January 28, 2026

As we awaited the arrival of a historic snowstorm on Saturday evening, news was spreading of the death of Alex Pretti, who was killed filming federal immigration officials. In the moments before he was killed, Pretti ran to protect a woman who was also protesting. Alex Pretti was a nurse who cared for veterans at the VA hospital.

While watching the video of the shooting with horror, I could not help but think of the moment in the Torah when we read about Cain killing Abel. In Genesis 4:10, we read that God speaks to Cain and says, “What have you done? Hark, your brothers blood cries out to Me from the ground!”

“What have you done?” Torah commentator Malbim explains that this question indicates that God informed Cain that he had free will and that his deeds were attributable to him. It feels as if the Torah is asking this question of all of us now.

What have we done… that we have come to these moments in which Alex Pretti and Renee Good were killed because they tried to protect fellow human beings.

What have we done…that such profound darkness has settled over us so that we can no longer behold the dignity of other human beings.

What have we done…that people are no longer questioning the morality of their orders.

What have we done?

All I could think about in these last few days is that Alex Pretti’s blood is calling out to us. The word for blood in the Torah appears in the plural. The rabbis note that this is not typical and wonder about its meaning. Nearly every commentator explains that the words appearing in the plural indicates that all the generations that came after Abel were also crying out. Another commentary indicates that there were so many blows given to Abel, that it was unclear when his soul departed. In this moment, not only do we have Alex Pretti’s lost descendants crying out, but we have countless people across our country and our world crying out that things are completely askew here. The videos of Alex’s death show at least ten shots fired; do we know when his soul departed?

Thousands march in the frigid temperatures in Minneapolis because they are concerned for their neighbors. These raids are not just about people in the U.S. who are undocumented. U.S. citizens are being held as well. We cannot continue down the road we are on.

Tonight, we have planned an interfaith gathering as part of Faith250, a series of interfaith discussion opportunities designed to explore important texts in our nation’s history. Our first session will focus on Emma Lazarus’s poem “The New Colossus,” which will lead us to conversations about immigrants and the treatment of immigrants in our country. If you have not already planned to join us, I hope you will consider doing so.

We continue to grieve as a nation over the loss of Renee Good and Alex Pretti. May their memories always be for a blessing.

L’shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

January 27, 2026

For the past few weeks, I have awakened each morning and looked at my phone for updates coming out of Iran. Protests erupted several weeks ago and were met with a brutal response by Iranian Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. Inflation is out of control, and people took to the streets because they could no longer afford basic necessities. Today, 1,000,000 rials are equivalent to approximately $1 USD. This severe inflation has resulted from international sanctions imposed over Iran’s refusal to curb its nuclear program. The Ayatollah has not put the people of Iran first, instead advancing an ideology rooted in “down with Israel, down with the U.S.”

To suppress the protests, internet access was cut off, primarily to limit communication between protest leaders. Over the course of several days, reports began to emerge that the IRGC had killed nearly 20,000 protesters (exact numbers could not be independently verified). Iran has posed a threat to Israel and Jews around the world for decades. The Iranian regime has supported global terror, funneling financial resources—despite being an oil-rich nation—to proxy groups including Hezbollah, Hamas, and the Houthis. In 1994, Iranian-backed Hezbollah bombed the Argentine Israelite Mutual Association (AMIA) in Buenos Aires. Years of repeated threats against Israel have culminated in several rounds of ballistic missile attacks over the past two years, causing death and widespread destruction across Israeli cities.

In recent weeks I have spent time trying to better understand the implications of these uprisings. For those looking to learn more, I recommend the following podcasts:

Dan Senor’s Call Me Back

January 5: After Venezuela, is Iran Next? With guest Karim Sadjapour

January 12: If Iran Falls, What then? With guest Karim Sadjapour

Ask Haviv Anything

Breaking Iran’s Machinery of Oppression

For Heaven’s Sake

January 13: Iran: When the Story Changes

These podcasts offer a deep-dive into revolutions and societal changes.

Perhaps the most important question is why we should be concerned here in America. Since the Iranian Revolution of 1979, the Islamist regime has ruled with an iron fist. It has brutally suppressed its own people while advancing a deep hostility toward the West. As Jews, we know this regime has repeatedly threatened Israel, funding proxy networks with the explicit goal of Israel’s destruction.

Last week, the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) expressed support for the Iranian people, many of whom have lost their lives opposing the regime. As the largest sponsor of state terrorism, Iran’s continued support of terror organizations threatens the stability of the Middle East and the safety of populations around the world. The CCAR wrote:

“Centuries before democracy was common, our rabbinic sages decreed that a ruler may only lead a people with their consent (Talmud Brachot 55a). The Iranian regime has forfeited its moral authority to rule the nation and has now lost the popular support required to remain in power. Their reach goes well beyond its own boundaries to impose its terror in the Middle East and the western hemisphere. For the sake of a greater peace that begins in Iran, it is time for the people of Iran to be sovereign.”

