This sermon, “Judaism Begins at Home”  by Rabbi Justus Baird was delivered at Congregation Shomrei Emunah in Montclair, N.J. on Yom Kippur 5786 (Sept 21, 2026).

Sometime in my twenties – probably when I was in rabbinical school – I came across the phrase – perhaps you have also heard these words — Be a Man in the Street, and a Jew at Home.

The phrase stuck with me over the years. It came to mind when I started wearing a kippah in public. I had interpreted ‘be a man in the street and a Jew at home’ to mean: you can be fully Jewish at home, but be careful about projecting your Jewishness when you go out in public. For most of my life, though, I practiced the opposite: I wore a kippah in public as an act of Jewish identity, and at home I often took my kippah off because there was no one I needed to show it off to, and because, well, to be perfectly honest, whoever designed these things was definitely not bald.

As I was preparing this sermon, I decided to investigate the origin of the phrase, be a man in the street and a Jew at home. I learned that the phrase has a long and important reception history. I also learned that I had the basic idea completely wrong.

Some of you may know that the dictum ‘be a man in the street and a Jew at home’ was penned in 1863, in Russia, by the Jewish poet Yehuda Leib Gordon. The original phrase, which was part of a much longer poem, was five words in Hebrew: הֱיֵה אָדָם בְּצֵאתְךָ וִיהוּדִי בְּאָהֳלֶךָ, which I would translate as “Be a person, man (adam) when you go out, and a Jew when you are in your tent (ohalekha), a biblical metaphor for home.[i]

To use an anachronistic term, Gordon’s dictum went viral. Millions of Russian Jews knew be a man in the street, a Jew at home. But, as so often happens when ideas go viral, his words were misinterpreted. Most people thought that Gordon meant – I include myself in this camp – that we should bifurcate our Jewish identity. Jewish life should focus on home, synagogue, the private sphere; while in public, we should suppress our Jewishness.

But this is definitely not what Gordon’s poem was about, and certainly not what Gordon’s life and oeuvre were about. The poem, entitled Awake, My People, was a rallying cry for Russian Jews to “partake of the shared culture of civilized Europeans” while “remaining vibrantly attached” to Jewish tradition.[ii]  Be a man in the street and a Jew at home was not a call to bifurcate our Jewish identities, it was a cry to integrate our Jewish particularity with the outside world.

To understand why Gordon was so passionate about this integration, you have to imagine Russian Jewish life in the 1860s. Some of you here today are no doubt the progeny of these Jews who lived in the Pale of Settlement in the 19^th century. Russian Jews at that time were unwilling to explore, let alone participate in, European culture. They spoke no Russian, only Yiddish and Hebrew, and could therefore not converse with their non-Jewish neighbors. Gordon challenged his Jewish comrades to wake up to the wider world, but, as they did so, to hold on to Jewish wisdom and practice. His call for integration was notable because all the Jewish voices around him were advocating something else: on one side, Jewish traditionalists forbid engagement with Russian society and European enlightenment; on the other side, the leaders of the haskalah called on Jews to abandon Jewish tradition, which they perceived as backwards and unredeemable.

How dramatically the tables have turned in the 160 years since Gordon wrote his poem! Here in America, in our own time, Jews have joined the ranks of the elite in countless fields. I don’t have to prove that point with examples, because all of you are living proof of how successful Jews have become in American society: doctors and nurses, lawyers and judges, scholars and scientists, educators and engineers, financiers and business leaders.

But as we achieved our unparalleled success of being a man in the street – joining the larger society – we seemed to have lost some of our commitment to the other half of Gordon’s dictum – v’yehudi b’ohalekha – be a Jew at home.

Let me try to pinpoint my concern. My concern is not about assimilation, that we have abandoned our Jewish identities in order to become part of the larger society, though we all know stories of people who have done exactly that. My concern – and the reason I used Gordon’s phrase to introduce this sermon – is that we are losing our commitment to enacting our Judaism in our actual homes. And losing that commitment will end tragically.

One of the most enduring issues for the American Jewish community, other than antisemitism, is our anxiety about continuity. We are constantly counting Jews, asking, what will ensure our kids and grandkids will be Jewish? We all want to know: what is the thing that will turn today’s Jewish kids into tomorrow’s proud Jewish adults?

Is it day school? Jewish summer camp? Jewish pre-K? Maybe the secret is reading Jewish books at bedtime? Or giving our kids a great bar or bat mitzvah. Maybe the answer is youth groups? Or Jewish studies courses in college. Perhaps a trip to Israel is the silver bullet?

You might think that someone would have done a study to answer this question already. And you would be right. Just last year, the British Jewish community published a study examining the question of what exactly will most likely turn Jewish kids into adults with strong Jewish identities. The study used data from the most recent population survey of British Jews, which asked many questions that American Jewish surveys don’t ask. If you had been one of the 5,000 participants, you would have had to answer over a hundred questions about every aspect of your Jewish life. Do you believe the Torah is the word of God, or more of an ancient book of moral precepts written by humans? What aspects of Jewish identity are most important to you: combating antisemitism? Remembering the Holocaust? Supporting social justice causes? Supporting Israel? What do you do in your home on Shabbat? How often you go to shul? Of course they also asked about the laundry list of key Jewish experiences I recited a moment ago.

