One of my favorite childhood High Holy Day memories is about a small bribe I received each year for attending and making it through. A box of LEGOs. Which I have already ordered for myself again this year. Nothing extravagant, but definitely a toy to incentivize me to sit through the long hours of prayer quietly and respectfully. Something to take the edge off. It fits with the idea of why we instruct kids to dip apple slices in honey—to pair the sense of sweetness with Jewish learning. How else can you explain a grandiose idea in a way that they’ll understand?
That on this spinning ball in the middle of space, Gad created what we call years. And the Jews have their own special "New Year thing” going on, which has nothing to do with the other New Year in December. But hey, “Here’s a bright red sweet treat. Dip it in that liquid gold sugar. Great! Do you like it? Awesome. Now, remember, children, Judaism isn’t just about rules and rituals; it’s also fun and tasty! Now off you go.”
Let’s face it. Incentives work for people. They do. Psychologist Kendra Cherry says that
“Incentive theory is one of the psychological theories of motivation that suggests that behavior is motivated by outside reinforcement or incentives versus internal forces. Incentives work psychologically because they leverage the brain’s reward system, triggering the release of dopamine, a ‘pleasure chemical,’ which creates positive associations with behaviors and motivates people to repeat them. (Even) the anticipation of a reward can be as powerful as the reward itself.”
However, this isn’t what Judaism is known for. Our struggle to be better people doesn’t lead to the same outcomes as many faith traditions. While I rarely examine the subject of “Is there Heaven and Hell” in Judaism, tonight is a good time to have this chat. So let’s sit crooked and talk straight, shall we? I get this question frequently from just about everybody, Jews and non-Jews. But think about it for a moment. Have you ever heard of a fire-and-brimstone sermon—one that uses the fear of punishment to motivate adherence—in a liberal Jewish setting like this? I doubt it. Because we don’t have nine levels of Dante’s Inferno. You do, however, have to wait in line at the DMV.
Across the world’s great religions, the thread of karma — that our actions echo back to us — runs strong. In Christianity, being an exemplary, good person means that every act of love has eternal weight. “You reap what you sow.” In Islam, righteous deeds tip the scales of judgment and open the gates of paradise. "Whoever does an atom's weight of good will see it" comes from Surah Al-Zalzalah (99:7). Hinduism, too, teaches that karma is an inheritance, and the good done now lifts the soul into a higher path for the future. “As a man sows, so shall he reap.” Buddhism teaches its followers that every compassionate act lightens karma, moving adherents closer to freedom from suffering and the cycle of rebirth. Buddhism also teaches, “All that we are is the result of what we have thought.” Similarly, Sikhism insists, “By one’s deeds, the robe of honor is obtained,” linking service and truth to reunion with the Divine. It asks its followers to live in truth and service, because good actions free the soul from reincarnation and reunite it with the Divine.
Despite the different imagery, the message is clear: goodness is never wasted — it shapes what comes next. Each faith, in its own way, says that what you do in the here and now influences what happens in the afterlife. Or what happens after you die.
Despite the different imagery, the message is clear. Goodness is never wasted. It shapes what comes next. Each faith, in its own way, says that what you do in the here and now influences what happens when the body eventually shuts down. So let’s have the conversation. The “bids and bees” of Judaism. Because most of us were taught that Judaism doesn’t have reincarnation, your own planet with your dog growing up, or Valhalla. A great big Disney Castle in the sky. Simply put, like everything in our religion, the answer is both yes and no. But mostly no. And for many conservative, Reconstructionist, and secular Jews, it’s a big No. And for many Chassidic, Lubavitch, Chabad, and “Orthodox Adjacent” Jews, it’s a big Yes.
If there is no incentive—neither punishment nor reward— for our actions, why be a nice person? What can be gained from it? So what if we try to be righteous? For what? For whom? For us non-traditional folks, if there’s no incentive to do better or to be good, what are we doing here tonight? Maybe we should just stop caring and yell at the waiter because your soup was cold. Give your neighbor a piece of your mind about their hideous lawn decorations.
At one point in time, a well-meaning friend, probably politely even, conveyed the message that if you didn’t believe what they believed, you unfortunately were headed to a very hot, unpleasant place for all eternity. Bless their heart. But that experience is so common that, while Judaism has many other signature beliefs, like monotheism, the eventual resting place of our soul takes center stage.
