Kol Nidre Sermon 5787: On Cooperation and Pluralism
Back in May, I listened to a podcast that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. New York Times journalist Ezra Klein was in conversation with Israeli author and historian Yuval Noah Harari. Klein and Harari were trying to make sense of this moment in which we find ourselves right now in politics and society. Their conversation starts by positing that there are two very different paradigms at play in the world today: one is a strongman ideology – all about competing for strength, dominance & power; the other is a paradigm of cooperation.
It’s undeniable that the paradigm of power is having a heyday right now. Looking around not only our country but really the whole world, we see leaders like Trump, Putin, Xi Jinping, and Netanyahu all operating from the same playbook – trying to censor free press, eliminate critique, consolidating power, bullying other leaders and other countries into submission. In the politics of power, the strongest one wins. But, Yuval Noah Harari argues that cooperation, not power, has always been the engine of human progress – in fact he calls it “the driving force in human history.” One example he shares is the idea of nationalism, which he defines as loving and caring about a large number of strangers you don’t even know, and even being willing to make sacrifices for them (for example: by paying your taxes for the common good).
In this contest between power and cooperation, perhaps unsurprisingly (given that I did co-found this cooperative Jewish community), I come down pretty hard on the side of cooperation. Cooperation is itself powerful – not only so that a group of our early human ancestors could band together to beat a bear or a lion in a fight, as Ezra Klein puts it, but also so that we can create and maintain the kind of communities, society, and world in which we want to live. Judaism takes the side of cooperation as well.
Maybe you already know this to be true, but I want to expand on the idea by way of an invitation into the core work of this Yom Kippur day.
Although we often think and talk about Yom Kippur as a day for personal atonement – and it is – even more, our spiritual work on this day is about seeing ourselves as part of a collective – inside a “we” or “us.” The Kol Nidre prayer we just recited three times is written not in Hebrew but in beautiful Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, which was the common spoken language of the Jewish people when this prayer gained prominence. The ending “na” – nun-alef – indicates the 1st person plural – that we have done something, when it appears at the end of a verb, or that it belongs to us, when it comes at the end of a noun. How many times did we just say it, on page 385? Dindarna, u’d’ishtabana, u’d’acharimna, v’di’asarna, al nafshatana, icharatna, nidrana, ve’esarana, u’shevuatana. We are talking here, collectively, about the vows that we have vowed, sworn, pledged, and imposed on ourselves – and how we (collectively) regret them. We ask for release from our vows, our bonds, our oaths. We are totally in it together!
To put it another way, on Rosh Hashanah, Rabbi Jonah Steinberg shared with us some framing from his colleague Rabbi Ebn Leader in Boston, who teaches that the most important question to ask this time of year is not “Who am I?,” but “What am I part of?” These High Holidays ask each of us to consider our community, our country, and our world, and ask – “How am I doing as a part of that?,” “Am I working on myself in such a way that we become better?” Rabbi Leader says: “That’s why I call out to God; God is the biggest us there is,” and during these holidays, we say to God, “We want to be in this project with you.”
A 2023 documentary film called Join or Die takes this argument a step further. The film is about the work of Robert Putnam, a political scientist and (now-retired) professor of Public Policy at Harvard. Putnam is most famous for having authored a book called Bowling Alone back in 2000. Perhaps you’re familiar with its core concept – he had observed that while more Americans than ever before were bowling, people were playing individually rather than joining organized teams or leagues. The book reflects on the broader retreat, during the second half of the 20th century, from group memberships and civic life. Data backs up this precipitous decline in American civic engagement and social connectedness between the 1950s and the late 90s.
