Gut Yunteif.

This summer, my daughter Nora came home from JCC Camps at Medford beaming. She had just finished Color War – that end-of-camp ritual where the whole community divides into teams, covers themselves in face paint, and cheers as if the World Cup is on the line. She was sure her team was going to win.

Only… they didn’t win. The Blue team won. And I braced myself for disappointment. I was ready to hear complaints about unfair judging or dramatic stories about a relay that should have gone differently. Instead, when I asked how she felt, she smiled and said: “Actually, I’m happy. Because Addie – from Berkman Mercaz Limud – she was on Blue. And she got to win.”

That’s it. No jealousy. No bitterness. No self-pity. Just joy for her friend. That’s firgun.

Firgun is one of those Hebrew words with no perfect English equivalent. It means genuine, unselfish joy in someone else’s success. Not flattery. Not politeness. Not the sportsmanship of, “I’ll clap for you so you’ll clap for me.” Firgun is what happens when we let go of envy and simply delight in another person’s good fortune. The Israeli sociolinguist Tamar Katriel put it perfectly in her landmark study of the word: “It is not just giving compliments; it is when you identify with, encourage, and feel proud of the other person.”

Now, we already know a word in Jewish life that gets close: naches. The joy a parent or grandparent feels in their child’s success. Every grandparent here knows it: “My grandkid got into college. My granddaughter led services. What naches!” Naches is wonderful, but it is tied to me – my child, my family. Firgun is joy untied from self-interest. Naches strengthens families. Firgun strengthens our entire world. Here at RS, we are rich in naches. Firgun asks us to widen the circle, to take joy in another’s blessing even when it has nothing to do with us.

And that brings us directly into the heart of the High Holidays, and into the most haunting words we recite each year from the Unetaneh Tokef prayer:

“Mi yichyeh u’mi yamut, mi va’esh u’mi vamayim… mi yushpal u’mi yarum.” “Who shall live and who shall die. Who by fire and who by water. Who shall be humbled and who shall be exalted. Who shall be brought low, and who shall be raised up.”

When we hear those words, we often focus on life and death, fire and water. But notice: the prayer is not only about mortality, but about status, dignity, honor. Some will be humbled, and some will be exalted. It reminds us that the test is not just what happens to me – it is how I respond to what happens to others. When someone else is exalted, do I resent it? Do I ignore it? Or do I find within myself the spiritual courage of firgun – to rejoice in their rise?

The opposite of firgun is schadenfreude – taking pleasure in someone else’s misstep or downfall. We know it: a rival falters, and part of us secretly smiles. Neuroscientists have shown that when someone we’re pitted against stumbles, our brains light up in reward centers – wired for that small, sharp delight. But our tradition pushes against that; we read in Proverbs: “Do not rejoice when your enemy falls.” Although it may feel good in the moment, it is spiritually destructive and leads us down a dark path. Unetaneh Tokef reminds us sharply: some will be exalted, some humbled, some raised, some brought low. The test is not what happens, but how we respond. Will we lean into bitterness, or will we lift toward firgun?

The Unetaneh Tokef itself gives us the answer: u’teshuvah, u’tefillah, u’tzedakah ma’avirin et ro’a hagezeirah – it is through turning, through prayer, and through acts of justice that we soften life’s harshness. Firgun can be part of that response.

The firgun of teshuvah is turning away from envy and gloating.

The firgun of tefillah is prayer that reshapes the heart, that teaches us not to focus only on our own needs but to open ourselves to the blessings of others.

And the firgun of tzedakah; not just giving money, but giving honor, giving joy, giving recognition freely. A generosity of spirit, where we expand our hearts as much as our hands.

Our tradition gives us a powerful model of firgun in the friendship between the biblical characters of Jonathan and David. David was the young shepherd who killed Goliath and rose quickly in King Saul’s court. Jonathan was Saul’s son and the heir to the throne. They were set up for rivalry.

Jonathan had every reason to resist David’s success. He should have seen David as competition. Instead, understanding God’s plan, Jonathan celebrated David’s rise. He chose firgun. When David was exalted and he himself was humbled, Jonathan didn’t shrink back in bitterness. He leaned in with joy, with delight in his friend’s greatness. The text tells us that Jonathan even took off his royal robe – the symbol of his succession – and gave it to David. 

