Maybe we could start with Elie.

In 1961, in my previous existence, I was a historian of American intellectual history and planning to do an academic career.

In 1961, I won a Fulbright to teach at Tel Aviv University and stumbled into the Holocaust, which I was sort of vaguely aware of, but hadn't really affected my life.

That particular experience was overwhelming.

It shattered a lot of my standard religious understanding, and I spent the rest of the year, 95% of the time, just reading feverishly Yad Vashem.

Sometime near the end of that year, sometime I think in early 1962, I came across this book called Night by Elie Wiesel, and I was, of course, very moved by it, but I had no idea who he was or where he was.

I decided to get the book.

but I do think that I

Maybe we could start with Elie.

In 1961, in my previous existence, I was a historian of American intellectual history and planning to do an academic career.

In 1961, I won a Fulbright to teach at Tel Aviv University and stumbled into the Holocaust, which I was sort of vaguely aware of, but hadn't really affected my life.

That particular experience was overwhelming.

It shattered a lot of my standard religious understanding, and I spent the rest of the year, 95% of the time, just reading feverishly Yad Vashem.

Sometime near the end of that year, sometime I think in early 1962, I came across this book called Night by Elie Wiesel, and I was, of course, very moved by it, but I had no idea who he was or where he was.

I decided to get the book.

but I do think that I

Maybe we could start with Elie.

In 1961, in my previous existence, I was a historian of American intellectual history and planning to do an academic career.

In 1961, I won a Fulbright to teach at Tel Aviv University and stumbled into the Holocaust, which I was sort of vaguely aware of, but hadn't really affected my life.

That particular experience was overwhelming.

It shattered a lot of my standard religious understanding, and I spent the rest of the year, 95% of the time, just reading feverishly Yad Vashem.

Sometime near the end of that year, sometime I think in early 1962, I came across this book called Night by Elie Wiesel, and I was, of course, very moved by it, but I had no idea who he was or where he was.

I decided to get the book.

but I do think that I

So to put it in very stark and maybe unfair terms, what's the point of that God? What's the point of a God who is so hidden that it doesn't matter whether or not I know he's there? Because one way or the other, if I take responsibility because I believe I'm doing God's work, or if I take responsibility because I'm a humanist who doesn't believe in God, isn't it the exact same thing?

So the answer is, again, and this is one of the greatness of our tradition, the answer is, in God you have a friend, you have a lover.

When I'm despairing and the whole world is against me, my answer is, I'm not alone.

God is with me.

When I'm in the worst conditions and difficulty, Hashem is with me.

So he answered, what's the difference? The answer is, that's the greatest gift of anything.

When I have joy, it is shared by, expanded by Hashem's presence in my life and in my thing.

And my question is, does that mean that we're affirming religious claims that in the past we rejected? Or are we saying, it's not about the truth of the religious claims, it's saying even in the midst of claims that we think are incorrect, God can still act? Or is there a third option?