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

August 14, 2026

My first associations with the Hebrew word toranut are from my years at Jewish summer camp. When my cabin had toranut, it was our responsibility on that day of the session to arrive early for meals and place all of the dishes, utensils, and serving trays at each table in the chadar ochel (dining hall). The Hebrew word toranut is usually translated as duty or service by rotation.

Earlier this week, we were joined by Anna Kislanski, CEO of the IMPJ, the Israeli Reform Movement. When she shared her story with us, she told us about her experience as a member of Kehillat Hashachar in the city of Even Yehuda, near Netanya. Her congregation holds its Friday night services in the local museum because they do not have a building. When it is her family’s turn for toranut, she and her family move the museum exhibits and set up the chairs and the bimah so they can pray. When services conclude, they put away the chairs and reset the exhibits. There is a sense of holiness to her toranut that I never associated with the word. Without every family taking its turn to support the sacred gathering of the congregation, the community could not meet, and the people could not create the connections they need.

Anna’s connection to Reform Jewish life in Israel began when she and her fiancé wanted to get married. They found Rabbi Meir Azari at Beit Daniel, the Reform congregation in Tel Aviv, who told them he could marry them, but it would not be recognized by the government. They would need to travel to Cyprus for a civil ceremony. They signed the paperwork on a lovely five-day vacation in Cyprus and turned it over to the government. Only then could Rabbi Azari officiate the wedding. Weddings in Israel are only recognized if they are performed by Orthodox rabbis.

When families want to celebrate a Bar Mitzvah and the mother of the child wants to kiss her son on the head after he reads Torah, she cannot do that in a place that does not support egalitarian prayer; Reform congregations create that sacred space. A Bat Mitzvah can happen in a Reform congregation, and a woman can say kaddish there.

The Israeli Reform Movement leads a gap year program for Israelis before they enlist in the army. This program, called Mechinah, prepares young people who have no connection to Reform Judaism for future leadership both in the army and beyond. Most recently, during the Iran war, this program shifted from Jaffa, where they did not have a shelter, to Dizengoff Center, where they created a safe space for many families in the lower levels of the garage. They facilitated a Passover seder and helped people with disabilities in Israel.

When Anna was first hired by the IMPJ, she had just returned from four years working for the URJ in NY. Rabbi Gilad Kariv, who was leading the Movement at the time, told her she was in charge of congregations. He noticed that there were 850 Reform congregations in the United States. When Anna was hired in 2010, there were 25. Today, there are 55. Israelis typically understand synagogues as Orthodox synagogues, and those synagogues get money, property, and buildings from the State. Reform congregations should, but don’t always. These communities need support as they begin. They meet in schools, museums, municipal buildings, and other places. Their rabbis travel all over the country to serve the people in these new and emerging communities. The Israeli Reform Movement ensures that Reform Jewish values are brought to life in Israel. They are working to create a society grounded in egalitarianism. As I shared with those who gathered with us on Wednesday evening, if we want to see these values come to life in Israel, we need to support them.

Because Israelis are accustomed to the State providing funding to synagogues, and because that does not happen in the same way or at the same level of funding for Reform congregations, the Israeli Reform Movement relies on donations to sustain its work. I hope you will consider joining me in making a donation to the IMPJ to ensure that Reform Jewish values can come to life and thrive in Israel.

To learn more about the work of the IMPJ and to donate, please visit their website.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

August 7, 2026

Rabbi Akiva was one of the greatest rabbis in the Talmud. His journey to reach such acclaim was quite different from those of his colleagues. In modern discourse, we might call Rabbi Akiva a “second career” rabbi. He began his life as a shepherd working for Kalba Savua. After marrying Kalba Savua’s daughter, Rachel, Akiva arrived at the study of Torah at the age of forty.

In the rabbinic text Avot de-Rabbi Natan, we learn about his beginnings. The text teaches that Rabbi Akiva was forty years old but had not learned a thing. Once, he was standing at the mouth of a well, and he said, “Who carved this rock?” They said, “The water that consistently falls on it every day.” Then, quoting the Book of Job (14:19), they said, “Akiva, did you not read that water wears away stones?” Akiva then reasoned, “Just as the soft sculpts the hard, words of Torah, which are iron, will all the more so carve my heart, which is flesh and blood.” He then returned to Torah study (Avot de-Rabbi Natan 1:4). Rabbi Akiva’s lesson is that if something as soft as water has the potential to carve stone, then the Torah, which is as durable as iron, has the potential to shape a human being.