So what did the data show? Before I share the answer, I should come clean and say that as a rabbi, I normally don’t put too much stock into sociological studies. The tool of my trade is Jewish tradition: faith, ethics, practice. But in this case, the sociological data really supported the message of my sermon. And maybe, I thought, some of you will be more convinced by demographic data than by the Jewish texts I’m going to mention in a moment.

Here’s what the data showed. The most important predictor of Jewish identity later in life is Jewish upbringing. In other words, what happens in our homes. Lighting candles. Keeping some form of kashrut. Friday night dinners. Observing Shabbat. Hosting guests. Doing Jewish holidays at home, like a Passover Seder, building a sukkah, and lighting Hanukah candles. The impact of these experiences at home, of upbringing, have much stronger correlation with future Jewish identity than attending a Jewish summer camp, a Jewish day school, coming to shul regularly, or having a bar or bat mitzvah.

I would summarize the study’s findings this way: the biggest shaper of Jewish identity is not shul, not school, not camp, but our homelife.

Here in the US, about 40% of American Jews do anything for Shabbat, even sometimes. The same number – 40% read Jewish books, watch Jewish-themed TV, or listen to Jewish music. Only about 20% keep kosher at home in any way. Based on these figures, the big picture doesn’t look good: less than half of American Jews are doing any basic Jewish practice at home. There is one bright spot in the data, though, something that three-fourths of American Jews do in a home: participate in a Passover seder. If the same percentage of Jews who join a seder were doing other home-base Jewish practices, the Jewish future would be completely transformed.

For many of us, we who make up the roughly 25% of American Jews who come to shul once a month, synagogue is where we enact Jewish community. But our commitment to enact our Jewishness in larger community cannot replace how we build a Jewish home. 67 Park Street should be the secondary, not the primary, address for our Jewish lives. What message will our kids and grandkids take if they see us come to shul a dozen times a year but rarely enact Jewishness at home?

I mentioned sociological data suggesting that the Jewish home is the critical site for instilling Jewish identity. Now, let me root that idea in two core teachings from Jewish tradition, starting with the Shema.

וְשִׁנַּנְתָּ֣ם לְבָנֶ֔יךָ

Impress them upon your children: The Shema teaches us to Impress the basic ideas of Judaism on our children. How?

וְדִבַּרְתָּ֖ בָּ֑ם בְּשִׁבְתְּךָ֤ בְּבֵיתֶ֙ךָ֙ — וּבְלֶכְתְּךָ֣ בַדֶּ֔רֶךְ — וּֽבְשׇׁכְבְּךָ֖ וּבְקוּמֶֽךָ׃

Speak of these ideas when you are coming home, and when you are going away, when you lie down and when you rise up.

Notice: the Shema does not say: send children on an expensive Jewish journey, find them a fancy teacher. It says: talk about Jewish ideas with kids. The watchword of our tradition, the Shema, reminds us that the foundation stone of Jewish identity are the words spoken by the people raising a child: parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends.

Beyond the Shema, a remarkable teaching emphasizes the centrality of the home in our tradition. When the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed a second time, in the first century CE, the rabbis struggled mightily with what to do. The Temple was THE place where Jews gathered, THE place where God listened to our requests and concerns, THE place where we found atonement for our sins. If the Temple doesn’t exist, where would all of these things happen?

Three rabbis, Rabbi Yochanan, Rabbi Elazar and Resh Lakish, drew upon a verse in Ezekiel that begins with the word Mizbeach – Altar – and ends with the word Shulchan – Table.[iii] Interpreting this verse, they taught:

בִּזְמַן שֶׁבֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ קַיָּים – מִזְבֵּחַ מְכַפֵּר עַל אָדָם
in a time when the Temple exists, the Altar atones for our transgressions.
, וְעַכְשָׁיו שֶׁאֵין בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ קַיָּים – שׁוּלְחָנוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם מְכַפֵּר עָלָיו
But now, when the Temple is not standing, a person’s table effects atonement

These three rabbis taught that our homes – specifically our kitchen tables – have replaced some of the core functions of the Holy Temple. Ever wondered where the idea that your Home is a Temple comes from? This is the source. To be clear: the ancient rabbis were not suggesting that we all acquire a goat, slaughter it, and then sprinkle its blood and burn the entrails on our dining room tables – though if you were to do so it would certainly be memorable. The idea is that our dining tables have become a spiritually powerful object like the altar in the Temple – this is why, according the Shulkhan Arukh, we salt the challah at our Shabbat table: the Temple offerings were made with salt, so we sprinkle our bread with salt. Rabbeynu Bahya ben Asher wrote an entire treatise about the dining table and eating practices as a replacement for the Temple called Shulkhan shel Arba, the Table of Four. Among the many teachings it contains, he argues that the blessings we say at our dining tables correspond to the spices and incense that were used in the Temple: instead of cinnamon and cassia, frankincense and myrrh, we now have washing of the hands, blessings over bread and wine, the blessings of birkat hamazon.[iv] [pause briefly]

