Rabbi Jill Avrin, JCRC Director of Campus Affairs
Yom Kippur Sermon at Minnesota Hillel 
Oct 2, 2025 

Over my time as a rabbi and Jewish educator, I’ve led my fair share of trips for Jewish teens and kids. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood at the front of a bus and reminded a group of young people to be aware of their behavior, saying something like this, “Remember that you are not only representing yourself and the synagogue, but you are also representing the entire Jewish people. I know you’ll make us proud.”

And I’m not alone – I’ve heard many other rabbis and educators give the same pep talk; you may have even heard it yourself. But why? Why do we all say this? Yes, it is a last-ditch strategy to encourage positive behavior… but it’s also so much more than that. It is also a way of acknowledging antisemitism without acknowledging antisemitism.

It’s a silent subtext that for some may not even be conscious…. more of a quiet recognition that there are many people out there who have strong opinions about Jews, and perhaps even more people out there who have minimal, or no personal relationships with any Jews.

So, when a group of Jewish kids goes on a field trip, their actions could have a disproportionately lasting impact on the people they encounter. Fair or unfair, one small act can drastically tip the scales in either direction.

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When I started college, I couldn’t believe how many people told me I was the first Jewish person they had ever met. I realized quickly that I was educating without trying to educate – that just by being myself and sharing my story, I was dispelling myths, challenging antisemitic tropes, and introducing new ideas and complex narratives about the Jewish people. And I was doing this, not by teaching a class or sharing a power point presentation, but just by bringing my full Jewish self to every relationship I encountered.

I wasn’t a perfect poster child for the Jewish people…. nobody is… sometimes I hit the mark, sometimes I didn’t… my story was in some ways typical and in other ways unique. Sometimes I fit the mold, sometimes I didn’t. What I didn’t fully comprehend at the time, and what is exacerbated a million times over today, is the extent to which others were watching. I didn’t quite realize just how many people have strong preconceived notions about Jews. The challenge, then, is this: How do we show up as our authentic selves, while knowing the world often projects its own ideas about Jews onto us?

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In Jewish tradition, we have language for unpacking the obligations and the impact associated with being a representative of the Jewish people. There are three conceptual categories for thinking about the various ways we represent ourselves.

The first category is known as Kiddush Hashem, best translated as “the sanctification of the name of God.” This includes any words or actions performed by a Jewish person that bring honor and glory to God, and by extension bring honor and glory to the Jewish people.

The second category is known as Chillul Hashem, meaning, “the desecration of the name of God” – This includes any words or behavior that disgraces, harms, or shames God, and by extension brings shame to the entire Jewish people.

These two categories are relatively straightforward. Do something good, it glorifies God and reflects positively on the entire Jewish people. Do something bad, it desecrates God and reflects poorly on the entire Jewish people.

The third category is where things get interesting. There is this concept in Judaism called Marit Ayin – it is literally translated as “the appearance of the eye” and it refers to an action, or an appearance of an action that is permissible or even praiseworthy but that may be interpreted as inappropriate, or even a desecration.

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One of the Talmudic prooftexts for marit ayin describes a situation where a person comes across a spring of water that runs by an object used in idol worship. The rabbis conclude that a person may not bend down or drink from the spring because when they do so, it may appear that they are bowing down in idol worship. But, the text continues, if the person is not seen by others, then he is permitted to drink. The text goes on to debate this final point. Some rabbis agree with the conclusion that a person is permitted to drink if nobody is around. Others claim it is too risky – what if someone was lurking behind a tree? Or what if you get into the practice of drinking from this spring when nobody is around and then become careless in checking. Perhaps, they argue, it is best to just avoid it altogether.

The topic of marit ayin comes up a lot around questions related to keeping kosher. Can a person eat an impossible burger with cheese? How about vegan bacon?

Obviously, the food items themselves are permissible, they are made entirely of plants. But your average onlooker wouldn’t have any way of knowing that. For this reason, the decision is split. Some choose to eat these foods in their home but not out at a restaurant where someone may walk by and get the wrong impression.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how the concept of marit ayin is knowingly or unknowingly impacting the way we, as Jews, talk about, or refrain from talking about the situation in Israel and Gaza in public spaces today, and especially on campus. Sometimes, without even realizing we are doing it, we are self-censoring ourselves in the classroom or in social settings, because we are concerned about marit ayin, the way that others might misinterpret us… and in some cases, we are self-censoring not only our opinions or our questions about Israel but our Jewish identity more broadly.

