The 137th annual Convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis was held in March 2026 in the San Francisco Bay Area, where over 400 Reform rabbis gathered in person and online. Here, we share CCAR President Rabbi David Lyon’s moving address acknowledging the challenges of being a rabbi in this moment and a reminder to counter hate with courage and Jewish joy.
Only two weeks ago, we celebrated Purim. In ancient times, Persia returned the Jews to Judah; today, Jews seek to return Persians to Iran. It’s a topsy-turvy world sometimes. It’s not always ours to understand, but it’s always ours to make meaning. If only it didn’t take so long to return to our ancestral home in Israel, to repay the favor to Persia, or to anticipate peace after war in the Middle East. Apparently, it’s also going to be a while before Jewish institutions and the people who serve them can stop worrying and spending for security.
Our work, though, is a marathon, not a sprint, another sports metaphor that had to be explained to me by my colleague, Rabbi Adrienne Scott, who runs. I don’t run, unless I’m being chased. Esther, of course, was chased, but Mordechai had to remind her, in a horrible moment, that she had come to royalty “for a moment such as this.”
But, really? Under our circumstances, who hasn’t asked, “Have we come into the rabbinate for THIS?” Or maybe someone asked us, “For this YOU became a rabbi?” It’s rarely easy. So let’s be clear, today: For this and more WE were created.
Our learning begins in Vayikra where the Israelites and their priests managed their own sacred relationships with God through sacrifice. First among them, Moses brought different kinds of offerings. Referring to Psalm 18:26ff, Rabbi Nehemiah explains in Vayikra Rabbah:
When Moses approached God with special courtesy, God treated him with special courtesy; when he came to God with frankness, God answered him with frankness; when he approached God with lack of directness, God countered him with lack of directness; when he sought a clear statement regarding his affairs, God made clear his affairs for him. (Midrash Rabbah, Vayikra 11:5)
Without a Temple to offer sacrifices, the rabbis linked Moses’s relationship with God to the offerings of his lips and the intentions he brought with them. Then they linked Moses to themselves, and they taught that, with no Temple standing in Jerusalem, our verbal gifts would replace the sacrifices. The rabbis thus equated the power of their own prayers with the power of the best-intentioned sacrificial offerings. We, too, hope that our prayers and intentions will be worthy before God.
It’s just that in Temple times, every person’s choice of animals for sacrifice obligated them to bring something physically perfect and pleasing to God. The obligation to serve God was borne by every Israelite in the physicality of carrying the produce of their herd, flocks, and fields, to the High Priest for sacrifice.
I remember once, in the Old City, a tour guide told a group I was leading that as they made their way to the Temple Mount, ancient Israelites often bought their sacrificial animals at a market stand, then entered the mikveh before making their way into the Temple to offer it. A curious member of the group asked, “In such a busy marketplace, what did the person do with the goat while making their way to the mikveh?” Instantly, I said, “They took it to the ‘goat check!’”
We best accomplish our sacred work, bringing our own version of perfect offerings, when we focus first on the weight of all the issues that lie in our hearts so that we can offer prayers and service that will be pleasing to God. In חובות לבבות, Duties of the Heart, Bachya ibn Pekuda teaches us that, as selfless and sacred servants, we are at our best when we are humble souls. He teaches that, when humility “become[s] permanently established in [us], its marks are [reflected] in gentle speech, a low voice… and sparing in taking vengeance when one has the power to execute it” (Duties of the Heart, page 68).
Not to be discouraged, he teaches that “humility and pride can co-exist,” but only when our work “is an expression of…gratitude for God’s goodness in conferring these [gifts] to [us].” Bachya further explains that gratitude is expressed when we are “humble towards those near God; [when we] rejoice with [our] colleagues, [when we’re] solicitous about the honor due to them, [without] exposing their deficiency in knowledge, [when we] speak in praise of them, love them, defend their cause and [are quick] to show them respect” (Duties of the Heart, page 68).
Best of all, we learn that “such pride is not detrimental to humility.” Instead, pride in balance is essential to humility as we learn in Proverbs (22:4), “The reward of humility is the fear of the Eternal; that is, “humility and fear of the Eternal are compatible with riches and honor” (Duties of the Heart, page 68).
Offerings that are borne by us in our hearts rather than our hands actually contain more than sacrifices did. First, we must make ourselves properly humble before God and each other. In this respect, we prepare ourselves to find our moral compass, to identify how to behave and manage our successes and failures. Then, we can help our people grow to be what they called us to help them become, too. Second, the offerings of our hearts don’t require an intermediary as the high priest was to ancient Israelites. The rabbis linked their intentions with those of Moses, and while we might seem arrogant to claim the same thing, if we didn’t weigh the matters with fear and awe, we could fail to recognize just how much actually sits in our hands and rests on our shoulders.
