When the world turns upside down, rabbis can help us keep our heads on straight

I am a rabbi. I should be preparing to chant Megillah and packing mishloach manot for Purim, but all I can think about is how everything feels “v’nahafoch hu”— topsy-turvy. Again.

My husband is a federal employee, and his department just announced 80,000 layoffs. We don’t yet know what that means for him, but we are among hundreds of thousands of Americans bracing for uncertainty. After COVID, after Oct. 7, after years of crisis, you would think I would be used to this feeling — the world flipping like a carnival ride, never quite settling.

Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to the story of Purim. Power shifts overnight. A people’s fate swings from comfort to doom to salvation, each in an instant. Nothing is what it seems. And in this Purim type of world, I have been calling on my own rabbis for guidance.

Yes, even rabbis need rabbis. But what exactly is a rabbi’s role at a time when we have every reason to feel unmoored? From my organization’s work with over 1,000 rabbis of all denominations, here is what I know to be true:

Rabbis hold us in the chaos.

Whether an illness or the loss of a job, raging wildfires or political nastiness, rabbis sit with people in the mess of it all. One of my rabbis, Rabbi Naamah Kelman-Ezrachi, has been that presence for me. We prayed and cried together through the second intifada; she held my hand when my father died; was with me through the illness of my child, and even today we sat reflecting on rabbinic leadership. She knows that rabbis are there not to “fix,” but to accompany, walking us through narrow passages and pointing to the ways that each of these moments are holy, no matter how painful. “Gam ki Elech, b’geitzalmavet, lo ira ra — Even as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not be afraid” (Psalm 23) — not because the fear disappears, but the loneliness might wane.

Rabbis remind us who we are.

The Purim story hinges on one moment: Esther might not have come forward to announce her Jewish identity and appeal to the king on behalf of her people. She nearly convinced herself she could stay safe by blending in, that she didn’t need to act. But then Mordechai entreated her: Maybe you are exactly where you need to be. Maybe you are more than you think you are.

In bringing people through immersive experiences, Rabbi Jericho Vincent brings many people back into community through immersive Jewish experiences where they not only hear our story, but live it. This Purim, with Rabbi Vincent, contemporary Esthers will walk into a repurposed nightclub in Bushwick, Brooklyn, and, guided by the Megillah, look into the eyes of a contemporary Mordechai and hear the question that has echoed for centuries: What if this is your moment?

We all need that reminder sometimes when fear makes us feel small or ineffective. Rabbis remind us that we Jews know our capacity — for courage, for purpose, for action.

Rabbis help us navigate right and wrong.

In a world where the truth shifts depending on the narrator, Judaism insists that some things are not up for debate: “Do not follow the crowd to wrongdoing; do not side with the crowd to give false testimony on behalf of the mighty” (Exodus 23:2).

Rabbis remind us that Torah isn’t simply ancient wisdom with a temporary magnetic pull. It is a moral compass tethered to something higher. Rabbis help us wrestle with what it means to be a good person in a complicated world, and help us see a future we might not be able to envision, or even fathom, on our own.

Rabbis remind us we are inextricably connected. 

The first time we stood together as a people was at the foot of Mount Sinai. “Vayichan sham Yisrael neged HaHar” — and we, one people called Israel, encamped in front of the mountain (Exodus 19:2). We were not an exhausted, scattered collection of individual ex-slaves. Rather, we were a collective people, with a collective name and identity, and a shared destiny. From that moment on, our survival has not only been about faith, but about each other.

Rabbi Isaiah Rothstein, the Orthodox rabbi of the Greenpoint Shul, believes in reaching every Jew who stood at Sinai. Like many rabbis, he has seen more people returning to and converting to Judaism than ever before. To foster that connection, he gathers converts, potential converts and their loved ones each month for a shared meal, reminding us that we are not whole until every Jew is with us. Rabbis make sure we don’t forget the power of relationships. When we are feeling isolated, or buffeted by events that can test, or break, the people we lead, rabbis can remind us of how there’s strength in togetherness.

Rabbis help us argue. And they keep us talking when we would rather walk away.

Standing there at the base of Mount Sinai, waiting for God to speak, someone was already arguing — about how to stand; about whether manna was better sun-toasted. The Midrash even says that the Torah was given in 70 different languages, because even at that early and sacred moment, we needed multiple versions of Torah to keep the peace.

Rabbis don’t force us to agree, but remind us that how we argue matters. “Machloket l’shem shamayim,” a disagreement for the sake of heaven, isn’t about winning. It is about pushing each other to see things beyond our own range of vision. Our tradition teaches that the person on the other side of a holy argument is not our enemy, but a partner in finding wisdom. The best of our rabbis remind us not to let disagreement turn into destruction.

Overwhelmingly, rabbis have been asking for support to play this role, with demand far over our capacity. Already, 40 rabbis have already taken part in Atra’s Facilitating Difficult Conversations, a multi-session workshop equipping them to facilitate conversations across differences for the sake of building and strengthening their communities. Serving thousands across North America, these rabbis are proving that even in fractured moments, we can choose to stay in relationship, listen, and build something stronger together.

Rabbis have always nurtured — even grown — the Jewish people. But we need more of them. Too many Jews yearn for connection, wisdom and direction, but they have no one to call “my rabbi.” If we want to answer the moment, to strengthen a Jewish future where Torah still reverberates and inspires where our communities feel alive and connected, we need to invest in rabbis. Because in the most topsy-turvy “v’nahafoch hu” of times, rabbis know what so many doubt: We are more resilient than we think. We have an eternal moral aspiration. We know what we are called to do. We are a part of something greater than ourselves. And wherever we walk, we are not alone.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.