Clergy from all around the world, people of faith from every denomination, we share a common challenge: to keep hope alive in the hearts of our people and faith in humanity. We need faith that tolerance and coexistence are possible, faith for the well-being of our children, and faith in a future that is safe for the generations to come.

Throwing flames at the bodies of people peacefully protesting for the return of hostages in Gaza—that is not faith. That is violence. That is antisemitism; there is no other name for it. In the face of this, we remain here, the children of doubt. With our table ablaze and the chairs empty for those who have yet to return.

We do not claim to own the truth; we live in constant dialogue, as our Talmudic tradition reflects.  If Shavuot teaches us anything, it is that the Torah is One, but there are thousands of interpretations of what the Torah wants from us. The people standing at the foot of Mount Sinai heard one Voice and yet reflected that same voice in their own lives with versatility, creativity, and authenticity. Humans cannot be masters of truth—only humble learners. Otherwise, the result is fanaticism. And fanaticism only brings division and death.

We remain seated at this table, still in awe of the miracle of life, and still in raw flesh. We ask ourselves, “How is this Shabbat different from all other Shabbatot?” Perhaps a valid answer is that today, we are this pain of burned skin, this indignation, and this scent of roses and summer sun breaking through our scars—all at the same time. Today, we are Boulder, Colorado.

I would like to share a poem with you from an Argentine poet. I translated in my best way. It could not better express what I feel at this moment.

Shabbat Shalom.

The Owners of Doubts by Eliahu Toker *

On the sidewalk across the street
are the owners of written truth,
the proprietors of the ignorant
on this side we are here,
the owners of doubts
seated at a long table in flames.

We are
the ones who know that we do not know.
The ones who know that this clarity is not light,
that this permission is not freedom,
that this crumb is not bread,
and that there is neither a single reality
nor a sole truth.

We are
the children of the prophets
but also the children of those
whom the prophets cursed;
we are
the ones who sing out of tune in the choruses of “ists.”

We are
the ones who trust in the march of history
without taking it for granted.
Skeptics and optimists,
we share the bread of doubt,
seated at a long table of raw flesh.

* TOKER, ELIAHU (1934– ), Argentinean writer, poet, translator, and researcher in Jewish literature and lore. The scope and spirit of his works are oriented both to Jewish traditions of the past, and to the building of a contemporary Jewish-Latin American identity.