Rosh Hashanah 5786 Opening Remarks: Authenticity & Hope

Jeff Treistman (Seattle), September 2025

Here we are again, gathered at the start of a New Year. For Humanistic Jews, Rosh Hashanah is a time of renewal, reflection, and turning — teshuvah. Last year, I spoke about the necessity of hope, even in the face of despair. This year, I want to suggest that authenticity is what activates hope. Without authenticity, hope is hollow. With authenticity, hope becomes powerful.

Authenticity means asking honestly: What does it mean to be Jewish today? What does it mean for us, both as individuals and as a community, to live our identity in a way that is real and rooted?

Jewish identity has never been simple nor confined to one place. From the very beginning, we lived in more than one location simultaneously. 2,500+ years ago, when Judaism coalesced around devotion to YHWH, we were already divided between Jerusalem and Babylon. Our traditions grew from that dual existence. Jews have always lived in at least two — and usually many more — places at the same time. We were never only of one land, but of many lands, weaving our identity across borders.

To speak of authenticity here in America also means differentiating ourselves from the dominant Christian environment around us. Christianity, in many of its forms, replaced the Jewish spiritual commitment to justice in this world with a focus on salvation in the next. Judaism, by contrast, has always been rooted in politics, in ethics, in the work of repairing the world we actually live in.

To live authentically as American Jews is to hold onto that distinction — to say that our tradition is not about escaping this life, but transforming it. That’s why justice, renewal, and responsibility are at the heart of Rosh Hashanah.

And to be authentic in the diaspora is not to see ourselves as diminished compared to Israel, but to value diaspora culture on its own terms. The Jewish story has always been a diasporic one, and some of our greatest role models lived it fully: Albert Einstein, Hannah Arendt, and so many others whose lives and works shaped the world far from Jerusalem. Their examples remind us that Jewish authenticity is not bound to one land, but thrives wherever Jews live with integrity and purpose.

And this brings us to the idea of chosenness. Too often, chosenness has been misinterpreted — twisted into superiority, entitlement, or a justification for power. But in our tradition, chosenness was never a privilege. It was a responsibility. To be chosen meant to model righteousness; to live in a way that showed the possibility of justice in the world.

When we look at the devastation in Gaza, we must face a painful truth: That responsibility is not being upheld. Authenticity requires us to say so. To claim chosenness while enacting oppression is to betray its meaning. To live authentically as Jews is to reclaim the prophetic demand: To pursue justice, to defend the vulnerable, to seek peace.

This is not easy. Authenticity never is. It means refusing to hide behind easy narratives. It means facing the parts of our traditions that have been distorted, and reclaiming their true essences. And it means holding ourselves accountable to the vision of a Judaism that insists on justice — not only for us, but for all.

So what does this mean for us, as we enter a new year? Rosh Hashanah is about turning — teshuvah. Turning inward, to see where we have failed. Turning outward, to repair what we can. Authenticity gives us the courage to make that turn, because it grounds us in what is real.

And here’s where hope returns. Hope without authenticity is fragile — a wish; a platitude. But authenticity activates hope. When we are honest about who we are — about our responsibilities and our history — hope becomes more than optimism, it becomes a moral necessity. It gives us the strength to believe change is possible, and the clarity to work for it.

On this Rosh Hashanah, may we renew ourselves by living authentically. May we find the courage to speak truth, even when it is hard. And may that authenticity give birth to hope — hope that does not deny suffering, but insists that a more just and compassionate world is possible.

Shanah tovah.