“In the Belly of Our Own Anxiety” Rabbi Jacobson’s Yom Kippur Afternoon Sermon

Rabbi Suzie Jacobson
Yom Kippur Afternoon, October 2, 2025 
Temple Israel of Boston 

Our ancestors made an interesting choice in assigning the book of Jonah for Yom Kippur afternoon.

Jonah is a prophetic book, but Jonah himself? He’s no prophet. He’s… kind of pathetic. Not exemplary, wise, or virtuous. He’s a neurotic mess—anxious, helpless, self-absorbed, short-sighted, caught in an existential crisis, unsure of his life’s worth. In other words: Jonah is human. And Yom Kippur is the day for facing the messy, frightened parts of ourselves.

We are Jonah. We want to believe we’re not. Yet somehow, we still manage to get swallowed by our own anxieties.

Yom Kippur calls us to strive, to reach for the “better angels of our nature.”

But the rabbis — wise enough to know human frailty — understood that every community is full of flawed individuals (no offence). And the first step toward change is honest reflection.

Let’s recap how ridiculous Jonah is: 

God commands him to bring a message to Nineveh – He runs in the other direction… And goes deep sea fishing?

A giant storm threatens the boat: What does Jonah do? He takes a NAP. 

When confronted, he admits running from God—but only after the sailors freak out.

To solve the problem, he throws himself overboard, offering himself as a human sacrifice – dramatic much? 

He could have just said, “fine God! I’ll go!”

Then he gets eaten by a giant fish – a miracle, yes, but also gross. 

He prays from the belly of the fish – but 90% of the prayer is sulking and whining

Finally, he gets to Nineveh and brings God’s message – but throws a tantrum: “God! I knew you would be merciful, what’s the point!”

While pouting under a shade plant, he lectures God on morality. 

When the plant dies, Jonah threatens suicide, losing his last shred of sanity. 

 

Jonah cannot understand why God cares so much about human beings. Empathy? Not his strong suit. 

 

Perhaps we are not as pathetic as Jonah, But some sins feel familiar:

We run away from responsibility

We let anxiety control us

We blame others instead of ourselves

We pout, we whine, we complain – guilty!

We fail to empathize with those who are different from us

 

By forcing us to read this story, the rabbis are saying – which of these struggles do you want to confront this year? 

 

Let’s think about anxiety – What would it look like to NOT be controlled by it? Perhaps, anxiety is understandable in a world perpetually on fire. 

And Jonah’s anxiety? Maybe also reasonable. 

Torah Scholar Avivah Zornberg calls Jonah, “one of the great texts in the literature of loneliness.” Jonah is the only Israelite character, isolated, with no community or historical context. 

 

Jonah isn’t sent to any non-Israelite city. He is sent to Nineveh – the capital of the Assyrian empire – the very empire that would later destroy the Northern Kingdom of Israel, and inflict harm on the Southern Kingdom of Judah. Though the story is set before this history, it was written with hindsight. The author knew the havoc Assyria had wreaked.

 

We too know from isolation – we are a tiny people in a vast world that often doesn’t understand us.  And yet, Jonah challenges us: even in fear, anxiety, and uncertainty, we are called to  rachamim—compassion. 

 

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote that Jonah is about the “supremacy of compassion.” Beyond human anger lies God’s mystery of compassion. God forgives, saying, “And should not I care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not yet know their right hand from their left?” 

 

This is a radical and powerful message. 

 

The Rabbis of the Talmud teach: “Even if a sharp sword is at his neck, a person should not hold himself back from rachamim.”

 

This story teaches that despair and anxiety never excuse us from showing compassion. This is the gift God gives Jonah, whether he can accept it or not. 

 

As our day of repentance draws to a close, can we learn to imitate the Divine? Can we show compassion—to ourselves, our families, our neighbors, even the stranger? Can we find compassion even when we are anxious? Even when we are afraid? How might this guide us in the year ahead?