Our hearts go out to the suffering Iranian people. While we may feel powerless to effect change, we can acknowledge their extraordinary bravery and hope for a future in which they experience the freedom they yearn for. As Jews, we have always stood with the oppressed. In this moment, we pray for the Iranian people in their suffering and hope they will one day celebrate their liberation.

Listening to experts, it remains unclear whether a regime change will happen in the near future. According to Karim Sadjapour, there are five key factors for a regime to fall:

1.    Fiscal Crisis

2.    Divided Elites

3.    Opposition that starts to cohere

4.    Shared narrative of resistance

5.    A favorable international environment

Sadjapour argues that the elites are not divided. The IRGC remains loyal to the Ayatollah, and significant segments of the population still support the regime. This loyalty may be the key factor preventing regime change at this time.

I am also struggling with another reality. Over the past several years, voices denouncing Israel have flooded social media and filled the streets in protest. Yet many of those voices have remained silent as the Iranian regime has murders its own citizens, with the singular focus on remaining in power. The silence of their defenders is deafening, and the double standard is deeply troubling.

As hours go by, I join countless others in prayer, hoping for strength and safety for the Iranian people. May they one day be free to chart their own path toward prosperity and live in the light of freedom.

Rabbi Rick Kellner

January 27, 2026

On International Holocaust Remembrance Day, we rejoice in the news that Ran Gvili’s body has been returned home. On Sunday evening, we received word that an operation was underway to recover his body from a cemetery in northern Gaza City. For the first time in 12 years, there are no Israeli hostages being held by Hamas. On October 7, 24-year-old Ran Gvili, a police officer who had been injured and was awaiting surgery, chose to jump into the fight. He fought Hamas terrorists at Kibbutz Alumim, where he was killed and taken into captivity. For 843 days, we have prayed for the return of the hostages, and now they are all home. Since October 7, we have said, “Bring Them Home,” and yesterday the IDF brought Ran home.

With thanks to social media, I saw soldiers singing “Ani Maamin, I believe with perfect faith…”—a text first written more than a thousand years ago by Maimonides—affirming our belief with perfect faith that there will be someone to come and rescue us from the depths of despair. As the brave soldiers of the IDF carried Ran’s body, wrapped in the blue and white colors of the Israeli flag, they spoke the words of Psalm 121, “Hinei lo yanum v’lo yishan, shomer Yisrael—behold, the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.” For 843 days, we called out to God in prayer with the words of the prayer for the return of the living hostages, and then for the return of the remains of those who died in captivity or were killed and then captured. Our prayers have been answered; they are all home.

I often wonder about the complexity of the coincidences that occur in certain moments. This week, we read in the Torah as the Israelites were preparing to leave Egypt: “And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph, who had exacted an oath from the children of Israel, saying, ‘God will be sure to take notice of you; then you shall carry up my bones from here with you.’” (Exodus 13:19) Before his death, Joseph did not want to be left behind. He wanted to be with his people. These words echo within the heart and soul of every Israeli, of every Jew. We have seen that our people will do all we can to bring home those held in exile.

I learned of the news early yesterday morning as I got off the Peloton. As I prepared for my day, I looked down at my dog tag and yellow pin and, with a tearful smile, said to myself, “I don’t have to put this on anymore.” I have worn that dog tag since I returned from Israel in May 2024, and it has been a daily reminder that the hostages and their families remain ever so close to my heart. On our bimah, we have had a visual symbol since October 7, 2023. During services this Shabbat, we will take out the last kalanit (poppy flower) from the vase and return it to the garden outside our sanctuary. We will take down the sign that reads, “Until the Last Hostage,” and remove the table. Even though the visual signs are gone, our connection to the Jewish people will remain in our hearts. The holes left from the pins will be an eternal reminder of our pain and suffering, but also of our resilience and hope. While the pages are turning on this chapter in our people’s history, we know that there is still much healing that needs to happen. Our prayers are with the Gvili family, all those who still grieve loved ones lost in these last two years, and those who bear the burdens of the pain they carry from their time in captivity. The healing work can now finally begin.

As we move forward, there are deep questions that the Israeli people can now begin to ask as they build toward the future. May Ran’s memory always be for a blessing.

With blessing,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

January 19, 2026

On a frigid December day, a call went out to the Community Response Hub listserv asking for people to stand outside several mosques frequented by Somali refugees. ICE was out, and their pursuit of certain people added to the chill in the air. I still feel guilty that I could not join those who stood in the cold, hoping to protect a human being from being detained. During the darkest nights of the year, countless individuals could not leave their homes as they feared being taken from their children, or that their children would be taken from them. Days later, another call went out seeking volunteers to do grocery pickups for those who needed to stay locked in their homes. It was the holiday season, and so many of us were traveling. I put out the call to those in our community who had previously expressed interest in supporting immigrants or doing social justice work. It was all I could do, was it enough?