To come to the gift of Torah study is like drinking from the pure waters of the well. Torah study shapes us, guides us, and draws us closer to our tradition and our people. Two of the most joyful hours of my week are the hour when I immerse myself in Torah study on Shabbat morning with our wonderful community—join us on Zoom every Shabbat morning from 9:00–10:00 a.m.—and the hour I spend engrossed in learning sacred texts with our Confirmation students in 10th grade. These two hours provide me with joy and the potential for “aha” moments when learners of all ages, including me, discover new insights about our tradition and how it applies to the world in which we live.

One of the beautiful aspects of Jewish learning is that we can come to it at any age. What we find when we knock on Torah’s door is an ocean of knowledge and connection that brings new insights to our lives. As we grow, those insights and that wisdom have the potential to become deeper and more nuanced. The more questions we bring, the more we are able to swim in the sea of Jewish learning.

Tonight, we celebrate the commitment of 13 individuals who have decided to embark on a personal journey of Jewish learning. There has been a fire in their hearts to mark their commitment to Jewish learning and the Jewish community as they become Adult B’nai Mitzvah! Last fall, this wonderful group of adult learners committed themselves to learning Hebrew and deepening their commitment to Jewish education. They spent Monday evenings learning together as a community. Rabbi Martin, Morissa, and I have enjoyed these hours of learning with them as well.

Their journey culminates this evening with an Adult B’nai Mitzvah ceremony in which they will each read from the Torah and share their journey with us. We know how challenging it can be to make such commitments as adults. Life’s winding pathways can bring many distractions, and committing to learning about our sacred texts, sacred times, and sacred places, as well as learning to read Hebrew, can present many challenges. I hope you will join us tonight as we celebrate with our Adult B’nai Mitzvah class. Perhaps these adult learners might spark your interest in pursuing your own pathway of learning. Let us all join in wishing them mazel tov!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

August 1, 2026

Turning the pages of the calendar is often a daunting task. The passage of time can stir emotions that blend the elements of sacred aging with the potential for self-reflection and growth. Jewish tradition has always focused on the moment; what has already happened cannot be the sole focus of our minds, lest it paralyze us from living or stunt our growth. What may come in the future awakens anxiety because we have told ourselves stories that we do not know will come to be. While we can plan for the future, life may throw us curveballs, causing us to pivot in a new direction.

Turning the calendar to the Hebrew month of Elul, the month leading up to the High Holy Days, and then to Tishrei, in which we celebrate Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, is an even more daunting task. For it is in this month that we stand before the true Judge. Whether we believe that Judge is God, or perhaps even if we are the judge, we stand under a microscope and look at ourselves as we try to do better. We might ask ourselves: When does this season begin? For most of our lives, we are taught that this season of turning begins when we arrive at the synagogue and immerse ourselves in our prayers for these ten awe-inspiring days. Jewish tradition teaches us that the season began all the way back on Tisha B’Av, when we mark the destruction of both Holy Temples in Jerusalem, in 586 BCE and then again in 70 CE. We then mark another significant moment in the days leading up to Rosh Hashanah: Selichot.

Selichot translates to forgiveness, and it is the moment when we first say the prayers so familiar to us from Yom Kippur. We hear the sound of the shofar and sing Avinu Malkeinu for the first time during the season. Not surprisingly, Ashkenazi and Sephardic traditions offer different customs surrounding this observance. The Sephardic community observes Selichot early in the morning, beginning at the start of Elul. The Ashkenazi community, however, begins Selichot around midnight on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah. If Rosh Hashanah falls early in the week, Selichot begins a week earlier. At Beth Tikvah, we observe Selichot with a meaningful program on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah. We usually begin around 7:00 p.m. and conclude by 9:30 p.m. The program often focuses on a theme related to the High Holy Days or Jewish life. In recent years, we have focused on trauma, repair, or personal growth. We have welcomed speakers, watched short films, engaged in text study, and then concluded the evening with a short prayer service.

Selichot is a tradition unfamiliar to many of us. Perhaps our synagogues did not observe it when we were younger; perhaps they did, and we did not attend. I hope you will consider joining us this year on Saturday evening, September 5, for our Selichot observance, a meaningful opportunity to engage in community, reflect deeply, and perhaps take our first step on the journey through a season that awakens the deepest awe within our souls.

