Posted on September 25, 2026
This year I overcame my greatest fear. This year I succeeded where in previous years I had failed. This year I looked fear right in the face and did something I haven’t been able to do my entire adult life.
This year, I had my eyes dilated.
Now this might not seem like a particularly big deal for all of you, but believe me when I say, this was my Everest.
I have, for as long as I can remember, had an irrational fear of anything related to eyes. When our children get something in their eyes, it’s a job for their mother. When my wife, Micol, has an issue with a contact lens, I have to leave the room. As a matter of fact, I am told to leave the room as my compulsive pacing in circles apparently makes things worse – go figure. And when I discovered a blood spot in my own eye, Micol had to give me a paper bag to breathe into so I didn’t pass out.
The way some people fear the dentist, I fear the optician. And by the way my optician is lovely. She has been more understanding about my fears than I deserve. But I bet most of you didn’t know that there’s a form you have to sign acknowledging the risks associated with refusing to have your eyes dilated. I know this because I have signed that form on many occasions.
Every year I imagined and hoped it would be different. That somehow, magically I would be able to do it. But every year, despite the best of intentions, when the moment came, I either flinched or flat out refused.
But this year I aspired to overcome this fear, and so I got to work. I spent the months prior to the exam talking to my therapist about my fears and devising a plan. I watched videos of eye exams. I even got a prescription for lorazepam from my doctor just in case.
And I am proud to say that this year, instead of ending my optician’s visit by signing that form, defeated and disappointed, I ended it by receiving a line of high fives from my doctor and her entire staff on my way out of the practice.
How many of you have high-fived your way out of the optician?
I have to be honest, the experience was not nearly as bad as I had imagined it would be. I didn’t enjoy it; but it was bearable. It’s not that I wasn’t afraid. My heart was still racing, and I was still anxious until the very end. But I was prepared. I had done the work. Which meant that in the moment, I could consciously choose how I responded to my fear.
It feels as if we are living in the era of fear right now. We can see it and feel it everywhere we look. Real. Often paralyzing. Pure and unadulterated fear. It infects every aspect of our lives. It has permeated our politics, our education system, our popular culture. More things feel threatening than comforting.
We carry those fears with us every day, and they are consciously and subconsciously affecting the way we live our lives, engage with others, and exist in this world.
I wear my Jewish star proudly, but it is not without concern. I know that there are places that I go where I am more self-conscious about it being on display, hesitant about how it will be received – or rejected. My once unfettered excitement when attending concerts is now tinged with concern about who the support acts will be or what the artist might say from the stage. And I walk the streets of Boston now anxious about what graffiti my children may see, nervously assessing lamppost after lamppost for any stickers that might trigger me.
It’s exhausting. Fear is exhausting.
Now, fear does have a purpose. It is a biologically designed system of self-preservation. Fight or flight. Our fear alerts us to danger. But humans were not designed to be in a constant, unending state of fear. We are designed for responding to finite moments of fear. Not fear as a state of being. I worry that this pervasive state of fear is changing us.
Because fear, you see, likes company. And that company often comes in the form of anger. And much of this anger I completely understand. Anger that we cannot be fully ourselves in certain places. Anger at being so grossly misunderstood and mischaracterized. Anger that we constantly have to look over our shoulder. Anger that we have been abandoned by those we considered our friends.
There is something completely understandable about this progression from fear to anger. And anger can certainly serve as a productive and motivating force. Righteous anger can lead us to speak out, to stand up for what we believe, to fight injustice. But there is danger in anger. Because anger can also lead to rage. It can alienate us from the people we love and the world around us. Anger, unchecked, can consume us; leaving someone unrecognizable in its wake.
We see this fearful anger everywhere, even in the most seemingly innocuous. Just the other day, I saw a social media post sharing a photograph from a local grocery store. There was a sign: “High Holiday Favorites”, and the food prominently displayed beneath it: bacon. With hamburger patties and cheese slices to boot. I know what you may be thinking, but don’t worry, it wasn’t Trader Joe’s.
The comments quickly poured in. How could someone be allowed to do this? Why didn’t the store intervene? Why are Jewish customers being targeted in this way? Is this antisemitism or is this a bad joke?
So many of the comments were steeped in real fear, and fear’s trusty companion anger.
Not even four years ago, I believe the response would have been different. Mild frustration maybe, but I can imagine it being shared in jest – look at what they did again, we may joke. But it is not four years ago, and times have most definitely changed. Assumptions of good intentions have been replaced by paralyzing fears of worst ones.
