By Rabbi Jason Nevarez
(Photo: Beth Israel Quarterly)
SAN DIEGO — Last week, I gathered with fellow faith leaders from around the country—Jews, Muslims, Christians, Hindus, and Buddhists—for an inaugural and powerful retreat. It was a space of reflection, renewal, and deep listening across traditions – lessons that will stay with me and I will continue to amplify. Yet as meaningful as that sacred time was, when I left, my heart was pulled immediately back to the headlines from Israel and Gaza. Every story, every image, felt like another tear in the heart.
As a rabbi, I feel the weight of this moment. Some ask me to say more, others wish I’d say nothing at all. And yet, silence cannot be the answer.
Here is the truth I am holding (and I imagine some of you as well):
• My heart aches for the families in Israel who continue to wait in anguish for their loved ones, still held in cruel captivity, and for a nation that continues to reel from grief too heavy to bear.
• I see the devastation in Gaza, and it tears at my soul.
• I know Hamas thrives on cruelty and has brought suffering to Palestinians and Israelis alike.
• I worry about choices made by Israel’s current leadership that deepen the crisis and erode the world’s empathy.
• I feel the weight of Jewish history, and the fear and isolation rising again in our world.
• I see how Israel, as a country, is held to an almost impossible standard—condemned more harshly than other nations in war, even as atrocities and humanitarian disasters unfold elsewhere with barely a whisper. And unlike most other nations, Jews and Israeli citizens around the world are held personally accountable for the actions of the Israeli government, facing blame, hostility, and antisemitism for decisions over which we, personally, have no control. This double standard cuts deeply, leaving many Jews feeling both abandoned and misunderstood.
• In war, there are no clean hands—only broken hearts.
This weekend, we will mark Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year, when we remember the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem and the countless tragedies of our people across generations. Our tradition teaches that Jerusalem fell not only to outside enemies, but also because of sinat chinam—baseless hatred. Tisha B’Av calls us to hold the pain of our history while asking: How will we respond to the brokenness of our own time?
I know this much: this is not a time to hide who we are. It is a time to amplify our Jewish pride, to come into community, and to walk this path together. The Talmud teaches, Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—all of Israel is responsible for one another. In our grief and in our hope, in our fear and in our courage, we walk this road hand in hand.
This Shabbat—and in the shadow of Tisha B’Av—may we hold one another close, speak our truths with love, and refuse to let go of our humanity, our hope, or our light as Jews.
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Rabbi Jason Nevarez is spiritual leader of Congregation Beth Israel.