I bring this up because around this time of year, life and death surround us. The gates of repentance, the doors of life in 5787, are opening. But let’s take a step back in time to learn what happened. Long ago, in a land far away, called Cincinnati, Proud secular reformers did away with Heaven. Left it behind in the shtetl. It was so deterministic and off-putting that it made sense to set it aside and focus on humanism. But before that, our great-great-great-grandparents were instructed to believe in a “world to come.” Until the last millennium, that was very much a heaven. A world to come as it’s usually referred to. And it’s called Olam HaBaah. But you didn’t hear it from me.
As the rabbis say: “Whoever speculates upon four things, it would have been better had he not come into the world: what is above, what is beneath, what came before, and what came after… (Mishnah Chagigah 2:1).” So, everything I say here tonight is “hush-hush.” And we can’t talk about it. But…we're going to anyways. Just like the rabbis did. So let’s get into this 'World to Come. Jewish Heaven, if you will. In short, Jewish Heaven is a future, perfected world, where the righteous are rewarded. Kind of.
The rabbis discuss two different worlds. Olam Hazeh, this world, the here and now, laws of physics, sun, moon, earth, and Sesame Street. Olam Haba, the World to Come, is where the soul is guided. Jewish Heaven. As a side note. Let the record show that Torah, the five books of Moses in the scrolls behind me, contains no explicit references to the World to Come. Alternatively, what is mentioned quite often in the canon of Jewish literature is something way more disturbing than the land below our feet. It’s called Sheol, a dark abyss of nothingness. Just blinding blackness where God forgets about you like a sock buried behind the dryer. But that’s not fun. So the rabbis came up with something better. The world to come.
“The World-to-Come (the Rabbis explain) is not like this world…there is no eating, no drinking, no procreation, no business negotiations, no jealousy, no hatred, and no competition. Rather, the righteous sit with their crowns upon their heads, enjoying the splendor of the Divine Presence…(Berakhot 17a).”
Meaning, it’s impossible to even imagine how wonderful it will be. Beyond anything we can dream of or consider. Which sounds lovely. But I bet I can guess your next question. The most important one. The one that echoes our distance from other belief systems. Does everyone get an all-inclusive ticket? The answer is both yes and no. The Good News is, as our sages teach:
“All of the Jewish people have a share in the World-to-Come, as it is stated: 'And your people also shall be all righteous, they shall inherit the land forever; the branch of My planting, the work of My hands, for My name to be glorified (Sanhedrin 10:1).”
In the well-known book of wisdom, Pirkei Avot, a highly visible, non-secretive, or magical book, Rabbi Elazar of Modiin teaches:
“If one acquires for himself knowledge of Torah, he has acquired life in the world to come (Pirkei Avot 2:7).” Conversely, now here comes the not-so-fun part. “One who profanes sacred things, and one who despises the festivals…and he who is contemptuous towards the Torah, even though he has to his credit [knowledge of the] Torah and good deeds, he has not a share in the world to come (Pirkei Avot 3:11).”
In life, two ongoing battles for your soul. One occurs within Judaism, and the other is external to it. If you think about your soul as a customer, there are many- whom I won’t name directly- who would like to rack up their sales numbers and recruitment goals. And all they need is that tiny little thing you don’t even notice half the time until it’s exploding within you. Like your appendix. In the name of God and peace on earth, everybody wants your soul. Judaism wants in on the action, too.
And before we get there, let’s talk data and numbers to frame who we’re talking about here. Ooo. Objective data. Fun! According to a 2025 Pew Research Center study, 39% of American Jews believe in Heaven, while only 22% believe in hell. However, the data tell us this: The vast majority of American Jews (74%) believe that humans have a soul. Que, “I’m a Soul Man.” do do do, nun n’nun.
Back to the Rabbis. They claim that a great battle is unfolding right before our eyes: the struggle for the soul. Who is on the opposing side? Well, it’s right in front of us: this material world and all its offerings—the sights, sounds, and sensations we experience. Not to mention addiction, compulsion, a sedentary lifestyle, overconsumption, toxic individualism, narcissism, and violence. This world is like a casino. It’s meant to keep you sucked in, spending your energy, time, and money. The renowned Sephardic rabbi Moses ben Maimon, known as the Rambam, provides insight into this ongoing fight.
