This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on November 8, 2025.

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There’s a moment many of us know well: that split second when we notice something isn’t right, when our gut says, “Say something…do something,” and yet our fear whispers back, “Maybe stay quiet.” We replay this moment in schools, workplaces, at family tables, and in our communities. And Parshat Vayera meets us right at that crossroads between comfort and courage.

Vayera is filled with holy disruption. Moments when our ancestors must choose whether to speak up, act decisively, or stay silent. When God tells Abraham that Sodom and Gomorrah will be destroyed, Abraham could nod silently in agreement. Instead, he steps forward with one of the Torah’s boldest challenges: “Ha’af tispheh tzaddik im rasha?” “Will You sweep away the innocent along with the guilty?” (Gen. 18:23). Abraham argues with God. He advocates for people he doesn’t know. His bravery is not in physical action, but in raising his voice for justice.

A few verses later, we meet a very different scene, one that is far more painful. Abraham and Sarah send Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness. This time, Abraham is silent. The Torah tells us he is distressed, but he does not protest, negotiate, or advocate for their safety. Silence, too, becomes a choice, one with consequences.

And then, perhaps the most wrenching test: the binding of Isaac. We notice again that Abraham does not speak—not to Sarah, not to God, not to Isaac until the very last moment. Commentators wrestle with this silence. Was it faith? Was it fear? Was it a missed opportunity for the courageous conversation God might have wanted from him?

Vayera holds up a mirror: We all have moments of Abraham’s courage and moments of Abraham’s silence. Our task is to learn when to embody which.

Speaking up requires vulnerability. It risks relationships, comfort, and certainty. But silence carries its own cost, especially when others depend on our voice.

As Jews, we inherit Abraham’s sacred responsibility to challenge, to advocate, to question power, and to protect the vulnerable. Brave choices are not always dramatic; sometimes they sound like, “I’m uncomfortable with that language,” “I need to tell you how this impacts me,” or “This isn’t who we are.”

This week, may we cultivate the courage to use our voices with compassion and conviction. May we choose to speak, even when our voice trembles, and stand up for what is just, kind, and true.