The Book of Exodus begins with a sudden shift in fortunes. Joseph, the Jewish leader who rose to power in Pharaoh’s court, dies. The Pharaoh who favored him dies. And then: “A new king arose who did not know Joseph.” What follows is not just a story of oppression and liberation; it’s a reminder that although values may be durable, political power is temporary. When we tie ourselves too closely to rulers rather than to enduring principles, we live at the mercy of their rise and fall.

That warning feels newly relevant. In the lead-up to the New York mayoral election, many rabbis around the country felt a powerful pull to speak publicly about the race. Following a recent IRS policy change that undermined barriers to clergy endorsements, some rabbis chose to sign open letters supporting or opposing candidates. Most did so out of a sincere sense of responsibility; after all, leaders are called to speak out when they fear their community is at risk. Many others felt torn about this kind of endorsement and wrestled with what moral leadership looks like in a moment of such political intensity.

Now that the votes have been cast and the ballots have been counted, it’s worth reflecting on what we’ve learned, and whether rabbis should embrace or avoid these kinds of endorsements in the future.

As the founder and Executive Director of A More Perfect Union, a nonpartisan organization mobilizing the Jewish community to protect and strengthen American democracy, here’s my take: Even though publicly supporting a particular candidate might feel urgent in the moment, endorsements cost us something essential. They oversimplify moral leadership. They divide communities. And they come with political pressures that erode trust and integrity.

First, endorsements flatten what should be nuanced and expansive. Rabbinic leadership involves a great deal of complexity. Rabbis wrestle with difficult questions, navigate complicated ideas, and make room for compelling arguments and competing truths in a world that is constantly changing.

It’s a tough gig.

But endorsements, by design, are binary. They elide complicated thought processes into a single, stark political statement, and erase the ability to emphasize values over individuals. No candidate is a perfect embodiment of our – or any – community’s views on all issues, and an endorsement can make it seem like a rabbi agrees with every part of a candidate’s views or platform, even if that’s not the case. As a result, rabbis can end up associated with ideas or individuals they never intended to support. When we align with individuals instead of ideals, we become vulnerable to their whims. Even if our chosen candidate is successful, they may change their minds on critical issues, or find themselves soon swept out of power. Values endure; leaders do not.

Second, endorsements divide the congregations rabbis are called to hold together. Even in an era when our communities tend to sort by ideology, synagogues are some of the last places where people who vote differently can still sit side by side – to celebrate, to mourn, to pray, and to search for meaning. Endorsing or opposing a candidate from the bimah risks turning that sacred space into one more battlefield in an already divided nation. It replaces curiosity with certainty, and leaves some feeling that their place in the community depends on how they vote. Our communities are too important, and rabbis’ responsibilities are too great, to compromise them with a single act of politics.

Third, endorsements invite political pressure and exploitation. Once clergy are seen as political actors, politicians will treat them as political assets. Synagogue donors, board members, and officeholders will begin to link support to public positioning. It’s easy to imagine a rabbi feeling pressured to publicly endorse a donor’s preferred candidate in order to secure funding for a food pantry or security needs. Whether that pressure is explicit or implicit, the potential for exploitation undermines moral leadership, casts doubt on rabbis’ motives, and makes it harder to serve the community with integrity.

Now, refusing to make endorsements doesn’t mean withdrawing from public life. Quite the opposite. Rabbis can – and must – speak to the moral dimensions of politics without becoming partisan actors. Rabbis can preach values without preaching partisanship. They can support those in need without supporting a particular campaign. They can model disagreement without division. They can create spaces for civic learning, honest dialogue, and pluralism.

Most of all, they can remind their communities through words and deeds that democracy itself is a moral achievement; one that allows us to keep talking, to keep learning, and to keep trying to get it right. They can speak up for enduring values – and not temporary pharaohs.

In the days following a hard-fought election, New York — and the rest of this country — will need voices of healing. We’ll need rabbis who can bring people back together across divides; who can remind us that belonging is bigger than partisanship and that our covenant with one another endures longer than any term in office. If we can remember that, we can reclaim something that feels radical in this polarized moment: the possibility of conversation, deliberation, and principled debate, even among those who disagree.

That, more than any endorsement, is what moral leadership looks like.

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