No Kings, No Silence
What happens when a high holiday sermon breaks the taboo on politics in synagogue and reminds us that resisting tyranny is core to Judaism? It ends with a standing ovation.
In recent months, I’ve written often about silence - the unsettling absence of outspoken leadership in Jewish America, the Democratic Party, or the Israeli opposition – in the face of the all-out assault on democracy in the U.S. and Israel.
This week, I write about something different: the sound of that silence breaking.
At my synagogue in Washington D.C., Rabbi Jonathan Roos delivered a Rosh Hashanah sermon that ended not in quiet contemplation but with a standing ovation. Trust me: that never happens. That it did demonstrates just how deep the thirst is for principled voices willing to confront the dangers we face.
I know well the arguments of those who hold that synagogues should be refuges from politics. We come together there, they say, for prayer, ritual, spirituality, and community — not for sermons that sound like cable news.
But I respectfully disagree.
Judaism has never been apolitical.
Our holidays retell stories of resistance — against Pharaoh, Antiochus, Haman and tyrants across the millennia. Our prophets railed against corruption and abuse of power. At its core, Judaism is about how we live together in community, grounded in ethics and law, and how we resist tyranny.
Rabbi Roos’s sermon, titled No Kings, began by naming the discomfort directly:
“I know some of you don’t like it when we give sermons like this from the bima. You call them too political. You ask me to stick to religious sermons. But Judaism is not just about apples and honey. Our machzor (prayerbook) is filled with the words ‘King’ and ‘Peace.’ Our history is filled with resistance to authoritarian rulers. These are the heroes we celebrate. This is what our holidays are really about.”
From there, he argued that we are not merely at risk of authoritarianism in America today — we are already living under it. That echoes the powerful warning George Packer provided this week in The Atlantic and that I urge you to read.
Rabbi Roos spoke about leaders who disregard the law, treat public office as a path to enrichment, and confuse the state with their own ego. None of this is new. All of this is known in Jewish history.
He drew from Deuteronomy: a king, the Torah warns, must keep a copy of the law at his side at all times to remind him he is subject to it. A leader who elevates himself above the law is, by definition, illegitimate.
What made the sermon striking, though, was not just its critique of Donald Trump. It was the deeper question: what kind of culture produces such a leader?
Here Rabbi Roos turned to Christopher Lasch’s The Culture of Narcissism, which argued that societies elevate leaders who mirror their underlying culture. A culture of limitless self-gratification will inevitably produce leaders of narcissism and excess. The problem is not just at the top; it’s in the soil.
And this is where the power of his message lay: it’s not just about “them,” those dismantling liberal democracy. It’s about us.
He challenged us to consider how we ourselves contribute to a culture that creates narcissistic, autocratic leaders - whether our addiction to social media, our on-demand consumerism or our willingness to sell out our values when the paycheck is large enough.
I would add: those of us who regard ourselves as highly-educated, open-minded defenders of liberal democracy must also reckon with how our language, actions and attitudes have contributed to the anger and backlash that Donald Trump and Bibi Netanyahu are using to prey on the worst of people’s fears and instincts.
In Jewish tradition, especially during the Days of Awe, we reflect. We repent. We confess. But we also commit to action. A central prayer of the season, Avinu Malkeinu, asks God to act with justice and loving-kindness with us — not instead of us, not on our behalf. Which means: we must act too.
And here lies the power of the sermon. It wasn’t simply that a brave rabbi talked “politics” from the pulpit. It was the recognition that each of us has agency — not just to critique a president, but to change the culture that produced him.
What does it look like for a rabbi to speak out? It looks like Rabbi Roos — drawing from Torah and tradition to name the danger, to call us to account, and to remind us that our values demand action.
And what does it look like for the rest of us?
It looks like deeds. Daily choices, big and small, that push back against a culture of narcissism and move us toward justice, restraint, and responsibility.
And it looks like meaningful engagement. Not just reading and nodding along. Not just listening with approval. But starting a conversation with friends and family by sharing this sermon, or George Packer’s article, or this column.
Sitting down with someone who’s disengaged or turned off by politics and drawing them back into the conversation. Reaching out to the silent middle — not arguing with those locked into irreconcilable opposition, rather encouraging the majority on the sidelines to engage and participate.
As we move through these Days of Awe, I hope more rabbis follow Rabbi Roos’s example. I hope more Jewish leaders will find their voices.
Just as important, I hope each of us takes up the challenge of these days — first to reflect and then to act, and to live our values with courage.
I had a front row seat at the March on Washington watching my father Dr Joachim Prinz deliver a speech in which he focused on how silence played a significant role in Nazi Germany where he had been a rabbi. Rejecting silence was the north star in his American rabbinate and preaching. He would have been among those standing in support of Jeremey's rabbi as should we all in this dangerous time.
Amazing sermon. Thanks for sharing. It's been so detrimental to label this issue as political. Of course politics is involved, but fundamentally it is a moral issue and every house of worship should not shy from this - the astounding human rights abuses and the decay of our culture into narcissism an greed.