Let’s consider what our hearts might lead our hands to do. Today, the duties of our heart will guide our hands on matters of Israel. The CCAR identifies itself as a Zionist organization without equivocation, all the while embracing a broad spectrum of Zionist ideologies and priorities in our midst, not “unfriending” or expelling one another because our Zionisms look different from each other’s. In her book, Melting Point, Rachel Cockerell provides a foundation for us from the words of Theodore Herzl, himself, speaking in Basel:
Let everyone find out what Zionism really is—that it is a moral, lawful, humanitarian movement, directed toward the long-yearned-for goal of our people.
That is the goal, and however challenging these times might be, we must be a collective voice that advocates for the preservation of that vision.
Perhaps we have been called to the rabbinate for a moment such as this, which requires each of us to struggle with our Zionism and with our relationship with the State of Israel and its people.
Today, the duties of our heart will also guide our hands on matters of immigration. The Immigration Act of 1924, known as the Johnson-Reed Act, effectively shut America’s doors. It increasingly turned the page on our country’s understanding of its origins and the dream that it was for millions of new Americans. Opportunity and prosperity, freedom and happiness should continue to be the reasons America is a destination and why we should continue to advocate for those whom we will come to know as our neighbors.
Perhaps we have been called to the rabbinate for a moment such as this, when we must push back against American nativism that would cruelly shut our nation’s doors to the “tired and poor, yearning to breathe free.”
Today, the duties of our heart will also guide our hands on matters of dignity for all people. The CCAR stands with those who embody all God’s gifts to them, but suffer under the cruel judgment of those who purport to speak for God. Today, that judgment especially imperils transgender and nonbinary Americans, including our own CCAR members, members of our families, and members of the communities we serve. How can those who believe that God’s word and way is perfect stand in judgment of anything that God creates? Our faith in God enables us to see beauty where they see ugliness, and to see love where they can only see hate. If we know before whom we do stand, then we’ll always know the One Judge of us all.
Perhaps we have been called to the rabbinate for a moment such as this to push back against false prophets.
Today, we do all this sacred work in the face of antisemitism at a level that my classmates and I knew only as history when we were growing up or as young rabbis. The too-often-violent hatred of white Christian nationalists and of jihadis, all of them fed by the lies of Tucker Carlson and Candace Owens and their ilk, have led many to view our sacred places as danger zones.
Our communities need security measures, and we all take them, but we have come to the rabbinate at a moment such as this to remind our people that being Jewish is worth it. Ours is a tradition that gives meaning to Jewish lives. Ours is a tradition that speaks out for justice, even when our own safety is threatened. Ours is a tradition that answers antisemitic hate with Jewish joy.
The way for us is more treacherous than in the past. But now as then, it still requires excellence from the rabbinate to overcome such burdens and to lead our people in the way of Torah. Excellence doesn’t come easy to us. We have very high expectations for our moral behavior and for our Torah knowledge. Few are the days for leisure and many more the days for contemplation and preparedness to make a positive difference.
At CCAR, we have appointed a working group to prepare a rabbinic narrative that is positive, inspiring, and attractive for those whose hearts may be moved to join us in this sacred work. We will respond to the too-often negative punditry that met the valuable survey produced by Atra, led by our colleague Shira Koch Epstein.
Our voice will tell the real story that, while this work is hard, it is not without its rewards. Yes, we have come to the rabbinate at a moment such as this to assure the future of our changing profession.
Let us be clear: Hebrew Union College and other liberal seminaries that have trained CCAR rabbis are places where deep Jewish learning and field work prepare our future colleagues to serve the Jewish people. Then, to be a member of the CCAR is to reach the ranks of progressive rabbis who are held to the highest standards of sacred service.
Wherever we preach from the pulpit, lead in our organizations, counsel a student, pastor at the bedside, march with the community, sign a statement or petition, and join with partners who stand with us, we are bearing in our hearts what our ancestors once carried in their hands. The weight feels different, but it is no less real, no less physical. Our intentions measure up to our people’s highest aspirations.
If ever there was a reason that we have come to this moment, let it be for this: The Jewish people thrive in North America, in Israel, an in all the places CCAR rabbis serve. The future of our people rests largely in the hearts and hands of CCAR rabbis who know their Torah, who lead by example, and who have faith in the future.
No king, no queen is called to respond to this moment. Instead, let us affirm: Yes! For a moment such as this, כתר תורה, the crown of Torah, not the diadem of royalty, has been placed on our heads and sealed in our hearts and our souls. For a moment such as this, and for all the moments yet to come, let us and those who follow us respond to Mordechai’s immortal plea to Esther as she did, in words and in action, bringing light and gladness, happiness and honor to the people Israel.
Kein y’hi ratzon.
Amen.
Rabbi David Lyon is the president of the CCAR and senior rabbi at Congregation Beth Israel in Houston, Texas.