“Just like the fish do not know the element of fire, so too, in this physical world, the pleasures of the spiritual world are not known. Rather…pleasures of the body and that which is grasped by the senses [regarding] food and drink and sex. And anything other than these is nonexistent for us… We only hold the lower temporary pleasures ( Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:1:1)
Today, we have access to everything! All the time! Twenty-four-hour everything. No need to be bored. Just start scrolling. Buying. Playing. Watching. Gambling. A little bit of everything, all the time. But the human soul was meant for more than TikTok reels and Facebook posts about your dogs.
The rabbis explain that when Adam was conceived, he was created from two substances—two worlds merging into one. These vastly different cosmic elements. Well, they joined forces like the band Fleetwood Mac, and that is how we came into existence. We are made of both earthly materials and divine essence; we are the result of both stardust and spiritual substance, representing both the physical and the immaterial. Like a fine wine pairing perfectly with cheese. As human beings, yes, we have carnal thoughts and insatiable desires, but we are also in need of spirituality. We hunger for holiness. Just not as loudly as your stomach. Just because we are made of earthly elements does not mean we lack virtue or divine essence. When God breathed the breath of life into Adam, he became a living being.
“‘And Adonai God formed mankind from the dust of the ground, and He breathed into his nostrils a living soul, and man became a living being.’ It is only when a person encounters something beyond the building blocks of our world, material stuff, that they truly begin to live. Like Adam. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik explains, “The biblical metaphor, referring to God breathing life into Adam, alludes to his genuine experience of living with God rather than to some divine potential or endowment in Adam. [This] Adam lives in close union with God.” (The Lonely Man of Faith)
Meaning, our holidays aren’t just about connecting with people, but with our very own souls. In turn, that connects us to something greater than what we can see, feel, touch, hear, or smell in this world. Conclusively, Judaism doesn’t say, " Accept the following, and you're good for eternity,” two thumbs up. It says the world is harsh and secular, but figure out how to make it sacred and special. The rabbis explain that “Only man is placed between perfection and deficiency, with the power to earn perfection. Man must earn this perfection through his own free will and desire. If he were compelled toward perfection, then he would not really be its master. Rather, the one who compelled him would be responsible, and God’s purposes would not be fulfilled. Therefore, man must be given free will. He has the power of choice, and can choose, knowingly and willingly.”
In the reformed world, Judaism does not offer eternal salvation. Period. It’s not on the menu. Unlike the Egyptians, we bury our people in plain white shrouds and simple caskets. No gold. No money for the ride to the afterlife. No world of treasure and pleasure. But we do hope to make a difference in this life. In the world we live in today.
For me, it's not about earning a chocolate Golden Ticket to the afterlife, but about doing what is right because it is right. The Torah calls us to "do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God"—not for personal gain, but because these values form the foundation of a meaningful life. In this perspective, being a good person is its own purpose. Or as we say, Torah Lishmah. Learning and living Torah for its own sake.
When I conclude a funeral, eventually finding our way to a sullen lump of earth and two shovels, I mention the mitzvah of kavod ha-met, honoring the deceased, by participating in burying the deceased. It is one of the most profound acts of kindness and respect we are called to fulfill. It is rooted in the belief that every human being, whether in life or in death, deserves our dignity and reverence. Importantly, we perform this mitzvah not for reward or personal gain, but because it is the right and honorable thing to do.
In our tradition, kavod ha-met is regarded as a high mitzvah precisely because it embodies selflessness and humility. We tend to offer respect when we expect gratitude or benefit in return, but this mitzvah demands that we act purely out of compassion and moral integrity. It reminds us that true virtue lies in doing what is right because it is right—regardless of recognition or reward. By honoring the dead without expectation, we elevate ourselves and demonstrate our genuine regard for human dignity. This mitzvah teaches us that the highest moral actions are those performed for their own sake, embodying the deepest values of kindness, respect, and humility inherent in our faith.
At this juncture in the Jewish year, we remember that our core values are not grounded in promises of an afterlife or rewards. Instead, they stem from the understanding that doing good is simply the right thing to do. Our actions reflect our character and our commitment to justice, kindness, and compassion—virtues that define us as human beings. When we act with integrity and moral purpose, we honor ourselves and uphold divine principles, not for rewards but because it is the right thing. Let us commit today to living ethically, knowing that such actions enrich our lives and help create a more just and compassionate world. Le Fin.