September 11, 2026

Tonight, the sun will set and the night sky will be a little darker with Tishrei’s new moon. It is the seventh month of the year, and the Torah tells us the first day of the seventh month shall be a day of complete rest marked by the sounding of the shofar. As we welcome 5787 and leave behind the prior year, we are filled with many hopes. A year ago, I reflected on Rav Abraham Isaac Kook’s fourfold song of Jewish life, Jewish peoplehood, and all of humanity. Rav Kook was the first chief rabbi of Israel and is considered to be the founder of Religious Zionism (though a very different brand of Religious Zionism than we see today). He wrote, “There is one who sings the song of the self, finding everything within himself. There is one who leaves the circle of herself and sings the song of her people. There is one who sings the song of all humanity, and there is one who rises even higher, uniting with all creatures to fill the universe with song. (These words are an adaptation of Kook’s original text.)”

I often return to these words because they inspire me to reflect on important questions. I cycle back to them at each turn of the year, wondering how I might see them.

Singing the song of the self invites me to think about essential questions: Who am I? What have I done over the past year? How have I lived by the values I deem most important? How have Torah and Jewish wisdom guided my life? How have I supported my family and the people closest to me? Where have I fallen short, and what do I need to do to close the gap between what I have done and what I ought to do?

As we sing the song of our people, we think about the past year. There is a song of rejoicing over the return of all the living hostages. There is a song of concern as the world continues to marginalize Jews and as the Jewish story is under attack. There is a song of commitment to Jewish security, Jewish pride, and making meaning out of what we experience. As I think about this song, I wonder what I can do to strengthen my own ties to the Jewish people. I wonder how I can best support the people and State of Israel. I wonder what I can do to bring about security for the Jewish community. What can I do to share the Jewish story?

To sing the song of humanity is to recognize that we do not live in a shtetl separate from others. While there is a particular message in the Torah, there is a universal one as well. We stand up to tyrants and counter the turmoil swirling around us. What can we do to ensure we see the humanity in others? How can we best treat others with the dignity they deserve? What are the commitments we can make to care for the orphan, the widow, and the stranger?

To rise even higher is to join with all humanity to fill the universe with song. We ask ourselves in this season: Who will be our partners? With whom can we join together to create a chorus of beautiful music? How can we reach across the great divide to strengthen the mission we want to achieve?

As we come together this Rosh Hashanah and during the season of the Yamim Noraim, the High Holy Days, let us sing the song we hope to sing, but let us also listen to the voices of those around us as well as the song of Torah. With these diverse voices, we can strengthen one another as well as the world in which we live.

Shanah tovah and Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

September 4, 2026

We have reached the last quarter of the moon’s cycle before the next new moon. I know this because Rosh Hashanah is one week away, and that is when the new moon begins. The cycle reminds me that the holidays are approaching quickly. As a rabbi, my ducks need to be in a row to be prepared to lead our congregation through the holidays. As a Jew and a human being, the question I have to be asking myself is: Have I done the soulful and sacred work I need to do to prepare for the holidays? Sermons, prayer introductions, and programming are one thing and are certainly important. Just as important is the soulful work I try to do to become a better human being.

While the focus on this work is heightened during this season, the reality of the nature of this work is that we need to be doing it year-round. We cannot simply cram all the change we need to make into one month.

When it comes to the High Holy Days, there is a piece of liturgy that has always challenged me. It is called the Un’taneh Tokef and reminds us, “On Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed, who shall live and who shall die…” As a child, listening to the introduction to the prayer in Gates of Repentance, I was struck by the story of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz, who was tortured and died for being a Jew. As I remember it, the story tells us he shared these words as he was tortured. When we’re young, our minds only allow us to understand texts literally. Metaphor remains a mystery to us. As I grew older, I shifted to the conclusion of the prayer, which reminds us that repentance, prayer, and tzedakah ma’avirin the harshness of the decree. Gates of Repentance translated ma’avirin as avert. Mishkan T’filah translates it as transcend. As a child limited to the literal meaning, I thought to myself, all I have to do is those three things and I can nullify anything God had recorded in the book. As an adult, I came to understand that the decree is not that we will live or die, but rather that we will face significant challenges in our lives. If repentance, prayer, and tzedakah are part of the way we live our lives, then coping with those challenges will be easier. The blow will be softer.