In the new-ish documentary Join or Die, Putnam build on this research and analysis. Not only is it true, he argues, that within a matter of decades, fewer people in our society were participating in bowling leagues, or joining churches and synagogues, or hosting dinner parties, or joining civics clubs like Rotary or Elks Lodge. But, he now claims, this decline in connectedness has led to a negative chain reaction, unraveling the very social fabric of our American society. Here’s how that works: When fewer people take part in community organizations, that means that fewer people know their neighbors and know one another’s names, the overall level of trust and reciprocity decline, and social networks weaken. The resulting fragmentation and isolation is demonstrably bad for individuals’ health – Putnam’s research shows that each of us will literally have a higher chance of dying in the coming year if we are not part of a group. Even moreso, he argues, loneliness, lack of belief in the common good, mistrust of neighbors, and having lower degrees of social capital in general is what has weakened and undermined American democracy. The film Join or Die takes its title from Benjamin Franklin's famous early-American political cartoon, applying it to a modern warning: if we want to save American democracy from fascism, from extremism, from political violence, and protect and strengthen our society as a whole – and I know we all do – then people must rejoin local groups and clubs, and get to know more of our neighbors.
This past year, the Seattle Jewish Federation did a community survey, and I had the privilege of serving on the committee (together with several other people in this room) that sifted through the data and tried to think about implications for the Seattle Jewish community. Most of the survey data didn’t surprise me and probably wouldn’t surprise you either. For example, the data shows that local Jews want to be more engaged in Jewish life than they currently are (good news), and there is widespread concern about antisemitism (not good, but also not surprising).
There were, however, a few statistics from the survey that did surprise me, and that bother me. Nearly a third of survey respondents indicated that they don’t have a group of people they know they could count on in a time of need. Now I know a third is not a majority, but it’s entirely too high a number for my liking. It means that on the whole, we’re not doing a good enough job making social connectedness happen and weaving a dense social fabric. Because one thing we know to be true – and which we affirm over and over again on these holidays – is that we are all human, which means mortal, and inherently vulnerable. In the language of our liturgy, we will “wither like grass” and be “like a flower that fades,” and when that time comes that we inevitably find ourselves in a time of need, we need to be able to rely on one another for care.
And, switching gears – but this is related too – a second category of survey responses bothered me as well. It turns out that our broader Jewish community is not great at tolerating difference – what I might call, functioning in pluralistic community. Of course the survey turned up differences of opinion about Israel politics and attachment (I would expect nothing less). But, I was quite disappointed that a quarter of survey respondents – and, even higher, a third of younger adults ages 18-44 – indicated that “they did not want to be in community with other Jews who disagree with my views about Israel.”
Deep down, I think we all know that this isolation and living in echo chambers isn’t good for us, and it isn’t what we really need. During such dark and heavy days as these, we crave collaboration and cooperation – the kind of experiences that bring people together across difference. I’m thinking, for instance, of the excitement around the Artemis 2’s 10-day lunar flyby test mission back in April, with its crew of four astronauts who could problem solve and debate, and also have fun together. I’m thinking of the warm welcome of the World Cup in cities across the US, where cultural differences were embraced and celebrated. I’m thinking of Bad Bunny’s joyful halftime show at the Super Bowl, which culminated in a song listing countries across the entire American hemisphere, to promote cultural unity and redefine "America" as an inclusive identity. I even felt this with the wide embrace of Jimothy, an awkwardly short-spined raccoon who became a local and perhaps national celebrity this summer. Coming together as a “we” feels good, as does transcending difference to build community. But, those aren’t the deepest examples.
