: “Achat sha'alti me'et Adonai, Achat sha'alti Otah avakesh - One thing, one thing I ask you Adonai, To be with you all of my life”. These words must guide us as we gather together, reminding us that courage and hope are at the heart of Jewish life.

At Beth Emeth, our synagogue is more than a building or a schedule of programs - it is a living, breathing home for meaning, connection, and purpose. It is a place where every story matters, where learning and dialogue are sacred acts, and where our rituals illuminate who we are and who we can become.

Psalm 27 calls us to trust, to step forward even when the path is uncertain. In that spirit, I envision a congregation that meets the questions of our modern world with depth and compassion, where complexity and humanity are honored above easy answers. Here, giving is not about loyalty to a person - it is about sustaining a mission, ensuring that generations yet to come can find the same inspiration, care, and connection that we do today.

So here is what I ask: Attend a program. Join a study session. Reach out to a neighbor in this congregation. Take one step this year to bring your presence, your voice, your spark to our community. That’s how hope becomes action.

My belief - my hope - is that Beth Emeth continues to be a beacon of Jewish life that is both grounded and daring: grounded in Torah, in mitzvot, and in love; daring in our curiosity, our dialogue, and our commitment to justice. Because at the heart of it, this is all that I ask of you: to show up fully, to care deeply, and to build a community that is worthy of our highest hopes.

In his final words to the people of Israel, Moses reminds them that the covenant they are establishing with God is not just for that moment, but for eternity:  “I make this covenant… not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here… and with those who are not with us here this day.” (Deuteronomy 29:13-14)

Rashi and Midrash Tanchuma explain that even the souls of future generations were present at Sinai. In other words, you and I were there. This covenant binds every Jew who ever lived and every Jew yet to come. It defines us, whether we choose it or not.

Which raises a question: what does it mean, today, to be part of a covenant we never personally signed? Judaism is never just about today. Like the covenant, it stretches forward - into the month ahead, and into generations yet to come.

The covenant is not a relic. It is a challenge. It asks:

• How will you live your Jewishness with integrity?

• How will you pass it on to your children?

• How will you wrestle with tradition in a way that keeps its spirit alive?

It doesn’t mean following every law perfectly - but it does mean living as if our choices matter, not only for ourselves, but for those who come after us. To affirm the covenant is to take responsibility for the Jewish future.

Who we are has always been a story of courage and optimism. The very first Jewish families in Albany chose to hope. They built synagogues - not just buildings, but beacons of possibility. When Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise arrived in the 1840s, he brought a bold vision for Reform Judaism. Yes, it sparked conflict - even on Rosh Hashanah - but out of that tension, new possibilities were born. Out of division, Anshe Emeth was created. And only a few decades later, out of hope and courage, Anshe Emeth and Beth El reunited to form Congregation Beth Emeth - our community - grounded in tradition, but brave enough to imagine a new future.

That’s who we’ve always been: people who choose optimism, not as denial, but as courage.

And that is who we must continue to be. Today, we are a mixed multitude. Jews by birth and Jews by choice. Interfaith families. LGBTQ+ and allies. Skeptics and seekers. Elders and children. People who have been here for decades and people walking through the door for the first time.

That’s our vision: to bring more and more people into our midst, to create belonging, to make this synagogue not just a place where Judaism happens, but a place where we happen.

The mission - what we do - keeps us rooted.
The vision - who we are - calls us forward.

So as we begin this year, as we begin this journey, I invite you to hold both.

Because the point is not “me.”
The point is “we.”
The point is not the transaction.
The point is transformation.

And the point is not just what we do - it is who we become when we are together.

On Rosh Hashanah,  we gather to hear the shofar and lift our hearts to God. I want to tell you about a quiet but powerful moment happening across our community today. Imagine an adult - someone who may have drifted from Jewish life, who hadn’t really set foot in a synagogue for years, who maybe didn’t know where to turn for connection. In the wake of recent events in Israel and rising fears of antisemitism, something stirred in them - a longing for belonging, for meaning, for community.

They started small. They reached out to a friend, joined a WhatsApp group, and attended a single program at a synagogue. And in that simple act, a spark was lit. Today, they are learning, they are questioning, they are connecting. They are finding friends, teachers, and a community that accepts them. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, that spark grows into a flame - a lasting connection to Jewish life. That yearning - the desire to dwell, to belong, to learn - is what we see in this new wave of Jewish engagement today.

This Rosh Hashanah, as we reflect on our past and look toward the year ahead, I invite us to see the surging hearts in our midst not as a statistic, but as a sacred opportunity. Each person seeking connection is a spark. And it is our responsibility, as a community, to nurture that spark - through friendship, through learning, through shared experience - so that it may grow into a flame that illuminates Jewish life far beyond this moment.

So that is where you come in.

This Rosh Hashanah, as we stand together in this sanctuary, I want to share a vision of hope - a vision for our Jewish world, and for our Jewish community. Even after the shock of October 7, one truth has emerged: our people want to connect. Across the globe, Jews are seeking meaning, seeking community, seeking engagement. And I am deeply optimistic about what comes next.

We have every reason to be grateful for those who came before us - for the leaders, the teachers, the visionaries, who built the foundation we now inherit. It is because of them that we are poised to grow. And yet, optimism must always be tempered with reality.

I invite you to see this optimism not as mere cheerfulness, but as a mitzvah - a sacred act of hope. To cultivate resilience. To be a partner with God in the next chapter of our story. And perhaps most importantly, to be a partner with me and your clergy - to stand strong together as we answer our call as a community.

As we read in Psalm 27: “God is my light and my salvation; so why do I need to be afraid?” This year, I ask you to take those words into your hearts. Let them remind you that even in uncertainty, even in challenge, our hope can shine. And hope, when shared, becomes action.

As a congregation, we have an opportunity to carry this hope forward. Over the next sixteen months, we will launch a mission and vision campaign. This is not because the work of the past was incomplete. No - it is because the work of the past was strong. It is because of generations of thinkers, scholars, and visionaries that we can now imagine more.

There will be opportunities to study together. To engage with our task force. To share your thoughts, your dreams, your vision for Congregation Beth Emeth. This is a chance for us to define, together, our mission, our values, our future.

I ask you to see yourselves as essential builders of this community’s future. Some will contribute money - and for that, I am profoundly grateful. Some will contribute time - and for that, I can never say “thank you” enough. All of us together will bring something of ourselves to this moment.

And as we do, let us return to the shofar. The shofar is not only a cry of alarm - it is a sound of possibility.

Just as our ancestors heard the shofar and believed in tomorrow, so too can we. Let its call remind us of our sacred responsibility: to engage, to act, to build.

Here at Beth Emeth, we have an amazing building that needs care, a vibrant community that needs nurturing, services that need voices, and classrooms that need students. Together, we can do it.

May this year be one where we live as a hopeful people, inspired by vision, strengthened by hope, and committed to building a Jewish future together.

This year, I invite each of you - not someday, not when it’s convenient - but now - to be a partner in building Beth Emeth. Bring your time, your heart, your curiosity, your voice. Together, we will shape a Jewish future worthy of our highest hopes.

Shanah Tovah.