Rabbi Rick Kellner

July 31, 2026

Two years ago, during the height of the vitriol and violence directed toward the Haitian community in Springfield, I traveled there and met my colleague, Rabbi Karen Bodney-Halasz, Senior Rabbi of Temple Israel in Dayton, for lunch at a Haitian restaurant. You probably recall those days when the Haitian community there was afraid to leave their homes, not for fear of ICE, but out of fear of their neighbors, who were reacting to accusations that they were eating other people’s pets—a claim that had no modicum of truth and was levied only to create vitriol against this community. When Rabbi Bodney-Halasz and I were dining at the Haitian restaurant, the gratitude we felt was palpable. They were accustomed to members of the Haitian community dining in their restaurant, but the threats of violence kept people home. They understood that we were there because we cared about them and saw them as human beings.

Months later, an executive order would end Temporary Protected Status for the Haitian community in the United States. The court system put that executive order on hold until the Supreme Court ruled last month that the executive order was legal. Temporary Protected Status ended earlier this week, on July 27, which means thousands of Haitians no longer have the documentation to remain in the United States.

While solving the complexities of our nation’s immigration system seems out of reach for lawmakers, we are still drawn to the human stories as we reflect on how people are affected by our flawed immigration policies and practices. Meet Claudia Cilien Pierre, a 35-year-old woman originally from Haiti who now lives in the Indianapolis area with her husband, John Ptsensly, and their two children. Claudia and John came to the United States in 2016 on travelers’ visas. They traveled back and forth to their native Haiti before realizing that it was no longer safe for them. John was involved in political democracy movements and was an advocate for justice and democracy. Eventually, they made their way to Indianapolis and sought the assistance of an attorney to help them apply for asylum, fearing persecution at home. Claudia studied for her GED and became a nursing assistant. Now working in a nursing home, Claudia loves helping others. She recently started a program to become a registered nurse. She believes that if you really want something, you have to work hard to accomplish it. As I think about her mindset, I cannot help but see her as a living example of the American dream and the belief that, with hard work, you can create success.

The Jewish community also has a history of arriving here, working hard, and doing what we could to make it. Most Jewish stories told about these experiences took place several generations ago, but what I have learned is that, as history rolls on, we share the same stories as earlier generations. The stories are the same, but the nationalities and countries of origin may differ. What has not changed is that the drive to work hard still burns in the hearts of those who arrive in this country with dreams of a better tomorrow for themselves and their families. Those dreams and journeys are often met with resistance, fear, and hatred. Such sentiments have existed for generations as well.

We care about these individuals because they are our neighbors, because they care for our loved ones, or because, even if we do not know them, their stories speak to our souls. We care for them because we know what it is like to be a stranger; we know what it is like to be othered. While we may not be sure what we can do to help right now, these are the times when we turn to prayer. In these moments of uncertainty, the hashkiveinu speaks to me. Calling for a canopy of shalom to comfort those who suffer and embrace those who cower in fear, these words of prayer might help us give agency to the powerless. Shabbat’s vision of the world to come has me hoping for a day when all of us can go to sleep at night without fear of a knock on our door by a hateful hand.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

July 24, 2026

We are still crafting the chapters of the book on Reform Jewish life. We can attest, however, that there is no question that Reform Judaism has had a profound impact on the Jewish community. While a new platform is unlikely (as CCAR president, I won’t be calling for one!), we know that we continue to be nurtured by the multifaceted tradition we have inherited. What we can say in 2026, perhaps even more so than in 1999, is that we have been influenced by the vast wisdom provided by our past in more ways than we could have imagined. As the internet has grown, we have been able to access more resources, opening us up to diverse traditions and the sea of Jewish textual tradition through sefaria.org. Access to wisdom has deepened our connection to Jewish tradition and Jewish life.

