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The Act of Remembering
April 10, 2026
Several weeks ago, I was invited to teach at Otterbein University in a course focused on the history of the Holocaust. My presentation centered on memory and identity within the Jewish community as they relate to the Holocaust. As I considered what I might share, I returned to several Jewish population surveys and found that a high percentage of respondents say that remembering the Holocaust is deeply tied to their Jewish identity. In the most recent survey, 73% of American Jews indicated that remembering the Holocaust is critical to their identity. It is one of the strongest markers of Jewish identity in the survey—and it invites us to ask: why?
To answer that question, we might turn to insights into how Jews and Judaism understand memory. Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks writes, “There is a profound difference between history and memory. History is his story—an event that happened sometime else to someone else. Memory is my story—something that happened to me and is part of who I am. History is information. Memory, by contrast, is part of identity.” In remembering the Holocaust, we remember what happened to us. Some of us are direct descendants of Holocaust survivors. Others, like me, have families who were in the United States long before the war; all of my grandparents were born here. And yet, through story and study, remembering the Holocaust has become part of our collective Jewish identity.
The act of memory has the power to shape us because we inherit these stories. Just as we include in our seder the famous line from the Mishnah: “In every generation, a person is obligated to see themselves as if they personally came out of Egypt.” None of us walked through the parted waters of the Red Sea, and yet we were there; slavery and liberation happened to us. So too with Holocaust memory. We have told and retold the stories of those who came before us. We feel the pain, perhaps because in another time or place—or even today—we, too, have experienced antisemitism. That internalization shapes our identity, our behavior, and the way we move through the world.
My brother, Greg, recently sent me an email in which he recalled a memory from our childhood. When we gathered at the seder table, we reached a point after the meal when the humor subsided and a sense of seriousness set in. From the time we were young, my mother added a “Fifth Child” to the seder. It was a supplement from Hadassah that became part of our family tradition. She would begin to read:
“On this night, we remember a fifth child. This is a child of the Holocaust who did not survive to ask. Therefore, we ask for that child, why? We are like the simple child. We have no answer. We answer that child’s question with Silence. In Silence, we remember that dark time. In Silence, we remember that Jews preserved their image of God in the struggle for life. In Silence, we remember the seder nights spent in the forests, ghettos, and camps; we remember that seder night when the Warsaw ghetto rose in revolt.”
Then, in silence, we passed Elijah’s cup, each adding a bit of our own wine, remembering our people’s return to the land of Israel—the beginning of the redemption Elijah is meant to herald.
On Monday evening, the Columbus Jewish community will gather to remember the Holocaust. It is Yom HaShoah v’Hag’vurah—the Day of Remembrance of the Holocaust and Heroism. It takes place each year on the Hebrew date of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, reminding us that the stories and memories of the Holocaust are complex. We must remember the victims. We must remember those who resisted. We must remember the Righteous Among the Nations. We must remember stories of survival. We must remember.
Every act of memory, every story told, is sacred. I hope you will join us Monday evening at 6:30 PM for our annual Yom Hashoah v’Hag’vurah commemoration. Please RSVP in advance and the location will be shared upon registration.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rick Kellner
The Carob Tree Project
Featuring Earl Goldhammer
“I am very interested in art,” Earl began. “I knew nothing about art, absolutely nothing. I just loved the class.” He has always been willing to step into what he doesn’t yet understand. Years later, that instinct became a love language he shared with his wife, Karen.
“I met my wife and it turns out that she was an art lover too, but knew much, much more about art than I did. And so our life was very focused on art.” They traveled. They tried new things. They built a life around what they loved. “She was very devoted to Judaism. The thing that I looked forward to each year was our Seder.”
One year, Karen invited two nuns. “So it was a Seder with my wife and I and two nuns.” He paused, smiling as he remembered. “One of the nuns enjoyed the Seder so much… I was glad that she had a ride home.”
There is something about Earl’s presence that can be felt immediately. He meets people with an openness that does not ask for attention but holds it anyway. He cares deeply about those around him; he listens closely, responds thoughtfully, and makes space for others to be seen. His warmth is steady and comes naturally; it shows in the way he speaks and in a smile that is both gentle and unmistakably Earl.
Earl speaks about miracles and intervention with a kind of quiet certainty. He leaves space for them, the way one leaves space for a question that does not need to be answered right away. “Has God ever intervened in your life? My answer is yes.” In Jerusalem, standing at a locked gate, something happened. “A guy comes along. He pushed some buttons to let me in, and just as I got in, I turned around to thank him, and he disappeared.”
The moment still lingers—not because he can explain it, but because he cannot. He does not turn it into something larger than it is, but he doesn’t dismiss it either. He carries it alongside everything else he knows to be true. “I’m a math major and I was a tax lawyer. I don’t deal in fantasy very much.”
The people who shaped him remain close to his heart. “One of the most important people in my life was the cantor in my synagogue when I was a boy.” He remembers the time they spent together like it was yesterday. “He had numbers on his arm. He told me, ‘The reason I’m here is because the commander liked to hear me sing.’” What stayed with Earl was not only the story, but the standard. “Everything had to be just perfect.” And the music. “He taught me Jewish music that I never forgot. As an old man, I can still remember.”
His mother’s influence stands on its own. “I’ve never seen anybody work harder…She really gave me a sense of morality and a sense of purpose. She still influences my life every day.”
Alongside that influence came deep loss. When asked about life’s biggest challenges, Earl answered without hesitation: “My mother and my wife, both of whom were victims of cancer.”
When speaking about the loss of his wife, he does not soften what followed. “It was difficult… I had to have counseling because she was such a big part of my life that I needed help.” Still, he kept going. “I’ve had a very good life. Sometimes life comes with difficulties.”
Earl returns often to the topic of how people speak to one another. “We can discuss things and have different points of views and not get angry at one another.” He doesn’t see disagreement as something to avoid. “I think that we ought to emphasize that more. Different rabbis have different interpretations. That’s the way to exist, not fight with one another.”
As he looks back, there is no single defining moment, only a collection of life’s miracles. “I’m really lucky. I’m 84… I’m still here.” He lets that simmer. “That’s sort of a miracle too.
I have a lot to be thankful for.”
Earl Goldhammer was interviewed on March 5, 2026 by Rabbi Rick Kellner and Hannah Karr
Written by Hannah Karr, Director of Marketing & Community Engagement at Congregation Beth Tikvah
The Carob Tree Project is an initiative at Congregation Beth Tikvah designed to preserve the life stories, wisdom, and experiences of longtime congregants so their voices continue to guide the community long into the future. This project was started by Rabbi Rick Kellner and Hannah Karr, inspired by a story in the Talmud about Honi the Circle Maker. When asked why he is planting a tree that will take decades to bear fruit, he explains that just as others planted for him, he plants for the generations who will come after him. The lesson is about legacy, continuity, and responsibility across generations. In that spirit, the Carob Tree Project focuses on members of the congregation whose lives hold deep experience, reflection, and perspective. Through recorded interviews, participants are invited to share memories, formative moments, values, and lessons learned. These interviews are video recorded and archived, ensuring that their stories become a lasting resource for the community. Written profiles are then created from the interviews so that the insights and voices of these individuals can be shared more widely within the congregation. The goal is not simply to document history. It is to capture the human insight behind a life lived — the ideas, questions, and experiences that can nurture future generations. Just like the carob tree in the Talmudic story, the project recognizes that the fruits of a person’s life often extend far beyond their own lifetime. In this way, the Carob Tree Project becomes both an archive and a teaching tool: a living collection of stories that remind the community how wisdom is passed forward — one voice, one memory, and one life at a time.
Rabbi Rick’s Sabbatical Reads
April 4, 2026
Each year, I feel incredibly blessed to have time away from the office and the flow of daily rabbinic life to create space for learning and for thinking deeply about Jewish life and the future of our synagogue. Each month-long sabbatical offers me the opportunity to do something different and unique. Last year, I reflected on the major challenges facing Jewish life and crafted a vision for how I believe those issues play out in our own community. This year, I had the opportunity to read ten books—a personal record for a single month. Most were excellent; only one is not worth mentioning again. A few are books we will share with our Holocaust Seminar participants, one helped prepare me to teach a course in the fall, and another inspired a High Holy Day sermon.