Picture, for a moment, your favorite table to share a meal at. A table in a kitchen, or a dining room, perhaps. Maybe a table you grew up with, maybe a table in your home now. Picture that table in your mind’s eye. Now imagine it as a holy object, a holy site. A warm place where blessings, like fragrances, permeate the home; a spiritual place where transformative things can happen; a communal place where you connect with others and with the divine. [PAUSE]

We examined the sociological data. We looked at two Jewish teachings. Finally, we must turn to what we should DO.

Seeing our home as a temple, our table as an altar, has implications for what we do and how we behave. I’m going to recite a short list of practical ways we can turn our house into a holy home, but before I do, I want to acknowledge the barriers to doing so, of which there are many.

Some of us feel like we don’t know enough to engage in certain practices or to lead them for our family. Most of us are over-worked and have little energy or time for yet another demand. Many of us have nuclear families, at best, and are not surrounded by multiple generations of family and friends who can offer support. Some of us live alone. These are challenging, legitimate barriers. And yet, the work of transmitting Jewish tradition l’dor va-dor through our Jewish homes is decidedly within reach.

Here are seven straightforward ways to get started:

1. ONE: Make Shabbat. Light candles Friday nights. Sit for Shabbat dinner, with blessings for kiddush and motzi and birkat hamazon.
2. TWO: Practice Kashrut, at any level: buy kosher meat, separate milk and meat, keep treyf out of the house. Maybe even don’t eat treyf.
3. THREE: Acquire Jewish books, books appropriate for whatever ages of people live in your house;
4. FOUR: Study Jewish stuff, especially with a friend, in a book club or a hevruta, or if you prefer, stream Jewish content.
5. FIVE: Invite guests into your home: practice hospitality, from simple drinks to an elaborate meal;
6. SIX: Make the holidays: a Seder on Pesach, a Sukkah on Sukkot, Mishloach Manot on Purim, Candles on Hanukah, there are so many holiday traditions to choose from;
7. SEVEN: Engage in chesed and tzedaka, acts of loving kindness: visit the sick, join a shiva minyan, bring food or clothes to those in need.

If hearing this list makes you feel smug – “rabbi, I do all of those things already!” – then please: brag about it to Shlomo and Rivka during Neilah. Or, maybe, choose one of the items from the list that you want to make extra nice this year, hiddur-mitzvah style, and take it to the next level.

But- if there are any items on that list that don’t happen in your Jewish home yet, put them on your “home improvement” to-do list. You won’t find the items you need at Home Depot or Lowes – except for your sukkah of course – but you will be able to find all the support you need from a friend or one of the staff here at Shomrei. I can promise you that some of the sweetest words a rabbi will ever hear are, “Rabbi, I’ve been thinking about starting a Jewish practice in my home and I wonder if you could help me out.”

הֱיֵה אָדָם בְּצֵאתְךָ Be a man in the street  וִיהוּדִי בְּאָהֳלֶךָ  and a Jew at home. Yehuda Leib Gordon wrote this dictum generations ago, and it has new resonance today. Our home, the daily LIFE we live in our homes, is the foundation of Jewishness.

As proof, I combed through the list of all 613 mitzvot. Except for the mitzvot that require the Temple for sacrifice, and a few related to farming in the Land of Israel, there is not one mitzvah on the list of 613 commandments that cannot be fulfilled at home or in daily life.

On this the sociologists and the rabbis agree: what we do Jewishly at home is the most important way to live out this beautiful tradition we are part of. It is also the key to ensuring our Jewish future. Our homes are a temple; our tables the altar. Judaism begins at home.

[i] The phrase is an allusion to Deuteronomy 33:18: וְלִזְבוּלֻ֣ן אָמַ֔ר שְׂמַ֥ח זְבוּלֻ֖ן בְּצֵאתֶ֑ךָ וְיִשָּׂשכָ֖ר בְּאֹהָלֶֽיךָ׃ And of Zebulun he said: Rejoice, O Zebulun, on your journeys, and Issachar, in your tents. For an excellent review of the historical context and reception history of the phrase (and the poem that contains it), see Michael Stanislawki, For Whom Do I Toil? (Oxford 1988) 49-52.

[ii] Stanislawski, 51.

[iii] Ezekiel 41:22. BT Menachot 97a, BT Berakhot 55a.

[iv] Rabbeinu Bahya ben Asher, Shulkhan shel Arba, Sha’ar 1. See translation by Jonathan Brumberg-Kraus.

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