I embarked on this retrospective of Reform Jewish history to help guide us in our understanding of how we might respond to the challenge posed by the Re-charging Reform conference in late May. During that gathering, Rabbi Ammi Hirsch articulated his hope that Hebrew Union College would not ordain any anti-Zionist rabbis. In recent months, surveys have been conducted in Boston and Milwaukee examining the beliefs and perspectives shaping Jewish life today. The Boston survey showed that 38% of adults between 18 and 29 identified as anti-Zionist. While a third of those who identified as anti-Zionist believed that Israel should remain the nation-state of the Jewish people. Over 80% of adults in the survey believe that Israel should be the nation-state of the Jewish people. The Milwaukee survey results were similar, and the numbers don’t seem to make sense. While the numbers of anti-Zionist Jews are certainly concerning, what the survey tells us is that terms take on different meanings. When I use the word Zionism, I define it as a belief that the Jewish people have a right to self-determination in our ancient homeland and that Israel should be the home of the Jewish people. Anti-Zionism, in my view, is a call for the destruction of the Jewish state. Other young Jews, who feel disheartened and frustrated by the current makeup of the Israeli government, might call themselves anti-Zionist, even though they believe in the Jewish nature of the State of Israel.

Jewish leadership in a post-October 7th world requires that we hold many different values, which sometimes may come into conflict with one another. Those values include a commitment to the Jewish people; a commitment and connection to Israel and our family there; a belief in the enduring value of Torah, which includes the recognition that every human being is created in God’s image; a commitment to transmitting our tradition to the next generation; and more. Our lives are ongoing journeys in which we walk the pathway of life carrying all these values in the rucksacks of our souls. These values both guide us and carry us through the journey.

I recently read Returning by Nicholas Lemann, who describes his family’s history living in the South both before and after the Civil War, their experience as “Pittsburgh Jews” (referring to the 1885 Platform), and how that guided their family and community well into the next century. One lesson Lemann offers is the dissonance felt in Reform Jewish circles, which is tied to our European origins. German Jews in the 1800s were products of the Enlightenment and had been part of the “promise” that if one eschewed the traditional structures of Jewish life, one would be accepted into society. As a result, many German Jews were cold to the idea of a Jewish state. Conversely, Jews who descended from Eastern Europe, including Russia, Ukraine, and Poland, and who had faced numerous pogroms, were more likely to embrace Zionism and support a Jewish state. German Jews arrived earlier in the United States than Eastern European Jews. The arrival of these Eastern European Jews, along with their belief in a Jewish state, changed the debate in America. World War II and the plight of millions of Jews sealed the change in ideology. Lemann, though he was born after the war, was born into an anti-Zionist Reform family and underwent profound changes in his life, developing a deeper connection to tradition and the Jewish people. His personal story is a singular example of the changes that have shaped American Jewish life from 1850 until today.

Returning to the question at hand, earlier this month several Reform rabbis who serve on the HUC Board of Governors wrote a piece in eJewishPhilanthropy entitled, Zionism and the Future of Liberal Jewish Education: Love, Not Litmus Tests. In this piece, they state:

“Our faculty and staff regularly evaluate how best to cultivate enduring commitment to Israel and Zionism in the next generation of rabbis. There are positions that have no place in an institution committed to the flourishing of the Jewish People. Anyone who advocates for the destruction of the State of Israel, or for the removal of the Jewish People from their homeland, has no place at Hebrew Union College. Anyone who promotes the displacement of any people from their historic land has no place here. Anyone who calls for the destruction of a people — any people — has no place here.”

It seems to me that everyone is saying the same thing. Let’s hope this ends the debate and that we can focus on the best ways to nurture support for the Jewish people, work for the safety and security of Jews around the world, and, to quote the 1999 Pittsburgh Principles, “We are committed to a vision of the State of Israel that promotes full civil, human and religious rights for all its inhabitants and that strives for a lasting peace between Israel and its neighbors.”

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

July 17, 2026

In the winter of 1998, Rabbi Richard N. Levy z”l, then President of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, appeared on the cover of Reform Judaism Magazine donning a kippah, tallit, and tefillin. For those who have a full understanding of the Reform Movement’s history, you might have heard about that or seen it and recognized it as sacrilegious. To see a Reform Jew wearing these ritual objects was anathema to the Confirmation photographs appearing on the walls of Reform synagogues. In those images from the 1980s and earlier, one would rarely have seen a rabbi in a tallit or kippah, let alone tefillin. If Isaac Mayer Wise and his colleagues who founded Reform Judaism in America had seen such an image, they might have rolled over in their graves. Their fierce rejection of Jewish ritual life had been completely turned on its head.