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Israel has become, in a sense, the vegan bacon of our time.

At home, at Hillel, in Jewish-only spaces, we will unleash, say what we really think, the harsh criticisms, the praise, the basic questions we have about what is happening every day. But in public, we’re worried that others may misinterpret our questions or our commentary. We worry they will put us in a box we don’t fit in or make assumptions not only about us but about all Jews. I’ve heard people wrestling with this, asking me questions like this:

What if someone hears my criticism of this war and the next thing I know, people believe that all young Jews are anti-Zionist self-hating Jews?

What if someone hears my praise for this current ceasefire deal and suddenly, all Jews are seen as Trump supporting colonialists?

We become understandably paralyzed by the concern about what others might get wrong about who we are and what we believe. Like the vegan bacon we eat at home, we know our questions and our commentary are kosher, but to others looking in from the outside, we worry that all they see is treif. That we will be accused of chillul hashem, a desecration of God’s name, instead of kiddush hashem, a sanctification of God’s name.

It’s not wrong to care what other people think – other people’s opinions about us have real-world consequences that we are seeing play themselves out in devastating ways. We can see every day how the actions of some Jews impact the reputation of all Jews – sometimes for better, other times for worse. We may even feel a desire to hide our identity because we don’t want to be associated with those who we don’t feel represent us.

But if we do this, if we hide our identity, if we don’t represent ourselves then we can be certain that others will. By staying silent we let others define us.

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So, what do we do?

This Yom Kippur, I’m taking inspiration from a seemingly unexpected source – the story of Purim. On the surface, Purim seems like the worst source to quote on Yom Kippur. Purim is a day of spectacle, laughter, and parties. Yom Kippur is serious, contemplative, and introspective. But there are some who suggest the holidays are more connected than we may think. Another name for Yom Kippur is Yom HaKiPurim, which could be translated as “a day that is like Purim.” Sometimes we have to put on a mask to discover the essence of what lies beneath.

In the story of Purim, we see Esther take radically different approaches to sharing her Jewish identity publicly. At first, she hides. She changes her name and obscures her identity. Later, she realizes that though this strategy worked in propelling her to her position, it isn’t a long-term solution. She needs to find a way to reveal her identity and jumps into planning mode, even fasting as a form of preparation. Fasting was a tool that helped her clear her mind, look inward, and gain the courage to speak.

Today, on this day that is like Purim, this day that many are fasting and looking inward, I wonder what we can learn from the journey Esther took – from the way she transitioned from hiding her Jewish identity to becoming a spokesperson for the Jewish people. We aren’t going to do it like Esther, these are different times, with different challenges, and, unless I’m mistaken, none of us currently find ourselves in positions of royalty.

But here we are… in our own precarious situations, trying to navigate when to speak up, when to stay silent, when to wear our Judaism on our sleeve, and when to lay low as we take the temperature in the room. On this day of Yom Kippur, we reflect: are we proud of the way we have shown up? Are there times we wish we had said more? Are there times we wish we said less? Are there times we wish we had said things differently?

This is our day to look inward and consider how we want to represent ourselves and the Jewish people in the year ahead. How will you represent yourself? As a human? As a student? As a Jew? How will you engage in acts of kiddush hashem, sanctifying God’s name and bringing honor and glory to the Jewish people… how will these acts of glory be different in your home, at Hillel, in the classroom, or at a party?

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I want you to know that here at Hillel, I hope you feel comfortable bringing your full self to this space, no matter your background or your beliefs

What happens outside of this building is not in our control, but we are still here to help and support you as JCRC works with our community and campus administration to improve the climate. If you decide to hide your Jewish jewelry, we support you. If you decide to wear it proud, we support you. There is no one path when it comes to navigating the complexity of campus spaces. And, what we learn from Esther, and the many Jews who have had to hide their Jewish identity after her, is that while hiding may be necessary from time to time and moment to moment, hiding is not a long-term strategy for the Jewish people.

Jews do not live in isolation, and we cannot thrive if we are in hiding. We are interconnected to our non-Jewish neighbors, our non-Jewish friends, our non-Jewish family. We need them and they need us. Being a representative of the Jewish people is a burden, I know that, but it is also an opportunity that we cannot afford to give away.

My prayer for us this Yom Kippur is that we find ways to help each other ease the burden, to make our diversity our strength and not our downfall, and to discover new opportunities to bring honor to the Jewish people.