07/13/2025
Sermon: Who Are We at Our Core – Revisited for 2025
By Rabbi Dr. Samuel Samtosha Steinberg
Delivered July 2025
Shabbat Shalom.
Six years ago, I stood before a community much like this one and asked a simple, but eternal question: Who are we at our core?
In 2019, we explored that question through the lens of personal faith—how we strip away the expectations of society, the noise of the world, the chatter of ego, and begin to hear the still small voice within. It was a message of inner clarity, of listening for God not in thunder or fire, but in silence. It was a message about coming home to ourselves.
But today, in 2025, the world has changed. And so must our response.
⸻
I. The Crisis of Identity
The world is loud—louder than ever. It tells us who we are before we have a chance to ask for ourselves. Social media declares our worth in likes and followers. Politicians define us by how we vote. The news divides us by race, gender, religion, class—pitting us against one another as if life were a zero-sum game.
And now, some would tell us: to be Jewish is to be at war with our Muslim neighbors. Others say: to be American is to fear the future. Some whisper that faith is weakness, while others claim faith must dominate the law.
We must resist all of these lies.
Who are we at our core? We are not these divisions. We are not caricatures. We are not the labels affixed to us by fear or ignorance or politics.
We are, each of us, the Image of God. B’tzelem Elohim.
That’s the foundation of our Torah, and it must be the foundation of our public life.
⸻
II. Faith in a Fractured Age
Faith today is not a luxury—it’s a lifeline.
We live in a time of climate anxiety, mass dislocation, antisemitic and Islamophobic violence, digital overwhelm, and moral confusion. And yet—we are still here.
Because faith, real faith, gives us the tools not to escape the world, but to meet it with courage and compassion.
Our sacred traditions—whether Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, or otherwise—were not designed to decorate our lives. They were meant to anchor us in the storm.
They remind us:
• To pause and listen before we speak.
• To care for the stranger, the widow, the orphan, and yes—the enemy.
• To turn from fear and choose justice.
• To love our neighbor and ourselves.
⸻
III. The Call to Courageous Listening
In 2019, I said: Listen for your inner voice.
Now I say: Listen to the voice of your neighbor.
True listening is an act of holy resistance. It’s what breaks cycles of blame and begins cycles of healing.
Over the last year, I’ve sat in circles with Jews and Muslims grieving together. I’ve seen young activists refuse to hate. I’ve heard Israelis and Palestinians weep in unison for a shared humanity crushed by decades of violence.
We cannot build a future until we first say: I see you. I hear you. Your pain matters, even if it is not mine.
That is what it means to listen as a Jew. That is what it means to listen as a human being.
⸻
IV. The Power of Shared Memory
The past five years have brought collective traumas: a pandemic that stole millions, wars that reignited generational grief, political upheaval that fractured trust.
But shared memory is not only a wound—it can also be a sacred altar. When we remember together, we remember not just what we’ve lost, but what we must protect.
In Judaism, we say “Zakhor”—remember.
Not just to recall, but to act. To remember forward.
⸻
V. Spiritual Tools for 2025
What can we do—right now?
I offer you four ancient tools, made new again:
1. Shabbat – Not just rest, but resistance. A protest against consumerism, speed, and burnout. One day where our dignity is not up for sale.
2. Mindful Speech – Choose your words like you would choose your prayers. Speak truth, not poison. Bless, not curse.
3. Hospitality – Open your home. Open your heart. Invite someone different to your table. That’s how empires fall and humanity rises.
4. Ritual as Repair – Whether it’s lighting candles, walking mindfully, or saying Kaddish for a stranger—we heal the world through sacred intention.
⸻
VI. A New Vision for Our Time
I dream of a New York, a nation, a world where faith does not divide us but unites us in purpose.
Let us declare an Interfaith Day of Listening—a day where we set aside ideology and meet, face to face, heart to heart, to hear each other’s truths without defense or denial.
Let our communities be havens of compassion, not fortresses of fear. Let synagogues, mosques, and churches become healing centers, not cultural battlegrounds.
⸻
Closing Benediction
May we leave here no longer afraid of our neighbors,
But awed by our shared humanity.
May we live not from yesterday’s wounds,
But from tomorrow’s hope.
And may the core of our being—revealed and refined by faith—
Be love, justice, and peace.
Shabbat Shalom. Om Shanti. Peace.