I had the honor of being one of Rabbi Levy’s students during his tenure as Director of Hebrew Union College’s Rabbinic Program on the Los Angeles campus. He was a close mentor who helped shape the rabbi I have become. As President of the CCAR, he championed the establishment of a new set of principles. In 1999, the CCAR returned to Pittsburgh for its annual convention and adopted what has become known as A Statement of Principles of Reform Judaism. They had hoped Pittsburgh would become associated with a new way of Jewish living, much like it did over a century prior.

Much had changed in Reform Jewish life between 1976 and the Centenary Perspective and 1999. In 1976, there had only been three women rabbis ordained by Hebrew Union College. It was only four years since Rabbi Sally Priesand’s ordination. By 1999, there were 250 women rabbis ordained. With the growth of women’s influence on the Movement, the rise of intermarriage, and the embrace of patrilineal descent in the 1980s, Reform Jewish leaders saw the conclusion of the 20th century and the onset of the 21st as an opportunity to create a new set of principles that would guide the future. This commentary on the principles helps to provide a full picture of the background and impact of the 1999 Statement. This commentary tells us that the CCAR committed to deep conversation with its entire membership and lay people for two years prior to the statement. Like the 1976 statement, it was divided into three sections: God, Torah, and Israel.

Inherent in this document are three essential themes. First, at its core is a desire to incorporate the notion and aspiration of holiness. As we learn from the commentary to the document, through a commitment to living a life filled with Torah and Jewish practice, we draw closer to God and encounter God’s presence. “Bringing the Godly into our lives can transform us from creatures defined by a secular, material society into those who can fulfill our destiny as being shaped b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God.” The commentary also teaches us that dialogue is a key theme. The use of words and phrases such as “encountering God’s presence,” “responding to God daily,” referring to the Torah as a record of our ongoing relationship with God’s presence, and the notion of reaching out to all Jews in the Israel section reflect a relational vocabulary, which means we are in dialogue with Jewish tradition. Lastly, this document wanted to guide us in the transformation of our lives. With a foundation in Jewish learning and Jewish practice, the 1999 principles wanted to instill a desire among Jews to aspire to a new, holier plane of existence.

While each section includes a series of affirmations, encounters, and strivings, the sections conclude by saying, “In all these ways and more, God/Torah/Israel give meaning and purpose to our lives.” These three punctuation marks on each section serve as a reminder of the diverse ways in which Reform Jews are in dialogue with the core values of each section. They recognize that by their very nature, words are limiting. The ways in which we relate and connect to these core pillars of Jewish life are quite diverse.

These sacred words have guided us for the past quarter of a century. Even though they have aged, their openness to diverse religious practice still provides us with much guidance. Living our lives committed to Jewish learning, infusing holiness into our lives through Jewish ritual practice and holiday observance and connecting with the wider Jewish people and the people and State of Israel help to enrich our connection to Judaism and Jewish life, while at the same time recognizing the diversity inherent within the Movement.

We continue to connect to Jewish tradition in diverse ways. As the 1999 Statement of Principles concludes, we pray:

בָּרוּךְ שֶׁאָמַר וְהָיָה הָעוֹלָם.

Baruch she-amar ve-haya ha-olam.

Praised be the One through whose word all things came to be.

May our words find expression in holy actions.

May they raise us up to a life of meaning devoted to God’s service

And to the redemption of our world.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

July 10, 2026

After a couple of weeks diverging from reflections on the Reform Movement’s various platforms, I want to return to a historical look at the documents that have shaped Reform Jewish life in America and around the world. As we have explored, the Movement’s platforms have responded to complex challenges and questions facing the Jewish world at the time in which they were written.

In 1997, 100 years after Theodor Herzl convened the very first World Zionist Congress, which was the nascent step in calling for Jewish statehood, the Central Conference of American Rabbis gathered in Miami to adopt “Reform Judaism & Zionism: A Centenary Platform.” This platform focused exclusively on Zionism, whereas earlier platforms and one subsequent set of principles focused on a diverse set of issues facing the Reform Jewish world. This platform, nearly fifty years after the State of Israel was born, came between two tumultuous periods for the State. The late 1980s and early 1990s saw the challenges of the First Intifada, while the early 2000s saw the beginning of the Second Intifada. These violent uprisings sandwiched a period of great hope that saw the signing of Oslo I and II in 1993 and 1995. For a brief period, both Israelis and Palestinians believed peace might be on the horizon. Those hopes crashed like a tidal wave with the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin in November 1995.