It takes practice to incorporate those behaviors into our daily lives. Any behavioral change requires commitment and intention. Earlier this year, I spent several weeks reflecting on the Mussar movement and the different middot, or virtues, that fill our souls. In advance of the High Holy Days, the Mussar Institute published a calendar in which each month focuses on a different value. As you look through the Mussar Institute’s calendar, you will see values and daily exercise recommendations that will help teach us to live by these values.

The month of September begins with chesed, kindness, and teaches us to make a call, visit, or send a message to someone as an act of kindness. This season is the foundation of our year. If we can build that foundation by centering chesed in our lives, it will become a practice that impacts friends, family, and neighbors for the better. Such acts of kindness draw us closer to others and, by extension, closer to God.

I am going to put this calendar in my office. I hope you will consider finding a place for it in your home or office too. If we live by these values, then perhaps the world we encounter will become a more sacred place for us all. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

August 28, 2026

While in Boston last week, I was driving north on I-95 near Waltham when I saw, painted on the rear window of a pickup truck, the following words: “Zionism is un-American.” At first, I was upset, and then I noted the irony of our location. Waltham, MA, is home to Brandeis University, named in honor of the first Jewish Supreme Court Justice, Louis Brandeis. The irony is not because Brandeis is home to a significant Jewish population; rather, the irony is because of Louis Brandeis’s role in teaching how Zionism and American values align.

In 1915, Brandeis wrote a famous essay entitled “The Jewish Problem: How to Solve It.” This essay lays the groundwork for his belief that there is “no inconsistency between loyalty to America and loyalty to Jewry.” Much of liberal Western values emerged from the French Enlightenment, in which everyone was a citizen, and every human being had value. There is a clear distinction, however, between how these values played out in Europe and in the United States. In European countries, there was a tension between loyalty to the nation-state and loyalty to one’s people. France allowed everyone to have their own individual rights, and Jews had to claim loyalty as citizens of France. America wrestled with the same tensions. As a melting pot, some tried to portray an approach to American life in which various cultures melted together. I imagine a jar of paint swirling with many colors. In 19th Century America, Jews tried to become American and sought to keep their religion but eschew the notion that they were also a nation or a people. Much of that sentiment was expressed prior to the emergence of Herzl’s political Zionism. 

In the early 20th century, Brandeis, to shift the conversation, wrote, “Let no American imagine that Zionism is inconsistent with patriotism. Multiple loyalties are objectionable only if they are inconsistent. A man [sic] is a better citizen of the United States for being also a loyal citizen of his state, and of his city; for being loyal to his family, and to his profession or trade; for being loyal to his college or his lodge. Every Irish American who contributed towards advancing home rule was a better man and a better American for the sacrifice he made. Every American Jew who aids in advancing the Jewish settlement in Palestine, though he feels that neither he nor his descendants will ever live there, will likewise be a better man and a better American for doing so.” Here, Brandeis references the multiple loyalties we hold. In many ways, we are proud Americans, Ohioans, and Columbites. We are loyal to the universities we attend, the school districts, and small cities in which we live. We can care deeply about multiple aspects of who we are, and they do not come into conflict with one another.

One might argue that these loyalties are only a subset of an entire whole. For that, Brandeis had an answer. He turned toward values. He wrote, “America’s fundamental law seeks to make real the brotherhood of man. That brotherhood became the Jewish fundamental law more than twenty-five hundred years ago. America’s insistent demand in the twentieth century is for social justice. That also has been the Jews’ striving for ages. Their affliction as well as their religion has prepared the Jews for effective democracy. Persecution broadened their sympathies.” Brandeis sees the Jewish value of caring for our neighbors as an essential part of both Jewish and American life. His argument is that if it is our responsibility as Jews and Americans to advance the notion that we are responsible for the well-being of those with whom we are in covenant, our fellow human beings, then those values are consistent with each other. He also notes that throughout history, our persecution broadened our sympathies. Because we were harmed and have felt profound pain, our sympathies can help us recognize the role we play in our greater society. His words echo the biblical command to love the stranger because we know the heart of the stranger, since we were strangers in the land of Egypt. 