Here are the top five books from my February sabbatical:
While reading about antisemitism can always be challenging, Nadell takes us on a journey from the earliest days of the American colonies to a post–October 7th narrative that depicts the unique ways antisemitism has taken root on American soil. What I love about her book is that she does not simply recount what others have done to us; she highlights the resilience of those affected and how they responded. There is much we can learn from history about how to live today. Perhaps her most provocative chapter challenges us to consider that there was no true “golden age” of Jewish life in America—contrary to what many of us feel about the post-Holocaust era in the latter part of the 20th century. Learn with Professor Nadell at this year’s Gaynor Lecture on April 28 at the JCC.
This is a book that should be read by any 11th or 12th grader, as well as college students. Tabarovsky is an expert on Soviet anti-Zionism, a topic that has not received widespread scholarly attention until recently.
Be a Refusenik provides a historical understanding of anti-Zionism and then shares the stories of several refuseniks—individuals who courageously defied the Soviet regime. Tabarovsky’s unique approach draws thoughtful parallels between these refuseniks and young people today who are standing up for their Jewish identity in school and on college campuses.
Arguably the best book on the Holocaust I have ever read, The Girl Bandits of the Warsaw Ghetto takes us into the 1940s to understand life in Warsaw during the war. Hyman shares the stories of several young women who played essential roles in the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. Without them, the revolt could not have taken place. Although the uprising was doomed from the start, several of these women were able to escape and become partisans, continuing the fight against the Nazis beyond the walls of the ghetto. Historically, men have received much of the credit for the uprising, but Hyman offers a powerful new perspective on this critical moment in Jewish history.
For years, we have sung Hannah Senesh’s “Eli, Eli” at funerals, on the High Holy Days, and in moments of collective remembrance. Many of us are aware that she wrote these words along the shores of Caesarea in Israel. We also know that she joined the Haganah paratroopers and took part in a mission to help rescue Jews during the Holocaust. Crash of the Heavens is Senesh’s biography, recounting the story of a young woman who took her future into her own hands and defied both the Nazis and her Hungarian captors up until her execution.
May her memory be for a blessing.
For years, we have sung Hannah Senesh’s “Eli, Eli” at funerals, on the High Holy Days, and in moments of collective remembrance. Many of us are aware that she wrote these words along the shores of Caesarea in Israel. We also know that she joined the Haganah paratroopers and took part in a mission to help rescue Jews during the Holocaust. Crash of the Heavens is Senesh’s biography, recounting the story of a young woman who took her future into her own hands and defied both the Nazis and her Hungarian captors up until her execution.
May her memory be for a blessing.
Written by Rabbi Rick Kellner
Passover Recipes from Around the World
April 4, 2026
Try out these different recipes from all around the world inspired by the Jewish spring holiday of Passover!
Click on the photos to access the recipes.
Moroccan Carrot Salad
Tender carrots tossed in a vibrant chermoula of garlic, cumin, lemon, and fresh herbs. A staple in Moroccan Jewish cuisine, it reflects the bold flavors of North Africa and the Passover theme of renewal.
Greek Lemon Potato Bake
Potatoes roasted with lemon, garlic, and oregano until crispy on the edges and soft inside. Naturally chametz-free, it reflects Mediterranean simplicity and the Passover theme of making something extraordinary from humble ingredients.
Ethiopian Spiced Lentil Stew
Lentils simmered with garlic, ginger, and warm spices for a deeply comforting dish. Inspired by Ethiopian flavors, it reflects resilience and community—central themes of both Jewish history and the Passover story.
Classic Brisket with Caramelized Onions
Slow-braised brisket cooked until tender with sweet, deeply caramelized onions. This beloved Seder centerpiece represents abundance and the joy of gathering, often prepared in advance to allow families more time together.
Argentine Chimichurri Grilled Chicken
Juicy grilled chicken topped with a bright chimichurri of parsley, garlic, and vinegar. In Latin American Jewish communities, grilled meats often anchor festive meals, celebrating both freedom and gathering.
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