The document itself looked back at prior statements and recognized the shift that occurred vis-à-vis the Reform Movement’s relationship with Israel. What began in 1885 as no longer “expecting a return to the Jewish homeland” shifted in 1937 toward “building up [British Mandate Palestine] as a Jewish homeland, endeavoring to make it a haven for refugees and a center of Jewish culture and spiritual life.” Then, in 1976, our Movement declared our deep connection to the newly reborn State of Israel and a responsibility in building it up, assuring its security, and defining its character. The ties between Diaspora Jewish life and Israel run deep. The statement acknowledges that the questions facing Jewish leaders in each of the prior generations still faced Jewish leadership in the late 90s. I would argue that we still face those questions today.

In 1997, our Movement affirmed the eternal covenant established at Sinai, which created a unique purpose for Am Yisrael, the Jewish People. They declared, “Medinat Yisrael, the Jewish State, is therefore unlike all other states. Its obligation is to strive towards the attainment of the Jewish people’s highest moral ideals to be a mamlechet kohanim [a kingdom of priests], a goy kadosh [a holy people], and l’or goyim [a light unto the nations].”

The document recognized that the Jewish community, after facing centuries of persecution, experienced the risks of Jewish powerlessness throughout history. In this platform, the Reform Movement stated, “We, therefore, affirm Am Yisrael’s reassertion of national sovereignty, but we urge that it be used to create the kind of society in which full civil, human, and religious rights exist for all its citizens. Ultimately, Medinat Yisrael will be judged not on its military might but on its character.”

The 1997 Statement on Zionism also recognized that each community shared in the responsibility for the fate of Jews everywhere. They saw that the State of Israel and the Diaspora Jewish community were intertwined and that “by deepening the social, spiritual, and intellectual relationship among the kehillot worldwide, we can revitalize Judaism both in Israel and the Diaspora.”

There was a profound recognition that enhancing Jewish peoplehood and promoting a deeper understanding of Israel required an investment in educational programs. The platform called on Reform Jews to make regular visits to Israel and also “encouraged Aliyah [immigration] to Israel.”

The platform also recognizes the diversity of Israel and the Jewish people. The document calls on Israel to be a pluralistic, democratic society, and it seeks a “Jewish state in which no religious interpretation of Judaism takes legal precedence over another.”

As you can see, the vision delineated by the Movement nearly thirty years ago is still applicable to the current moment. We dream of a pluralistic Israel that can fulfill the vision of living up to the highest ideals Judaism brought to the world. We need to enrich Jewish education, and we need to encourage more travel to Israel. This document is an incredible call for what Reform Zionism can and should look like. It carries with it a vision and hope for peace with Israel’s neighbors and a desire for full civil, human, and religious rights for all its citizens. It is an aspirational document, one that requires continued work and effort on a daily basis. With these words, questioning the Movement’s commitment to Zionism falls flat. Every Reform Movement institution is deeply committed to Israel, Zionism, and helping to bring about the vision set forth in this document.

As the writers of this platform concluded, “When God restores the fortunes of Zion we shall be like dreamers. Our mouths will fill with laughter and our tongues with songs of joy.” It is up to us to bring about the day when our dreams will become reality, and we will sit under our vine and fig tree, filled with laughter, and the young will dance in the courtyards.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

July 3, 2026

This Shabbat converges with July 4^th, and this year’s celebration is the semiquincentennial anniversary of our country’s birth. 250 years invites us to reflect on the key lessons we have learned. Throughout the year, Congregation Beth Tikvah has been part of an interfaith collaboration with Worthington-area congregations to mark this anniversary with a program entitled Faith250. Envisioned by Rabbi Michael Holzman, a Reform Rabbi in Northern Virginia, and his colleagues, Faith250 was created to elevate this year’s special anniversary. They selected four core American texts that help us think about our country’s founding and the 250-year journey we have been on.

The core texts included Emma Lazarus’ The New Colossus, The Declaration of Independence, America the Beautiful, and Frederick Douglass’s speech, What to the Slave is the Fourth of July.

