Called to Prayer in Difficult Times
From Yom Kippur 2025 Sermon
Every Friday evening growing up, my Dad blessed us with the words, “May God bless you and guard you, May God’s face shine upon you, May God be gracious to you and grant you peace.”
And then, my first child was born late on a Friday afternoon. And my husband and I somehow had the presence of mind not only to say kiddush and motzi but to bless our little fellow before he even had his name: “Yivarech’cha Adonai v’yishm’recha … May God bless you and guard you …” We had no idea what we were doing, but we had this one way we already knew how to parent. We blessed him.
Both memories came to mind recently as I was listening to a podcast about a young couple in New York City who were expecting a baby, their first. The expectant father was particularly dreaming about having the chance to carry on a beautiful Muslim tradition that I had not known about before. He was going to greet his child in the moments after birth by chanting the Adhan, – the call to prayer – into the baby’s ear.
For some reason, this image, this detail – it entered directly into my heart. It reminded me of my father’s blessings, and of blessing my first child.
But I was also struck by the fact that the tradition is to recite not just any blessing but the Adhan in particular. The Adhan is a call to prayer, which like the Jewish call to prayer, the Barchu, is an affirmation of God’s sanctity to which the entire congregation responds.
What does it mean – what could it possibly mean – to call a newborn baby to prayer?
Perhaps the idea is that to be human is to be invited to give honor to the Holy One, that we are being invited to do so from our first moments, even before we are ready to respond.
These days, I feel like I am trying to carry on with daily life in the face of relentless destruction, beyond the annual rhythms of repentance and repair and renewal; out beyond the world with a stable climate and predictable seasons; out beyond the country I thought I lived in and the protections and values I thought we shared.
In a year when I’ve felt so lost and so scared and so enraged and so despairing, I’ve become so grateful to have a place where I am called to prayer, again and again: Barchu et Adonai Hamevorach, Let us bless the One Who is blessed.
And then what? Sometimes, just tears. I cry out to God. Maybe it’s crying with God? When I really listen to my heart, my realest prayer comes out something like this: “I’m so sorry for what human beings are doing to kill Your children, to cage and degrade human beings, to destroy Your miraculous Creation. They are so beautiful, every person. It is so glorious, this world. It is all exquisite and sacred. It is such a sacrilege to Your glory to destroy it this way. I’m sorry I can’t stop it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, God. I can’t do much about this at all.”
Is there any way for me to show up for God, is there some way for me to turn towards and honor the holy, here and now? And here’s the drash: yes. Yes there is. There always is.
There is never a moment, never a situation, where the call to bless cannot reach any one of us and in which there is not some way for us to turn, and bend, and bow, and bless. If the One Who is blessed is blessed l’olam va’ed, forever, then there is always a way to say so and to show it with our bodies, and the time when it is possible always includes the present moment.
Even after a federal agency is destroyed and its employees fired, we can honor their good work by letting someone tell us their story, and sharing their wisdom with others. Even when violence beyond our control kills people, we can honor God by saying their names.
We can stand and honor the humanity of the people they are taking away by turning towards the harm, by holding up our phones, by showing everyone what we have seen, by looking in the face of those they are detaining, by wrapping our arms around the families left behind, by saying, together: shame.
Our acts of human attention, the way we take care of each other and greet each other in communities like this one, the way we honor our own sacred importance and carry ourselves, through this we respond and say, “Blessed be God who is blessed forever,” and no one can stop us.
Where do you hear the voices that are calling you to prayer?
What could responding to that invitation feel like, what could it look like, for you?
In this new year, I expect that we will continue to be filled with rage at the harm being done, for so much that is sacred as it is lost and destroyed.
But may none of this completely prevent us from also hearing the still, small, loving voice — right in your ear — that is right now calling you to prayer.
Additional Resources:
Apply Now: American Climate Leadership Awards 2026
Join the Campaign: One Home One Future
Mental Health and Our Changing Climate: Children and Youth Report 2023
Blessed Tomorrow – Ambassador Training
About the Author:
Joelle Novey, Director | Interfaith Power & Light (DC.MD.NoVA)