It all feels just a little harder this year.

Last Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, when I pondered “who shall live and who shall die?” it seemed a spiritual reflection. The Unetaneh Tokef prayer, attributed to the 11th-century Rabbi Amnon of Mainz, recalled past persecutions, where Jewish identity and faith came under threat. These words seemed to evoke another era.

But on October 7, during Shemini Atzeret, death became painfully real. A modern pogrom, unimaginable in its atrocity, claimed over a thousand martyrs. More lives are lost each day. Friends are burying their children; my children’s friends are burying their friends. There has been terrible suffering and tragic losses for families and innocents on both sides. As we continue to pray for the hostages, I wonder who might yet live, and how many yet die?

After October 7, with Unetaneh Tokef fresh on my lips, Hashem’s plan and righteous judgment seemed distant, enigmatic. For 48 hours, the world expressed horror over Jewish suffering. Astonishingly, however, many interfaith colleagues hesitated to offer condolences, bolstering an opinion that “interfaith died on October 7”.

In a bewildering aftermath, streets have been given over to cheering supporters of terror. Boycott, divestment and sanctions are discussed openly. Jewish students feel increasingly insecure on campuses. Many in the community express discomfort in the workplace around Arab or Muslim co-workers. Others mask a Jewish identity, which feels like a burden.

As we prepare for the High Holy Days, we yearn for hope, comfort and meaning amid a hostile environment; a turbulent sea with many perils and few friends. I find myself turning to the book of Jonah, which we read during Minchah on Yom Kippur.

Jonah is commanded by God to preach to Nineveh, urging its people to repent. Commentators explain Jonah’s reticence stemmed from fear that Nineveh’s repentance would eventually lead to Israel’s destruction. Jonah didn’t want to be remembered as complicit in Israel’s downfall.

Jonah is a story of identity and of relationships with others. Jonah’s mission conflicts with his self-image and desired legacy. God’s message throughout the book is one of compassion for all, including different nations, animals and plants. Yet Jonah filters his divine calling through the lens of “but, is this good for the Jews?”

Rather than following God’s instruction, Jonah flees. As he sails away, a fierce storm arises, causing panic among the sailors. Each cries out to their own god for salvation. Meanwhile, Jonah, willing to perish rather than face his mission, sleeps below deck.

The sailors wake him, chastising him for not joining their collective prayers. When they cast lots to identify the cause of the storm, the lot falls on Jonah. They demand to know his business, his origin, and his people. Jonah’s reply, “Ivri anochi — I am a Hebrew,” seems to address only the final part of their inquiry.

Yet, as the Malbim ( Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michal, died 1879) explains, for Jonah, being Hebrew is his entire purpose, his life’s business, inseparable from the land of the Hebrews and the God of all creation. The Abarbanel (Isaac ben Yehudah, died 1508) notes that Ivri can imply a transgressor, “I am a Hebrew, and though a sinner, my worship is pure and my belief uncompromising.”

Jonah’s Ivri identity sets him apart from all other peoples. Despite serving a universal God, Jonah could not join in the sailors’ prayers. Jonah who began as unsympathetic to the potential punishment of remote Nineveh is now portrayed as indifferent to the plight of the sailors around him. Only upon their pleading that he alleviate their suffering, does Jonah suggest they cast him overboard.

In contrast to Jonah’s aloofness, the sailors display compassion, rowing harder in their efforts to save him. Only when they have no other option do they throw him into the sea, which immediately calms. Remarkably, these idolatrous sailors pray to Jonah’s God, asking that no innocent blood be on their hands.

The Book of Jonah is a study in attitudes, with Jonah an anti-hero, outdone in compassion and humanity by those he encounters. His reluctance to engage with others and his lack of empathy are contrasted with God’s repeated exhortations.

Jonah’s concern about Nineveh’s future threat to Israel has no direct analogy to today’s Israel, its pressing security threat, need to recover the hostages, defend its citizens, cities and borders. However, I read in the Book of Jonah a reminder that every lost life — any life, is assessed by God as the loss of His Creation.

On Yom Kippur at minchah I am reminded that we are enjoined to take a broad view of humanity and consider a Jewish role in the wider world, not just the kashrut of our kitchens, the sanctity of family life and decorum at shul.

I read that we have a grand mission, albeit in a world beset by many threats. The Torah, its teachings and values continue to offer paths to individual, national and environmental redemption. In the face of vilification, we should not doubt ourselves nor hide in the hold.

When Jonah spoke with truth as an Ivri, the idolatrous sailors embraced God and teshuvah. In this spirit, I remain committed to the challenging dialogue with diverse others. As Rabbi Sacks underscored, “The world respects Jews who respect their Judaism.”

So, when I approach Unetaneh Tokef this year, I will remember that God wills us to live with pride, in order that others may live as well.

Rabbi Lawrence is a faith consultant and mediator