Facing the New Year with Open Eyes

Written by Jerry Elman, September 22, 2025

The Jewish New Year is supposed to be about new beginnings—looking back, taking stock, and hoping for renewal. Yet this year, as I prepare for Rosh Hashanah, I feel a heaviness I can’t shake. To face the year honestly means keeping my eyes open to what is happening around us: the rising tide of Jew-hatred, the hollow promises of peace, the endless cycles of suffering, and even the emptiness I see in some of our own rituals of repentance. This year, more than ever, I feel called not just to pray, but to see things clearly.

False Promises of Peace

Everywhere I look, I hear governments recognizing a Palestinian state. But I wonder: what exactly is being recognized? There have been no gestures toward peace, no moves to build a government that could actually govern, no vision for coexistence. Hamas has shown us again and again that killing hostages takes precedence over freeing them. The Palestinian Authority stays silent, preferring to let suffering continue rather than take responsibility.

In Gaza, rebuilding tunnels is always prioritized over rebuilding homes. War is always chosen over compromise. Hamas keeps preparing for the next fight with Israel, not the next chance for peace. And in the middle of all this, ordinary people—Palestinians and Jews alike—are the ones who continue to suffer. They suffer economically, living with shattered infrastructure and wasted opportunity. They suffer emotionally, with families torn apart by grief and uncertainty. They suffer the lasting trauma of war, terrorism, and hate that never seems to end.

I know something about inherited trauma. My parents carried it from the Holocaust, and I carry it as their child. Trauma doesn’t end when the violence stops—it lingers, shaping lives for generations. That is what I see repeating now: not just destroyed cities, but destroyed spirits. And leaders who should know better let it continue.

Yet the world rewards this refusal by calling it a state. To keep our eyes open is to recognize that gestures of recognition mean nothing when they are not matched by gestures of peace.

Forgiveness Without Apology

As Jews, this season is about teshuvah—repentance, forgiveness, and starting anew. But I struggle deeply with how it is practiced. I cannot accept the hollow gestures I see in synagogue every year: the pounding of chests, the chants of confession, the dramatic looks of pain on faces. I can still picture my former rabbi and others pounding their chests with a strained expression, begging God for forgiveness. And yet, when the hurt so many people, they rarely said the words that mattered most: “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I apologize.”

Forgiveness should never be performance. Real repentance is not pounding your chest—it is knocking on your neighbor’s door. It is saying, “I hurt you, and I want to make it right.” Until we open our eyes to the people in front of us, prayers to God ring hollow.

Facing the New Year

So as this New Year begins, I find myself less focused on rituals and more on truth.

The truth that Jew-hatred is rising again, from both the far right and the far left.
The truth that Palestinian leaders have done nothing to pursue peace, even as the world pretends otherwise.

The truth that countless ordinary people suffer economically, emotionally, and in the lasting trauma of conflict that is handed down like an inheritance.
And the truth that forgiveness—real forgiveness—cannot come from God until we face the people we’ve wronged.

Yesterday, here in America, we heard echoes of old hatred in new disguises. At Charlie Kirk’s memorial, Tucker Carlson told a story about the crucifixion of Jesus, describing a room of “men eating hummus” plotting to silence truth. To many, it was a thinly veiled antisemitic trope—casting Jews again as conspirators and Christ-killers. Startling words, met with applause, reminding us that these ancient lies are never far away.

The tragic, uncalled-for death of anyone—Charlie Kirk or anyone else—should not be memorialized by preaching collective hate and blame. One person is responsible. To broaden that blame onto Jews as a people is not only false but dangerous. It revives wounds that never truly healed and hands hatred new life.

Maybe that is what the New Year is really about: not perfect resolutions, but choosing honesty over illusion. Choosing to look at hard truths, even when they hurt. And choosing to begin again, this time with open eyes.

We cannot control the hatred that others carry, or the failures of leaders who refuse peace. But we can choose how we live as Jews. We can choose to be honest in our repentance, real in our forgiveness, and steadfast in our hope.

This year, may we find the strength to see clearly, to forgive honestly, and to keep believing that renewal—even after centuries of suffering—is still possible.
May this be a year not of hollow prayers, but of honest hearts. Not of blindness, but of open eyes.

Shanah Tovah — may it truly be a good and sweet year for us all.