And this example was fairly mild in both the subject and in the comments that were elicited. We have all seen far more serious subjects being discussed and posts descending into real anger, vitriol, and rage. People are threatened, sometimes dehumanized, and the exchange descends into a violent and hateful verbal attack.
The anger and rage serve as a way of concealing the very real fears that lie just below the surface. This is our “fight” response in the extreme. The intention is not to hate, to be cruel, or to attack. It is a way of trying to regain control in a frightening world, to push away that which threatens us, to fight back in the face of fear. The response is understandable. But the impact, I fear, may take us to a place from which we cannot return.
There was a famous philosopher, maybe you’ve heard of him, Yoda, who once said: “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”[1] Thousands of years before events in a galaxy far, far away, we saw this play out in our Torah.
The Book of Exodus begins with the Israelites in Egypt, who despite their circumstances have multiplied in number. Having grown in size and perceived power, they are no longer the welcome minority they once were. For Pharaoh, the Israelites pose a potential threat, an enemy from within who could challenge the order of society, undermine Egyptian values, and ultimately end his rule.
As a result, Pharaoh operates from a place of fear, unable to shake the apprehension about what the Israelites might do or what they might become. The validity of his fears is irrelevant; they overtake him and proceed to grow to destructive heights as we reach the Ten Plagues.
The recurring refrain we read throughout this episode is that Pharaoh’s heart was hardened. It is such a significant detail that it is mentioned on 15 separate occasions.[2] The Torah leaves us in no doubt about the ways that Pharaoh is changed by living in constant fear. His anger and rage, directed at the Israelites, becomes his way of being. A heart hardened and hardened again. There is no space for compromise or compassion; he is reduced to a shell of violence, hate, and cruelty.
And while he may have believed that he was acting from a place of strength to protect the Egyptians. A hardened heart can only bring destruction. Through the Ten Plagues and the Israelites’ Exodus, Egypt is left devastated and destroyed. A shell of the empire she once was. The consequences far worse than Pharaoh had ever imagined.
A hardened heart. It is such an interesting phrase. The heart is supposed to be open and tender. The emotional center of our being. The thing that makes us human. The source of love.
It is not meant to be hardened. But living under constant fear can do that.
A hardened heart no longer feels. It cannot approach the world with empathy, kindness, or compassion. It is closed off. Inaccessible. It can no longer see the humanity in others, feel the suffering of the world, or respond from a place of love.
And what is a heart without those things?
Pharaoh is a cautionary tale; but seen in this light, perhaps his actions and behavior could be understandable. We can even feel empathy for him and for the way he became victim to his fears and his anger. A hardened heart changes a person.
In the face of fear, I can see how a hardened heart may seem to offer protection, even preservation; but ultimately, it all too often leads to destruction. But there is another way.
For the heart, wondrous organ that it is, is responsive and adaptable. It can be shaped, expanded, strengthened. It can be self-protective while remaining soft and open. It can protect our bodies, while also preserving our souls.
And that is what I want to talk to you about today.
Chazak V’Amatz – be strong and courageous.
These two simple words were the rallying cry for the Israelite community as they prepared to enter the Promised Land. Chazak v’amatz. They did not take away the very real fears the people had. Instead, they provided a guide for responding to them.
Standing on the other side of the Jordan River, the people were afraid. Their lives were about to be irrevocably changed. They would be leaving the wilderness, the only home they had ever known. They would be entering into an unknown land, uncertain of what they might find. And Moses, their trusted leader, whom they followed for 40 years, would not be leading them on this final journey; his life destined to end before reaching the Promised Land. They had to follow a leader they did not trust, into a land they did not know.
Fear was understandable. It may well have led to anger – directed at Moses, at Joshua, his successor, maybe even towards God, who had led them to this place. If their hearts would have hardened, would we blame them? If they lost sight of who they were, would we judge them? If they had given up, would we have understood?
Chazak v’Amatz – be strong and courageous.
Moses stood before his people and offered a parting gift: he did not allow their hearts to be hardened.[3] He offered them a different path. Chizku v’imtzu he said: be strong and courageous. With these words he illuminated a path not away from who they are; but rather a path of return to who they could be.
In Judaism, and especially in Mussar, our Jewish tradition of ethical and spiritual growth, when we talk about courage, we rarely use the word amatz alone. Instead, we talk about ometz lev – a courageous heart. For Judaism, courage cannot be separated from the heart; for it is in the heart that courage is rooted. Courage as an instinct, as a reaction to circumstances, as a response to the world; courage as a choice comes from the heart.
