There is probably no rabbinic phrase better known than Hillel’s comment, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?” The balance between respecting oneself and ones limits, on the one hand, and altruism, self-sacrifice, and devotion to others, is delicate indeed. This is true on the personal level, as we all know. “How much can I give away and still have something left for myself?” is a question that virtually anyone in a relationship asks themselves at one time or another. It is true as well on a national and collective level.

I am currently involved in an on-line trollfest about JNF efforts to rescue Jewish children from Putin’s devastation in Ukraine. “This is discrimination,” cry the antisemites. “Don’t you care about the other children?” The fact that history has made us skeptical about the extent to which the world will swoop in to rescue Jews doesn’t register with these people (who probably wouldn’t want us rescued in any case). But their cynical critique not withstanding, how do we balance between “us” and “them”?

This most difficult question is reflected, brilliantly, in the daily Amidah. After all the blessings requesting things from G-d, we add the 16th blessing: “Hear our voice, Lord our G-d, show Your concern and compassion for us…because You are a G-d who hears prayers.” The blessing could have stopped there, with the summary conclusion, “Blessed are You Lord, Who hears prayers.” Instead, though, it continues in a seemingly unnecessary repetition: “And do not turn us away empty-handed, our King,” And why shouldn’t G-d turn us away? “…for You hear the prayers of Your people Israel with compassion.”

Up until this point, this is a prayer that could be recited by any believer on the planet, regardless of religion. It is quintessentially human. Every believer wants G-d to answer their prayers. But this blessing does not conclude—or perhaps better, could not conclude—without reference to our specific identity as members of the people of Israel.

This prayer thus captures vividly the ambivalence at the heart of Jewish identity. We are Jews, but at the same time, human beings. The challenge is to express our humanity through our Judaism, not by ignoring our Judaism.

It is when we are fully Jewish that our humanity best comes to expression.