As yet another Yom Kippur approaches without the return of our hostages, it’s hard not to give in to the despair of stagnation. Both in the US, where I’m writing this, and Israel, the political divides only seem to be deepening as we grapple with the rapid-fire value conflicts that have already been plaguing us for two years.
Do we insist on fully rooting out Hamas and their network of terror to preserve our safety (pikuach nefesh)? Do we put all of our energy (and sense of compromise) into pidyon shvuyim (the redemption of captives)? Can these be done simultaneously?
In the US, with the Trump administration heading into its second year, we could also ask if some are pitting security and financial welfare, as well as the fight against antisemitism, against safeguarding democracy and marginalized populations (the homeless, the immigrant, etc.). Are we pitting self-preservation (pikuach nefesh) against looking out for the vulnerable, for the stranger (ger toshav)?
In the midst of these value conflicts, I keep coming back to a short Mishnah from Yoma 22:a-b. I discovered it years ago, as I flipped through my mahzor instead of paying attention to services.
The Mishnah describes the assignment of a specific priestly job: cleaning the ashes from the previous evening’s offering in the middle of the night to prepare for new worship on Yom Kippur day. Originally, the assignment was first come, first serve, because who would want to wake up in the middle of the night to sweep ashes?
Well, it turns out, everyone. It became an increasingly competitive race to see who could reach the altar first. Until one Yom Kippur, in the scramble, one priest shoved another, and soon a kohen was lying on the ground with a broken leg. Shocked, the sages immediately put an end to the race and instituted a lottery to decide the role each year.
We usually read this story as a procedural fix: a quick rule change to prevent injury. But what if we didn’t rush toward the resolution and lingered a little bit on the scene of the race itself? We’d be left with the question: Why would anyone think shoving another human off a high ramp was acceptable?
What does it mean that the race to the “service of God” became a competition so fierce that someone was maimed before the altar itself?
When I look at the story of people racing toward what feels holy or right, regardless of who they might shove aside along the way, it feels awfully familiar.
Staying on the ramp together
The Mishnah from Yoma feels especially urgent as the Rabbinical Assembly, the international association of Conservative/Masorti Rabbis, launches its new Social Justice and Public Policy Center, which I am honored to direct. The Center seeks to bring a centrist Conservative/Masorti voice to some of the most pressing public questions of our time.
What sets Conservative/Masorti Judaism apart is our commitment to machloket l’shem shamayim – productive disagreement – and the belief that people who hold different views can still come into the room, wrestle with hard questions, and stay in a relationship.
That’s not always easy. But it’s precisely that tension that allows us to explore new, pragmatic approaches and work across partisan lines.
Our Social Justice and Public Policy Center has already begun to live out this charge. Our first pilots have been intentionally small and diverse, designed as laboratories for dialogue across differences.
Each one is less about issuing declarations and more about creating spaces where Jews of varied politics and practice can stay on the figurative altar ramp together – arguing, listening, and acting without shoving one another aside.
One early partnership, A More Perfect Union, brought the Rabbinical Assembly into conversation with the Jewish Partnership for Democracy alongside colleagues from the leadership of the Reform, Reconstructing Judaism, Conservative/Masorti, Orthodox movements, and pluralistic communities.
The shared goal was to encourage rabbis across the spectrum to refrain from endorsing political candidates and instead open their pulpits to value-driven civic conversation. This historically rare collaboration resulted in co-signed guidance that was shared widely earlier this month.
Environmental stewardship has proven to be another powerful bridge-builder. Our global Environmental Sustainability Chair Training equips synagogue members to create leadership structures that translate Jewish ecological ethics into action. Participants learn not only technical skills but also how to facilitate environmental conversations that often stir strong feelings.
Graduates report that the training gave them confidence to bring contentious topics into their communities with a sense of curiosity and respect.
Another pilot, Ruchot, turns that same spirit toward the next generation. US-based high school students gather to explore national and local issues – climate change, poverty, reproductive justice, education – while grounding their inquiry in Jewish texts and values.
They meet seasoned organizers, policy advocates, and lawmakers, then bring their own questions directly to Capitol Hill. Rather than handing them a single “correct” platform, we teach relational organizing: the art of listening before lobbying, of finding shared purpose before making demands.
Many participants return to their home communities inspired to launch projects of their own, carrying forward a model of civic engagement rooted in both tradition and democratic practice.
Social justice vs self-preservation? A false choice
Not everyone is cheering. To some, amid the Israel-Hamas War and a global rise in antisemitism, “social justice” is a dangerous distraction. Shouldn’t Jews focus on our survival before championing causes like poverty relief, environmental protection, or combating racism?
Part of this objection rests on a misunderstanding of the phrase “social justice,” as dealing with issues external to the Jewish community. As though Jews never experience homelessness, racial discrimination, or vulnerability to natural disasters! These issues are not separate from the experience of individuals in our community.
Even if you haven’t experienced these things personally, our Torah certainly doesn’t let us off the hook when it comes to caring for the oppressed. The command to preserve life, pikuach nefesh, is indeed paramount. Yet the same Torah insists that every person is created in the image of God, and that we go out of our way to uphold their dignity.
Proponents of self-preservation have an important point: dead Jews can’t help anybody. But also, if we constantly harden our hearts to the suffering of others, exactly what self are we preserving?
Slowing the race
Our tradition thrives on creative tension. Just think about Rabbi Yohanan’s disappointment when a new hevrutah (study partner) didn’t challenge him like his preferred hevrutah, Reish Lakish, used to: “In my discussions with the son of Lakish, when I would state a matter, he would raise 24 difficulties against me in an attempt to disprove my claim. I would answer him with 24 answers, and the halacha by itself would become broadened and clarified. And yet you just agree with me. I already know I’m right!” (Bava Metzia 84a).
The sages cultivated disagreement, believing that competing values sharpen moral clarity and grow our halacha. That is a profoundly different model from today’s politics, where opponents are caricatured as immoral or irredeemable.
In Mishnah Yoma, the lottery to sweep the altar was a quick fix that made everything fair. Unfortunately, we do not have the luxury of solving today’s existential problems by lottery.
But we can heed the deeper call: slow down the race. See the person beside you before you reach for the altar. They are also running toward the altar, toward the service of God.
Let’s use our unique tradition of disagreement, debate, and conversation across difference to explore new solutions where we’ve been stuck for at least the past two years.
The Rabbinical Assembly’s Social Justice and Public Policy Center aims to embody that charge. Our work is a kind of collective teshuva; a turning back from the reflex to shove past one another in the name of righteousness.
We will create spaces where Jews of diverse politics can stay on the ramp together, arguing passionately yet refusing to dehumanize. And we hope you’ll join us, both this Yom Kippur and onward! ■
The writer is the director of Social Justice and Public Policy for the Conservative/Masorti Movement Rabbinical Assembly.