Americans hold multiple loyalties and sources of pride. Just a few weeks ago, Dublin held the world’s largest Irish festival outside of Ireland. When we journey through our community, we see neighborhoods named for their German and Italian roots. New York holds countless parades: the Israel Day Parade, the Puerto Rican Day Parade, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, the Lunar New Year Parade, and the Greek Independence Day Parade. America has afforded us the opportunity to celebrate our heritage and care for the well-being of our country. There is no other place in the world quite like it. 

If someone is saying Zionism is un-American, what they are truly expressing is that Jews do not belong. And if we want to belong, we must forgo an essential part of who we are: a belief that we are a people with a homeland. That sentiment is un-American. Jews have been in this country since 1654. This country is better because of the contributions our people have made and will continue to make. Jews have fought and died for this country. For Brandeis, Zionism is as American as apple pie! 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

August 21, 2026

“Oh, I still have my mezuzah to put up.” Those were the words we heard from Zoe as we finished unpacking and setting up her dorm room this week. While I am pretty sure Debra knew about the mezuzah, I had no idea. Her roommate was bringing one too, and Zoe decided it would be better to hang it together. As I reflected on those words, I could not help but think that, of all the things we packed in the car (which was packed to the brim) as she goes off on her own, she included a mezuzah.

Packing for college includes clothes, a computer, art for the walls, school supplies, bedding, and more. Packing your soul for college is something different. Many years ago, there was a high school curriculum created for teenagers called “Packing for College.” The premise behind it was to help young people build their Jewish identities with all the right tools for college. Though today’s curriculum would likely look a bit different, the choice to bring a mezuzah is one that comes from a sense of connection to the Jewish people and Jewish values. As many of us will remember, the Hebrew letter shin that appears on the mezuzah stands for Shaddai—a name for God. Shin, dalet, yod are the three letters used to spell Shaddai, and the rabbis tell us it may be an acronym for the words shomer d’latot Yisrael—protector of the doors/gates of Israel. To put a mezuzah on her door is also an expression of a prayer that God’s protective wings will guard her on her journey.

If there is a Torah text we can look to for a comparison to leaving home, we might turn to Abraham, who was told, “Lech lecha, go forth from your native land, from your father’s house to the land I will show you.” In order to become who we are, we have to leave the places we know and are familiar with and go out and explore the world. A Hasidic commentary explains that the words lech lecha mean “go to yourself,” which might indicate that we look inward to discover our true selves. Such a commentary indicates a conundrum for understanding what it means to travel on such a journey. In order to find who you are, you have to bring something of yourself with you. When you depart on a journey, you may be open to the myriad possibilities you encounter on the way. If your soul is an empty vessel, you will not be rooted in anything of substance, and you might have the potential to flutter in the wind. If you carry your values with you, you are able to anchor yourself when the journey becomes rocky. It is those values that might indicate which direction you should walk.

When Abraham left his home in Haran, God promised him that he would be a blessing and that God would make his name great. That promise reflected Abraham’s fear that the journey would not be easy, but he would come out on top. When a young person goes off to college, we as parents can’t really make the same promise. We have to have faith that we’ve done all we can; we’ve taught them as much as we could; and we hope we can impart more wisdom. But the tools they have learned along the way will carry them forward. Instead of telling Zoe she would be great, we told her to go be great and that she could do it. When our young people go off on a journey, the power is within them to learn more, grow more, and make their own way. We might offer a word of wisdom and some support along the way, but the journey is theirs to make. So many of our young people are starting school this week or next, whether it is K–12 or college, and they are soaking in the tools and skills they need to navigate life. There are so many teachers who help them along the way, and that is such a critical role in their development. Whether the teacher guides them in kindergarten, 12th grade, or college, they become important mentors who are significant partners on the journey.

We go through countless journeys in our lives, with different stopping points along the way. There are often forks in the road requiring us to make critical decisions. Perhaps what we need along the way is not for God to promise that we will be great, but for us to promise ourselves that we will be great. When we make that promise to ourselves, it comes with a commitment that we will follow through. We will do all we can and put our best selves forward. This season reminds us that there are moments when that doesn’t always happen. We trip, we fall, we pick ourselves up again, and we give it another chance. As we continue to journey through the month of Elul, let us reflect on the moments when we have tripped and what we need to do to pick ourselves up and move forward.

To all our kids, grandkids, and teachers—go be great!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner