Hineni: Here I Am

Dan Samovitz

There is something about the sound of the shofar that has always felt different to me.

It isn't music. It isn't a speech. It doesn't explain anything.

It simply calls.

For thousands of years, Jews have heard that call at the beginning of a new year. A call to wake up. To stop. To listen. To ask ourselves where we are and what we are doing.

Ayekah?

Where are you?

It is one of the oldest questions in our tradition. And perhaps one of the most relevant questions we can ask ourselves today.

Where are you when the world feels broken?

Where are you when your community is hurting?

Where are you when the future feels uncertain?

And perhaps most importantly: what will you do?

The answer I keep coming back to is a simple one.

Hineni.

Here I am.

I grew up in Habonim Dror. Like so many people who came through a youth movement, I was taught that being part of a Jewish community was not simply about belonging to something that already existed. It was about building something.

We were taught to believe in a Jewish future. To believe in Israel. To believe in collective responsibility. To believe that the world could be different and that we had a responsibility to help make it so.

Those ideas have stayed with me.

Today, as President of Ameinu Australia, they have brought me back to something I think I have been searching for for a long time: the opportunity to build.

Because the last few years have been incredibly difficult.

October 7 changed the Jewish world. The war, the loss of life, the suffering of Israelis and Palestinians, and the deep divisions within Israeli society and Jewish communities around the world have left many of us carrying grief, anger and uncertainty.

For those of us who love Israel, there has also been the painful challenge of holding many things at once.

To love Israel and still demand better from it.

To believe in Zionism while believing that Zionism must be grounded in democracy, equality, justice and human dignity.

To care deeply about Jewish security while refusing to give up on the possibility of peace.

To remain connected when sometimes it feels easier to walk away.

There have been moments when hope has felt almost naïve.

But something has changed for me.

I have hope again.

Not because the darkness has disappeared.

It hasn't.

I have hope because I am watching people choose to come together.

Over the past two years, I have had the privilege of working with incredible partners across Hatikvah Australia.

And something is happening.

We are beginning to build.

Not simply events. Not simply organisations. Not simply programs.

A movement.

A Zionist movement in Australia that takes seriously the responsibility that comes with being Jewish.

A movement that believes Israel's Declaration of Independence is not simply a historical document, but a set of aspirations worth building towards — freedom, equality, justice and democracy.

A movement that believes progressive Zionism has a place in the Jewish world.

A movement that believes our community can be deeply connected to Israel while also being honest about its challenges.

A movement that believes Jewish community should be a place of belonging, culture, learning, debate and joy.

And a movement that understands that we cannot build any of this alone.

If we want a Jewish and Zionist future, we cannot simply talk. We have to give the next generation something worth inheriting.

Something worth believing in.

Something worth building.

I know this won't be easy.

Movements are messy. Communities are complicated. People disagree. We will get things wrong.

But I would rather be part of something imperfect that is trying to build than stand on the sidelines and simply lament what has been lost.

Because I think that is the choice in front of us.

We can retreat into our corners, become defined by fear and spend our energy fighting over who is sufficiently Jewish, sufficiently Zionist or sufficiently progressive.

Or we can choose something different.

We can choose to come together.

We can choose to build.

We can choose to believe that our Jewish future is not something that happens to us, but something we have a role in shaping.

For me, that is what Hineni means.

It is more than here I am.

It is I am present.

I am paying attention.

I am willing to take responsibility.

I am willing to do the work.

The shofar doesn't promise that the year ahead will be easy. It doesn't tell us that everything will be okay.

It simply calls us to wake up and decide what we are going to do with the year that has been given to us.

I am here to build a Jewish community that is open, vibrant, pluralistic and deeply connected to its people and its story.

I am here to build a Zionist movement that believes loving Israel and believing in a better Israel are not contradictory.

I am here to work with people who believe that democracy, equality, justice, peace and human dignity are not distractions from Zionism, but essential to the Zionist vision we want to carry forward.

And I am here because, after some of the darkest years I can remember, I genuinely have hope again.

Hope isn't pretending that the darkness isn't there.

Hope is choosing to make light anyway.

That light will not come from one leader, one organisation or one political moment.

It will come from people showing up. From people choosing community, responsibility and one another.

I grew up believing that a better Jewish future was something we could help create.

Today, I find myself standing in a new moment, working alongside partners who share that belief.

And for the first time in a very long time, I don't just feel that we are trying to hold something together.

I feel that we are building something.

That is a mission I am willing to devote my life to.

So when the shofar sounds this year, I will try to listen.

To hear the question.

Ayekah?

Where are you?

And I hope that my answer - and the answer of all of us who believe in this future - will be:

Hineni.

Here I am.