And we don’t have to look far to find examples of firgun in our own time. The 2023 Super Bowl gave us an example in Philadelphia’s own Kelce brothers. Jason Kelce, the anchor of the Eagles’ team, faced his younger brother Travis – Taylor Swift’s fiancé and the star tight end for the Kansas City Chiefs. For weeks leading up to the game, the story was billed as “the Kelce Bowl.” Only one brother could walk away with a ring.

And when the game ended, it was Travis and the Chiefs who stood victorious – and Jason and the Eagles who walked away heartbroken. It would have been natural for Jason to be crushed, to retreat, to let the sting of defeat overshadow everything else. But what did he do? He found his brother on the field, threw his arms around him, and celebrated. 

That’s firgun. Even in the moment of being humbled, Jason chose joy in his brother’s accomplishments. He chose abundance over scarcity, love over rivalry.

The real challenge is mindset. We live in a culture of scarcity. A scarcity mentality pits people and groups against each other, saying: There isn’t enough. Not enough money, not enough attention, not enough love. If you shine, I must dim. If you win, I must lose. But Torah teaches abundance. In the wilderness, manna fell – enough for everyone. Similarly, on Shabbat, we escape the world of consumption and competition. Firgun is like Shabbat for the heart – a pause from grasping, a rest from comparison, a chance to believe that what we have, and who we are, is enough.

Unetaneh Tokef says, some will be lifted and some lowered. A scarcity mindset says: Your rise diminishes me. Whereas an abundance mindset says: Your rise blesses me too.

Bitterness thrives in this world when we resent one another, when we see our neighbor’s gain as our loss. Firgun resists that poison. It says: Your joy is my joy. My dignity is bound up with yours.

Imagine what firgun would look like in our families, our communities, our country. Imagine if LinkedIn became a platform of firgun – not just a place where we announce our own promotions, but where we amplify our colleagues’ successes. Imagine a holiday meal with family where siblings don’t compete for who is most successful, but rather delight in each other’s accomplishments. Imagine if politicians could say of their opponents, without sarcasm or spin: “That was a great idea – I wish I had thought of it.”

And imagine if that wasn’t fantasy, but spiritual discipline. Because the world we live in right now is saturated with the opposite. Social media thrives on comparison. Politics thrives on tearing the other side down. Our culture rewards outrage more than affirmation. Firgun is not naïve in the face of all this harshness. Firgun is resistance. It is a counter-cultural act of generosity in a world addicted to scarcity.

So I want to invite you now into a moment of reflection. Take a few deep breaths. Close your eyes if you’re comfortable.

First, bring to mind a time when you felt a little spark of schadenfreude – joy at another’s stumble. Maybe it was small. Someone who cut you off in traffic and then got stuck at the red light. A coworker who finally got called out after bragging a little too much. We’ve all been there. Hold it gently. Our tradition knows this is human. This is not about shame – it’s about honesty. Just notice that feeling, that tug of satisfaction at someone else’s loss.

Now let that go. And now, turn your heart toward someone you love very much. Someone whose joy is your joy. Imagine something important to them coming true. A dream fulfilled, a goal achieved. How does it feel in your heart as you see them shine? Breathe that in.

Now, stretch further. Picture someone you don’t always get along with. Maybe someone who annoys you, maybe someone who has hurt you a little, maybe someone who simply bothers you. Now imagine something important to them coming true. Imagine them succeeding. Can you – even just for a moment – touch a place in your heart where you can celebrate that for them? Can you wish them well? That is firgun at its hardest, and also at its holiest.

Take another breath. Hold that feeling. And when you’re ready, open your eyes.

As you return from that moment of reflection, carry with you the awareness that firgun is not just a feeling – it is a practice. It is something we can build, like a spiritual muscle. We need it not only in here, but out there: at the dinner table, in our workplaces, in our neighborhoods, in the headlines. Imagine a world where our instinct is to celebrate each other’s rise, to widen our joy until it spills over. That is what firgun can create.

Firgun in a harsh world is choosing abundance over fear, dignity over cynicism, blessing over bitterness. It is not soft. It is strong. It is a spiritual muscle, built day by day, word by word, until it reshapes not only us, but the world around us.

May this New Year bring naches for those we love, firgun for those beyond our circle, and blessings enough for us all. May we meet the harshness of the world not with cynicism, but with firgun – a joy, generous of spirit, that makes us strong together.

Ken yehi ratzon. May this be God’s will. Gut Yunteif!