- Michael Balaban
Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia President and CEO

I know I’m not alone when I say I cannot stop thinking about the murders of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim last week.

They were two young people who believed in peace — not just as an idea, but as a lived commitment. Yaron, a German Israeli researcher, and Sarah, an American from Kansas working at the Israeli Embassy, were dedicated to building understanding across communities and cultures. They were partners in purpose and in life — murdered simply because of who they were - for being Jews - and what they stood for.

They wanted peace. Not more hatred.

What should have been a moment of collective grief has instead become a flashpoint of moral confusion. In the days since their deaths, we’ve seen not only silence in some corners, but something worse: attempts to rationalize or justify this act of terror as somehow “understandable.” This is not just disappointing — it is dangerous. And it reveals something deeply broken in our public discourse.

The dehumanization that underpins this kind of thinking is a disease — and it is spreading.

But this is not only a moral crisis. It is a crisis of leadership.

We are living in a time when hate is not only expressed — it is amplified, monetized and applauded in certain corners of society. If we want to build a different future, we need moral courage — not just to name what is wrong, but to act on what is right.

We need leaders who see our shared humanity, who reject zero-sum thinking and who are willing to stand shoulder to shoulder in the fight against all forms of hate — antisemitism, racism, extremism and the false narratives that pit our communities against one another.

This urgent moral clarity echoed last week from the podium at Yeshiva University’s commencement ceremony, where Dr. Rachel Goldberg-Polin addressed the Class of 2025 — roughly nine months after her son, Hersh, was murdered by Hamas in captivity, and six days before we marked 600 days in captivity for the remaining 58 hostages. Her remarks were a sobering reminder that while some lives have already been stolen, others remain in limbo — waiting, suffering and still unseen by too much of the world.

In her moving speech, she honored Hersh’s memory by calling us to action, compassion and purpose. You can watch her full remarks here.

She spoke of unity and connection, urging the graduates to focus on what binds us together — not only as Jews, but as human beings. 

She reminded them — and all of us — that identity alone is not enough. Action is what defines us. 

Goldberg-Polin also warned of the temptation to live on the extremes — where everything is black and white, simple and satisfying. Extremes require no intersection, no reasoning. The salty, tasty pull of all-or-nothing thinking can feel good — even righteous — in the moment. But it is often a shortcut to certainty, not to wisdom.

Instead, she challenged the graduates — and all of us — to do the harder, holier work of holding complexity. Drawing on the teachings of Rambam, she reminded us that we are implored to push toward the golden mean — that tricky but revered middle, where nuance lives. The “wait a minute,” the “how can it be so,” the “if, but, why” space that keeps us curious, agile and questioning. That middle ground keeps us on our toes — not because it’s comfortable, but because it’s where conscience is forged and where meaningful leadership is born.

That message is deeply embedded in Jewish tradition. In Judaism, questioning isn’t just permitted — it’s a core spiritual practice. From Abraham challenging G-d over Sodom and Gomorrah, to the Four Questions at the Passover Seder, to generations of rabbinic debate, asking questions is a sign of engagement and devotion. We are taught that through inquiry — not blind certainty — we come closer to understanding and to G-d. This is not a weakness in our faith. It is one of its greatest strengths.

She urged the graduates to be beacons of hope, to embrace discomfort, and to keep searching for deeper truth. Her words were a call not to stagnate in easy certainty, but to stay engaged and morally alert in an increasingly chaotic world.

That same spirit of resilience and moral clarity echoed at our Spring Annual Meeting on Wednesday night, when Rabbi Mike Uram reminded us that even one light of hope can ignite collective hope — and spark meaningful change. In moments of darkness, it’s the small acts of moral clarity, courage, and connection that multiply into something powerful enough to guide communities forward.

We are strongest when we move together — not in lockstep, but in shared purpose.

Yaron and Sarah lived with purpose. Dr. Rachel Goldberg-Polin is living with courage. Their legacies demand that we do the same.

May their memories be a blessing — and may we honor them by choosing courage over silence, and unity over division.

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