In the middle of the 20th century – Putnam’s heyday of clubs and civic orgs – the American Jewish landscape was embracing clubs too. Jews joined B’nai Brith and Hadassah, youth groups and defense groups, summer camps and JCC. Synagogue affiliation rates were sky high, and the synagogues themselves were organized into clubs called denominations: Orthodox, Conservative and Reform. In the 80s and 90s, that picture – of neatly delineated groups, each with their own membership criteria and bylaws, and patterns of Jewish observance – started to make way for new thinking. Some of my most formative and important Jewish experiences in the 90s – at Hillel, on a teen Israel trip, in a Graduate Fellowship program – described themselves as pluralistic. By pluralism, all of these orgs meant that they consciously brought together Jews from different denominational pockets, across clear religious observance divides, to be in community with one another and learn from one another. In my last year of rabbinical school, I worked at Harvard Hillel, where on Friday nights, there would be an Orthodox minyan in one room, a traditional egalitarian service in another, and a “liberal” Kabbalat Shabbat with instruments in yet another. After those services concluded, the whole community would head to the same dining hall for Shabbat dinner, breaking bread together and symbolically forging a single, diverse Jewish community. To be sure, tough questions arose sometimes around the subgroups’ differences in religious practice, but these questions were generally navigated deftly with sensitivity and care, and all in all, the model of pluralism proved so successful that when Suzi LeVine and I envisioned and launched Kavana 20 years ago, this was precisely the kind of model we tried to embrace and embody here in Seattle. For the most part, this type of pluralism has served us well. At Kavana, we wear our differences of background and religious observance as a badge of pride and a source of strength, rather than seeing them as a deficiency.
This kind of pluralism – of different religious practices, with different opinions sitting side by side – has deep roots in our Jewish tradition. Individuals in the process of converting often tell me that one of the features that most attracted them to Judaism is that we encourage questions, welcome differences of opinion, and allow disagreements to stand. Indeed, the Talmud records both majority and minority opinions, preserving both side-by-side so that we can understand multiple perspectives on a single issue. I’m sure you’re familiar with some of the most famous examples of debate – for example, that Beit Hillel an Beit Shammai have different proposals for how to light Chanukah candles – start with 1 and count up to 8, or start with 8 on the first night and light down to 1. The disagreements between these two famous schools of thought were termed examples of “machloket l’shem shamayim” – “disagreements for the sake of heaven.” Pirke Avot teaches that makhlokot l’shem shamayim will endure – in other words, these are valuable and positive disagreements. We are also taught in the Talmud that although Hillel and Shammai debated Jewish law for years and had different opinions over just about everything – and frankly, Hillel’s school of thought usually won out – they remained respectful friends and allowed their children to marry one another. This is a lot like needing different prayer spaces to have different groups’ needs met, but coming together for meals. In Judaism, we have a long history of tolerating and even welcoming disagreement, and yet seeing ourselves as part of a greater whole.
Stepping back, pluralism in our broader American society is also what has enabled Jews to thrive here in the U.S. Becky Voorwinde, now the CEO of my pluralistic teen Israel trip, the Bronfman Fellowship, talks about the American commitment to pluralism and difference that has allowed for a robust multi-ethnic, multicultural, and multi-religious civil society. She writes: “Pluralism is the reason Jews can survive and thrive… – without it, we are at risk. In today’s political climate, a waning commitment to pluralism puts not only our democracy at risk, but also the future of my and my children’s distinct identities as Jews in America.” If Putnam is correct that the sharp decline in rates of joining clubs and organizations and investing in social capital is weakening our society, we all stand to lose. And for our Jewish community, the events of the past few years have pushed our Jewish community further towards poles and extremes, and made our situation that much more precarious. We are devouring our own sense of “us” from the inside out, becoming a place where factions no longer want to break bread at the same table.
In order to move forward, we must rebuild and fortify our own commitment to pluralism and tolerance of difference – both internally, within our Jewish community, and externally, in society at large. Internally, we must continue investing in communities that embrace differences of background, interests and opinion. This is what’s behind the pluralism pillar of Kavana’s new strategic plan – we labeled that goal “Double Down on Pluralism” to indicate that this isn’t a departure from our long-time approach, but rather a recommitment to it. But as I said, religious pluralism was all the rage in 2006 when we launched; now in 2026, it’s countercultural to be talking about pluralism – especially political pluralism – at a time when the rest of the organized Jewish community is trying to figure out how to draw sharp red lines about who’s in and who’s out, which ideas are kosher and which are not. We here at Kavana are taking a different tack than many other congregations and Jewish organizations. We can see that cooperation is a skill that has atrophied in our society over recent years and decades. Where better to practice it but here, at Kavana, in this community where we are trying to build a little microcosmic model for the world we yearn to see. Exercising this muscle will make it stronger.