And the heart, at its most courageous, faces fears while refusing to harden. Instead, in the face of anger, it remains strong and open. In the face of anxiety, it remains tender and compassionate. In the face of fear, it remains responsive and loving.
Ometz lev – a courageous heart.
By this measure, there is one person that immediately comes to mind as the epitome of ometz lev – a courageous heart: Rachel Goldberg-Polin.
On October 7th, Rachel’s beloved son Hersh was at the Nova music festival. He, with other peace loving, gentle souls, gathered to dance, and sing, and chase the dawn with hearts and spirits open. But it was not the full dawn that came, but darkness.
While hiding in a bunker, terrorists threw in a grenade that blew off his left hand. Severely wounded, he was taken hostage into Gaza. And for 328 days, he was held captive: abused and tortured.
It is hard to imagine the ordeal that Rachel and her husband Jon endured. They saw the images of their injured son being taken captive, and for long excruciating periods, they did not know if he was dead or alive. For 328 days, they traveled the world, meeting with anyone and everyone who could do something to help Hersh and the hostages. They dedicated every waking hour to that mission.
And then on day 328, they received the devastating news that Hersh, and the five people he was held with: Eden, Carmel, Almog, Alexander, and Ori, had been murdered by their terrorist captors. After 328 days, Rachel and Jon were forced to bury their son.
It would be understandable for Rachel’s heart to have hardened. After the torture of those 328 days, carrying the fear for her son’s fate every minute of every day. And then the devastation that came with such a tragic ending. She could have slipped so easily into anger and rage, her broken heart hardened so as to let nothing else in. And we wouldn’t have blamed her, we would have understood.
But she unfathomably and miraculously chose a different path. Her faith was the key. Despite the weight of her suffering, she chose ometz lev – a courageous heart.
I cannot imagine the strength it took, but after a period of mourning for her son, she went back out to continue campaigning and working to bring the remaining hostages home. She continued speaking, advocating, working, fighting. And she kept wearing that piece of tape counting the number of days the hostages were held in captivity. She kept wearing that tape until it reached 843 and the body of Ran Gvili, the last hostage, was returned home.
Ometz lev – a courageous heart.
Through her writing and speaking, she continues to set an example. She acknowledges that she has been broken by this experience.[4] And while her heart is broken, love endures. As she has said: “The love keeps growing, because love is stronger than death, and love is stronger than time.”[5]. And that care and compassion extends to the other. She has spoken of her concern for the innocent civilians in Gaza. She has spoken of her concern of losing our empathy for the suffering of others. Losing our humanity in the dehumanization of others. “We are all immersed in a deep abyss of suffering,” she says, “and I hope that, despite the pain, we still have the ability to ‘feel’ the suffering of others.”[6]
Kaved Lev – a hardened heart, or Ometz Lev – a courageous heart.
We can be afraid, but be open. We can be angry, and still act with compassion. We can recognize the dangers without losing our sense of humanity.
This is a time of very real fears and legitimate anger. I too am fearful. I too am angry. It can be overwhelming. But it does not have to be all consuming. From Victor Frankl we learn: “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”[7]
Will we allow our hearts to be hardened like Pharaoh? Or will we take heed of Moses’ parting words, and follow in the footsteps of our ancestors, and of Rachel: chizku v’imtzu – be strong and courageous. Will we lose ourselves to fear and rage? Or will we return to ourselves in love?
[1] From the Phanton Menace – https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120915/characters/nm0000568/
[2] Exodus 4:21. 7:3, 7:13, 7:14, 7:22, 8:11, 8:15, 8:28, 9:7, 9:12, 9:34, 9:35, 10:1, 10:20, 10:27. The Torah includes three different Hebrew words to suggest hardening: קָשֶׁה (kashe) – which literally means hard, כָּבֵד (kaved) – which usually translates as heavy, and חָזָק (chazak) – which means strong.
[3] The exact phrase used by Moses in Deuteronomy 31:6 is chizku v’imtzu – the plural form of this instruction.
[4] An example is in this podcast: Question Everything – https://www.iheart.com/podcast/1119-question-everything-209673163/episode/rachel-goldberg-polin-on-being-a-tragic-optimist-why-love-is-the-strongest-force-we-have-332862289
[5] https://www.jewishexponent.com/rachel-goldberg-polin-and-jon-polin-speak-at-federation-event/
[6] The concern for the innocents in Gaza and this quote can be found here: https://embassies.gov.il/vatican/en/node/7996
[7] https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/8144491-between-stimulus-and-response-there-is-a-space-in-that
