As 2025 draws to a close, we are surrounded by invitations to look back. From “best-of” lists to music streaming services telling us our top songs and “listening age,” secular culture nudges us to ask: How has this year shaped us?
As Jews, we’re lucky; we get to do this twice. We have Rosh Hashanah for our cheshbon ha-nefesh—our “soul-accounting”—and then the secular New Year offers a second look. It’s a gift, really. We need these frequent check-ins to ensure we’re staying on course, to enable us to grow.
This week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, illustrates this process through the character of Judah. Importantly, it is ultimately from his name, Yehudah, that we take our own: Yehudim.
Standing before the Egyptian viceroy—unaware it is his brother Joseph—Judah pleads for his youngest brother, Benjamin. He speaks a painful truth: he acknowledges that his father, Jacob, still plays favorites. He accepts that Benjamin is loved more than the rest.
But instead of letting resentment lead to betrayal, Judah chooses a different path. He faces reality as it is and offers himself in Benjamin’s place.
This is Judah’s transformation, and it is the very definition of true repentance. Maimonides teaches us that Teshuvah is complete when we find ourselves in the same situation as before, but we choose differently. Years ago, Judah abandoned a favored brother; today, he sacrifices everything to protect one. He makes a better choice to avoid hurting his father as he had before.
To be a Yehudi, a Jew, is to follow this model: to be a person capable of change. It means grappling honestly with an imperfect world—and our own imperfect selves—without surrendering our compassion.
As the year turns, I invite you to join me in reflecting on these questions:
Looking back at the choices we’ve made, how can this moment of transition help us grow into the person we wish to become in 2026?
Like Judah standing before his father’s favoritism, in what ways can we be more accepting of others’ flaws without sacrificing our own core values?
In a world that so often feels fractured, how can our words and actions become more intentional sources of healing and support?
May we be open to the kind of growth that allows us to face our past, choose a better future, and become the people we are meant to be.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi