As part of America’s preparations for their 250th anniversary of independence, President Trump recently issued a proclamation marking May as Jewish American Heritage Month.
Alongside recognising the immense contribution Jews have made to American society came a remarkable encouragement: Jewish Americans were invited to observe a national Sabbath, “setting aside time for rest, reflection, and gratitude to the Almighty”.
The President of the United States encouraging Jews to keep Shabbat. Stranger things have happened, but not many. Maybe this the final sign that Moshiach really is on his way!
Yet behind the novelty lies something serious. The backdrop to this proclamation is not merely celebration but anxiety. The America of today faces a real battle with rising antisemitism and a growing sense among many Jews that the confidence and security they once took for granted can no longer simply be assumed.
British Jews know exactly what that feels like.
Since October 7, so many within our community have experienced a subtle but profound shift. Jews who once felt entirely comfortable now hesitate before wearing visible Jewish symbols in public. Students speak about intimidation on campuses. Parents articulate worry about what their children may encounter in schools, universities, workplaces, or online. The phrase “epidemic of Jewish hatred” no longer sounds exaggerated. For many, it feels painfully accurate.
It is with this backdrop that Shavuot arrives in our Jewish calendar. We know this festival is uniquely hard to connect with. Unlike Pesach, it has no signature food beyond the vague encouragement to consume excessive cheesecake. Unlike Succot, there is no dramatic outdoor architecture involved. No shofar, no megillah, no fancy costumes.
For many anglicised British Jews, Shavuot risks becoming the Yom Tov equivalent of that quieter cousin at the family simchah, always on the guest list, but never really included in the family picture.
And yet, perhaps this year, Shavuot and its lessons feel more relevant than ever.
One of the fascinating debates surrounding this festival concerns the phrase mimacharat hashabbat, “the day after Shabbat” (Leviticius 23:16), from which we count the Omer leading towards Shavuot. The Sadducees interpreted the verse literally: the counting must always begin on a Sunday following Pesach. The Pharisees, whose tradition shaped rabbinic Judaism, understood “Shabbat” here to mean the first day of Pesach itself.
At first glance, it sounds like an obscure calendrical argument, the sort of debate only rabbis could enjoy. But beneath it lies a profound disagreement about the meaning of Jewish freedom.
For the Sadducees, Shavuot stood independently, disconnected from Pesach by the weekly cycle. But for the Pharisees, Shavuot must emerge directly from Pesach itself. The counting begins immediately after liberation because freedom is not an end in itself. Pesach without Shavuot is incomplete.
Judaism does not simply celebrate being freed from something. It celebrates being freed for something. Freedom from Egypt was never merely about escaping oppression. It was about travelling towards responsibility, covenant, purpose, and ultimately Sinai.
That message feels urgent right now because when Jews experience hostility, there is a temptation to define our Jewish identity defensively. To see Judaism primarily through the lens of antisemitism. To become a people shaped by fear of how others perceive us.
But that has never been the Jewish story.
Our enemies may obsess over blaming Jews, but Judaism itself has never been built around victimhood. The Torah does not culminate with leaving Egypt. It culminates with standing proudly at Sinai to receive the Torah, the blueprint for Jewish living.
The Jewish response to hatred has never simply been endurance. It has been contribution. Creativity. Faith. Learning. Moral courage. Building families, communities, schools, charities, businesses, hospitals, and ideas that improve the societies in which we live.
This is why, at the recent rally against antisemitism in central London, what struck me most was not anger but dignity. Thousands of Jews and allies gathered not merely to protest hatred, but to declare something deeper: we are proud of who we are and we are not going anywhere.
Not apologetically Jewish. Not quietly Jewish. But proudly Jewish.
That is the challenge of this moment for British Jewry. Not denial of fear. Not naïveté about the dangers around us. But refusing to allow hostility to define our posture as Jews.
To walk upright. To wear our Judaism not as a burden but as a privilege. To understand that Jewish continuity has never depended on universal approval. Had it done so, we would not exist.
And perhaps that is why Shavuot matters so much this year. Because Shavuot reminds us that Judaism is not sustained by anxiety alone. A Judaism built only on fear eventually exhausts itself. The Jewish future depends not only on fighting antisemitism but on rediscovering why Jewish life itself is beautiful, meaningful, demanding, wise, and worth transmitting.
Pesach gave us freedom, but Judaism was never meant to be merely a survival story. It is Shavuot that gave us purpose and purpose is what allows a people to stand upright, even in difficult times.
Rabbi Feldman is chairman of the Rabbinical Council of the United Synagogue and Senior Rabbi of Bushey United Synagogue
To get more from judaism, click here to sign up for our free daily newsletter.