Not only that, but we also commit to doing this work of fostering meaningful ties across lines of difference hand-in-hand with building up our community’s ability to care for one another. Our Caring Committee makes and delivers meals at times of illness or loss, our new partner-driven Care and Safety Team (special thanks to those with badges) is prepared to assist members of our community if there is a medical emergency or a natural disaster; they’re also trained in de-escalation and happy to give hugs. We want every one of you here at Kavana to feel safe and cared for; to know that you could count on your community at a time of need. From that place of care and safety, I also hope you’ll be more willing to tolerate the discomfort that can arise from being in a wide-tent, pluralistic environment.
When I dropped my oldest daughter at college last month, her college’s president delivered a passionate welcome speech to the freshman class, in defense of liberal education. In it, she urged them to tolerate uncertainty, embrace both knowing and not knowing, and demonstrate genuine curiosity. She said: “The questions you care about most are the ones on which you should invite the most disagreement.” This is exactly the opposite of our society’s current zeitgeist, which seems to believe that if you care deeply about something, you should draw hard lines and rally your camp and shut down contact with anyone who doesn’t already agree with you. At Kavana, we are committed to working against the grain, to make this a place where – from a place of love and care and safety and a sense of being in it together – we can test ideas and disagree so that we can actually learn and grow together.
This kind of pluralism – the kind that calls for us to stretch past our comfort zones – necessarily extends beyond the bounds of our Jewish community. I have increasingly come to believe that the only way for human beings to solve big problems will be together – in cooperation across the lines of difference of religion, ethnicity, and nationality. To that end, tomorrow afternoon, we have invited representatives from the organization Combatants for Peace to join us on this holiest day of the year. For 20 years – the same 20 years that Kavana has been doing our thing here in Seattle – Combatants for Peace has been operating in Israel and the West Bank, bringing Israelis and Palestinians together to co-resist the occupation and build a future of peace, equality and freedom for all. They believe in non-violence and in shared humanity, and support political imagination that furthers a solution based on justice and equality for Jews and Palestinians – for all people – between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. We will hear each of the speakers’ personal stories – by definition these are combatants who once fought against one another from within the paradigm of power, and they will share about what’s brought them to believe in a paradigm of cooperation instead. That will be tomorrow afternoon from 5:15 - 6:45pm, just before Neilah, and I sincerely hope many of you will come back and join us for this opportunity to practice stretching ourselves and to draw inspiration from people doing such substantive and consequential work together.
Returning to our Yom Kippur liturgy – I already shared that in Aramaic, the key ending was “na”, nun-alef. In Hebrew, the ending to pay attention to throughout the rest of our service will be “nu” -- nun, vav. We will sing words you already know, like Avinu malkeinu, chatanu l’fanecha; Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu. Tonight, we will pray to the God of all of us, and confess our sins in plural. In doing so, we declare that our fates are bound up in one another. In our similarity and also across difference, we forge a community in which we can all be human, in which we can all be heard and respected, in which we can all find care. Our nu endings strengthen not only our own community, but also the social fabric of our country and our world. Through them, we affirm our belief in the paradigm of cooperation over the paradigm of power.
Please know that there are glimmers of hope. I have dear friends in Budapest, and was watching carefully this year as Viktor Orban, a dictator who was as on the side of power as he could possibly be was defeated by the only thing that could have stood in his way: a large swath of Hungarian voters, cooperating with one another across difference.
At this fraught moment in Jewish history, American history and human history, being part of a cooperative, pluralistic community, and praying in “we” language, and investing in relationships both inside this community and outside of it, with people who are different from ourselves in background and in belief – these are truly the most important and consequential actions we can possibly take.
Gmar chatima tova – and may all of us be sealed for a good year, together.
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum
