I have Jewish friends in academia who frown at the idea of saying, “I’m a proud Jew.” They see pride as something simplistic and unsophisticated, what a tribal Jew might express at a rally.

Also, in their view, Jewish pride depends on Jewish action. If they’re passionate about repairing the world, for example, this makes them proud of that Jewish action. But when Jews do something very wrong, this makes them feel the very opposite of pride—more like shame.

It’s similar with Israel. As long as they see Israel as oppressing the Palestinians, they can never bring themselves to express Zionist pride. They may be pro-Israel, but they see too many problems to ever express pride. With so much repairing of Israel to do, what Israel needs is rebuke, engagement, protest. Those are useful, action-oriented sentiments. Pride, on the other hand, feels like an empty indulgence: Who can think of pride when there’s so much to fix, so much to be ashamed of?

For many Jews, pride feels like an empty indulgence: Who can think of pride when there’s so much to fix, so much to be ashamed of?

This cold, conditional mindset has been deadly to the health of American Judaism. Its deadliness, however, has been well camouflaged, as it comes under the guise of that noble Jewish value of self-criticism.

Self-criticism is indeed noble, but when it becomes a fetish or a reflexive dogma, it can suffocate the visceral bonds that are essential to the lifeblood of a community or a relationship.

Take the love of a parent for a child. More often than not, it’s unconditional. The child may make plenty of mistakes, but that doesn’t stop a parent from expressing their unconditional love. That unconditional aspect is crucial to the health of the relationship.

Jews who instinctively express Jewish pride fall into that category. There may be things that Israel does or that Jews do that they can’t stand—and they will express their rebukes– but none of that stops them from expressing their Jewish pride.

That pride is rooted not in the transient winds of the moment but in the timeless echoes of the past.

Jewish pride is rooted not in the transient winds of the moment but in the timeless echoes of the past.

I’m a proud Jew not because Israel did something great yesterday, or because a Jewish organization did something cool last week, or because I just read an inspirational sermon. I’m a proud Jew because I belong to an extraordinary people with a tradition that has sustained us for thousands of years. It is that very existence, that sense of belonging to something remarkable, that is the deepest source of my unconditional pride.

Within American Jewry, that puts me in the minority. Expressing unconditional pride in being Jewish, especially when Jews are seen as the supreme example of so-called white privilege, is simply not cool. It’s a lot cooler to be a Jew who bashes Jews or bashes the Jewish state whenever it stumbles.

This single-minded reflex to throw shade on one’s people ends up not only stifling Jewish pride, but also disseminating Jewish shame. When pretensions of “tough love” express the tough without the love, it is shame that invariably comes through, not pride.

Is it any wonder we have turned off so many young Jews? When they turn one way, they see much of the world bashing the Jews and Israel. When they turn the other way, they see many of their own people doing the same thing.

When chronic Jewish critics do express pride, it is often pride about their freedom and duty to criticize, which they consider a key part of their Jewish identity. (What’s noteworthy is that they will check this self-criticism at the door when it comes to their political parties. That’s evidently a bridge too far).

Throw in the fear of antisemitism, the pitched battles around politics, the anxieties around the pandemic and so many other communal ills, and it’s clear that “Jewish pride” is hardly ascendant in the Jewish conversation. When conditions are unpleasant and you see pride as conditional, what is there to be proud about?

It’s naive to think that “education” is the magic solution. We don’t need a Jewish day school education to feel pride that we’re part of an amazing people with an amazing story. What we need, more than anything, is to see other Jews around us expressing their own pride in their Jewish identity, whether it’s cool or not.

Pride is the immune system that makes the collective Jewish body function better, that enables us to absorb and deliver self-criticism without lethal side effects.

Pride will never be as sexy as self-criticism. But pride is the immune system that makes the collective Jewish body function better, that enables us to deliver and absorb self-criticism without lethal side effects.

In recent years, the fear of antisemitism has lit a fire under many Jews. That fear may be real, but it’s based on a negative. Pride is rooted in a positive and is built to last. Walking through life as a proud Jew is the ultimate antidote to fear and disconnection.

Walking through life as a proud Jew is the ultimate antidote to fear and disconnection.

The Jewish establishment has generally gone where the money is, and fear is where the money is. It’s easier to fundraise when fighting fear than when building pride. That crisis model, however, is not sustainable.

Jewish leaders and donors who are serious about keeping the Jewish flame alive for the long-term would do well to pivot to “Jewish pride” as their next rallying cry. We have enough creative innovators in our community to make the Jewish pride movement concrete, real and meaningful.

We can’t afford to wait for pride to just happen based on changing conditions. Pride is a kick-off point, not an end result. Without pride, why should Jews care about their Jewish identity? And if so many Jews don’t care about their identities, where’s the Jewish future?

The Jewish future starts with the ancient idea of Jewish pride. As you’ll read in our cover story by Blake Flayton titled, “Proud Jews Walking,” Jewish pride is the spark that leads to greater things and keeps the Jewish flame alive.

During the madness of 2020, I wrote a column wondering whether that year would go down as our longest, most exhausting ever.

“It’s not hyperbole to wonder if we’ll ever see another year like 2020,” I wrote.

“We kicked off the year with the impeachment of a U.S. president…Then, we were invaded by a lethal virus that shut down most of the planet…[Then] a cruel act of police violence set off what The Washington Post called ‘the broadest protest movement in American history.’ And lest we forget, we have a presidential election coming up in November that many consider the most consequential of our times.

“Epic on top of epic on top of epic. When do we catch our breath?”

Last year’s Hanukkah miracle of a COVID vaccine and the election of a decent moderate like Joe Biden gave us hope that maybe, just maybe, 2021 would be the year we would catch our breaths and lick our wounds.

Sadly, and incredibly, it looks like 2021 has outdone even the epic madness of 2020.

First, on January 6 we saw the stunning invasion of the U.S. Capitol by Trump supporters. Then, the miracle vaccine ended up being weaponized and politicized and, in many ways, divided our nation. Clumsy and incompetent management from our government, draconian mandates, misinformation on social media and new variants like Delta and Omicron poured oil on the national fire.

Meanwhile, after a triumphant President Biden declared on July 4th that America had achieved “independence” from the coronavirus, we still ended up with more COVID deaths in 2021 than in 2020. 

Our souls were dying, too. The invisible cost of the pandemic is the alarming rise in loneliness, isolation and depression, especially among the elderly, but also among teenagers, where we’ve seen a troubling rise in suicides. This only got worse in 2021.

We’re now beyond COVID exhaustion. We’re sick and tired of being sick and tired.

We expected so much more from 2021. But miracles like the COVID vaccine and Zoom turned out to be more complicated than we thought. We now have a virus that is making itself at home, mutating so brilliantly that it is matching our own resilience.

This hasn’t stopped the riveting news cycle. In the wake of an explosion of violence across major cities, the “Defund the Police” movement that started in 2020 morphed into “Please Bring Back the Police” in 2021. Why? Because fear is bipartisan. 

You know that’s true when even the wokiest mayor of the bluest of cities, San Francisco, calls for “more aggressive policing.” 

Similarly, the well-meaning goal of eradicating racism morphed into the erosion of the great American ideal of a colorblind society, where one is judged by the content of one’s character rather than the color of one’s skin. Today, you risk being called a racist simply for mentioning that.

The fear of being called a racist, or any kind of bigot, only got worse in 2021, making a joke of the First Amendment. Twitter mobs bullying those who say the “wrong” things are effectively using their free speech to silence the speech of others and, at times, even “cancel” their careers. Is it any wonder so many people are choosing to keep their mouths shut?

In the Jewish world, our temples continued to tremble. With the Delta variant and now Omicron, the return of large crowds to our temples is a distant dream. Most people in non-Orthodox streams are perfectly happy attending services from home via Zoom, especially if they see it as the safe choice. 

The problem is that people who stay at home tend to not renew their memberships, or donate as much, which is exacerbating the dilemma for congregations: The more they improve their online programming, the more they encourage congregants to stay home. The limitations of the online model will shake and challenge the organized Jewish world in the coming year and beyond.

What is not getting old is that the most effective antidote to Jew-hatred, as Blake Flayton argues in our cover story, is to replace fear with pride, double down on your Jewish identity and be a “proud Jew walking.”

The stubborn and ancient virus of antisemitism continued to thrive in 2021, fueled by the obligatory bashing of the only free democracy in the Middle East, Israel. Yes, this is getting old. What is not getting old is that the most effective antidote to Jew-hatred, as Blake Flayton argues in our cover story, is to replace fear with pride, double down on your Jewish identity and be a “proud Jew walking.”

So, is 2021 a worse year than 2020? Perhaps in the sense that we expected so much more from 2021. Miracles like the COVID vaccine and Zoom turned out to be more complicated than we thought. We now have a virus that is making itself at home, mutating so brilliantly that it is matching our own resilience.

Our world continues to be upside down, where testing negative is a positive, where Israel is attacked beyond reason, where loving America must be hush-hush and hugging a grandparent is dangerous to their health.

All I can say is, thank God for silver linings. I find that the crazier things get on the outside, the more I focus on the inside stuff that matters most— family, friends, good health, walking with Jewish pride and watching Curb.

Happy New Year and Shabbat Shalom.