Months earlier, with crisp morning air and leaves beginning to fall, I began thinking to myself: ICE will show up here; what are we going to do? We can see what is happening in other cities; leaders need to come together and create a playbook so that when they arrive, we call out play A, B, or C. Maybe such a meeting took place; I wasn’t in the know. The calendar turned, and ICE crept north to Minneapolis, the largest Somali population in the United States (Columbus is the second). More than 3,000 ICE agents, four times the number of Minneapolis police officers, began roaming the city. Reports followed of kicked-in doors, individuals harassed in their homes, and the shooting of Renee Good and another civilian. I know that so many of us are angered and saddened by what we are witnessing around the country, and we feel powerless to respond.

Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Part of me wonders what he might say if he were preaching today. As he bore witness to the pain of his brothers, he worked to bend the moral arc of the world toward justice. In the hot summer of 1964, he put out a call to the Central Conference of American Rabbis to come to St. Augustine, FL, to stand in “creative witness to the joint convictions of equality and racial justice.” 16 rabbis, along with Al Vorspan—who would later direct the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism—went to Florida. Fifteen were arrested outside of Monson’s Restaurant as they joined in integrated prayer. Two others were arrested because they dined with three Black individuals at the Chimes Restaurant. In the sweltering heat of the jail, lit by a single light outside the cell, these 17 Jewish leaders penned a famous letter called “Why We Went”. The letter was written on the back of pages of a mimeographed accounting of the bloody KKK attacks.

I had the privilege of knowing three of those 17 men personally. One was my teacher. I remember him telling us the story of Dr. King calling to them. My teacher, Rabbi Richard Levy z”l, who held a balance of righteousness and spirituality in his soul, taught us that we say, “Hineini, here I am,” when we are called to bear witness and break the bonds of injustice. His righteous indignation still echoes within my memory and serves as a reminder of one of our significant responsibilities as Jews: to stand up to Pharaoh. 

These rabbis wrote, “We came to St. Augustine mainly because we could not stay away… We could not pass by the opportunity to achieve a moral goal by moral means—a rare modern privilege—which has been the glory of the non-violent struggle for civil rights… We came because we could not stand quietly by our brother’s blood. We had done that too many times before… We came as Jews who remember the millions of faceless people who stood quietly, watching the smoke rise from Hitler’s crematoria. We came because we know that, second only to silence, the greatest danger to man is loss of faith in man’s capacity to act… What disturbs us more deeply is the large number of decent citizens who have stood aside, unable to bring themselves to act, yet knowing in their hearts that this cause is right and that it must inevitably triumph.”

They carried with them the memory of those who were bystanders in the face of the greatest evil humanity has ever known. Not even two decades after the end of the war, they could not forget. These great leaders saw a moral cause and knew they had to act. Sitting with Black men at a meal and praying in an integrated service did more than serve as an act of protest; it was a response to those whose cries pierced through the screen blinding people from seeing their humanity. In a rare moment, those who were dehumanized because of the color of their skin were seen as human in the eyes of the rabbis.

As they were greeted with exuberant joy in the church and marched hand in hand, they reflected, “We came to stand with our brothers and, in the process, have learned more about ourselves and our God. In obeying Him, we become ourselves; in following His will we fulfill ourselves. He has guided, sustained, and strengthened us in a way we could not manage on our own.” God’s holiness is felt when human beings join hand in hand and the break the bonds of injustice. 

As I sit with the words of this letter engraved on my heart, I reflect on the words of Torah we read this past Shabbat from Parashat Vaera: “I have now heard the moaning of the Israelites because the Egyptians are holding them in bondage, and I have remembered My covenant” (Exodus 6:5). Why is God now only able to hear their cries? Has something changed in the people? Has something changed in God? Or HaChaim, an early 18th-century commentary written by Chaim ibn Attar, a kabbalist and Talmudist, teaches us that the words in this verse—and also gam ani—refer to God’s attribute of mercy. He explains that this attribute extends beyond the cries and prayers of the Israelites. God’s mercy touches the lives of all who suffer. This painful witnessing helps God remember the covenant.

In this moment in time, we too must have our attribute of mercy awakened by the cries of those who cannot leave their homes because they fear being taken from their families. We share a covenant with all human beings. To behold the face of another is to remember we are responsible for them. If they were harmed, their blood would cry out to us from the ground. Upholding our end of the covenant with humanity begins with ensuring that we see every soul as a human being.

Last Wednesday, we hosted our first community meal. Neighbors in our community who need a free meal come to houses of worship for various reasons. The churches in Worthington had been doing this for years. Though we prepared for 40 people, only two came. Neither woman spoke English. I sat with them and spoke Spanish. I learned they were from Venezuela and Ecuador. The woman from Venezuela shared that she walked for seven months to get here, sometimes going seven to ten days without food or water. She shared her desire to take English classes and that so few people spoke Spanish. By sitting with these two women and speaking their native tongue, perhaps I was able to overcome a small part of the barrier they face with most people. They were seen in their humanity.

We have a long road ahead. As ICE agents sprawl through our cities, we might begin to ask ourselves what we can do to ensure that we see our neighbors as human beings. In some instances, the people they are going after are the people who clean our homes or care for our lawns. They do all they can to put food on the table and provide for their families. We know they will descend on our city again. We must ask ourselves: will we be ready for the call?

Rabbi Rick Kellner