The Declaration of Independence’s most famous words begin: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness…”

Though their vision was bold, the dream of equality expressed in it was limited to men, excluding women and enslaved Black people. As we studied this document, we reflected on its aspirational nature, and we wondered how we have upheld the vision or where we have fallen short of it. The struggle to achieve this vision endures each day. So many new Americans have faced challenges as they tried to settle here, and the effects of slavery are still felt by many in the African American communities. Attempts to curtail rights have been met by protest. Perhaps it is this built-in possibility for change that helps us understand that we are constantly trying to improve the society in which we live. Governments are established with the consent of those governed. This is the bedrock of our democracy. The right to vote and to have a voice in our government is the fabric of who we are as a nation. Preserving this is tantamount to our democracy’s survival over the next 250 years.

When we studied Emma Lazarus’ The New Colossus, the poem that appears on the base of the Statue of Liberty, we reflected on the following words:

“‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she

With silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Studying these words, we were moved by the contrast between the ‘storied pomp’ of ancient lands and the ‘tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free” emerging from those same lands. The storied pomp was not for everyone, and many who came to America were persecuted, poor, or searching for opportunity in a place grounded in equality. Of course, we know new immigrants to America were not always met with open arms, but with hard work and commitment, many of those new immigrants would find new life. Many of us recall stories passed down through our families about those challenging times. The lamp greeting us was a beacon to the future.

The fabric of the American story continues to be written and rewritten. The vision held by our founding generation inspires us to continue to build for a better future—a future that sees the equality of every human being and creates structures to ensure that equality. As we build this vision, may we also build a future that is not grounded in the fear of scarcity but one that recognizes the abundance of opportunity.

We hope you will join our interfaith communities at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Worthington on Sunday, August 9 at 5:00 pm for an interfaith service to culminate in this learning partnership. More details will be shared very soon.

Shabbat shalom and Happy Fourth of July!

Rabbi Rick Kellner

June 26, 2026

Over the last several weeks, I have spent time writing about the various Reform Movement platforms. You can read my reflections on the 1885 Pittsburgh Platform, the 1937 Columbus Platform, and the 1976 Centenary Platform on my blog. I want to pause briefly this week and next from that series to focus on two different, unrelated aspects of American Jewish history.

For the past two weeks, I have had the honor of serving on faculty at the URJ 6 Points Sports Academy in Asheville, NC. Three of our Beth Tikvah kids are campers there this session, and others will attend later in the summer. The URJ camping movement has played a significant role in the development of Jewish identity since the 1950s. Michael Meyer writes in his book Response to Modernity that following World War II, religious schools wanted to create a more immersive Jewish experience for their students. They rented camp facilities for a weekend and created Shabbat and educational programming. This immersive time-built community through an experience that could not be accomplished during a few hours a week. The Union of American Hebrew Congregations purchased land in Oconomowoc, WI, and then Saratoga, CA, to create Jewish summer camps that would come to be known as OSRUI and Swig, respectively. Land purchases followed in every region of the country, and the URJ camp movement began.

Tens of thousands of young people attend Jewish summer camp every year. This summer is my 23rd summer at a Union for Reform Judaism camp. At 6 Points Sports, campers play sports, but they do so while learning different values every day, including sportsmanship, teamwork, pride, intention, leadership, and growth. Each of these values is taught and reinforced through Jewish wisdom and tradition. Perhaps the greatest part of the camp experience is the community being built through mishpachot (what we call cabins, because 6 Points is located at a boarding school and the kids stay in dorms). Even though the camp is centered on playing sports and improving, what the kids truly love is the Shabbat experience.

Tonight, they will enter the Holy Stadium. Last week, I shared these words with the 6 Points Sports community:

When Shabbat arrives this evening and the sports and competition settle, we enter our Holy Stadium, where we pray and enjoy the blessing of the sacred community we are building. A stadium is a place for competition, the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat. A Holy Stadium is a place of prayer, connection, song, and celebration. It is a space where hopes ascend and where we are sheltered with a blanket of peace. When we enter the Holy Stadium, we bring the values that guide us. This week focused on hesed, kindness. It is our foundation. We tell our friends “good try” or “great play,” or we express our concern if they fall or are struggling. We learned about sportivut, sportsmanship, as we focused on less “me” and more “us,” emphasizing the importance of working for the collective. This morning, we learned about kavanah, intention, as we reflected on how we prepare to play on the field and live our lives each day. While the Holy Stadium is a sacred place, it also brings us into one of the most sacred times at camp—a time when we build the most wonderful memories with our friends: making s’mores, singing at song session, and Israeli dancing together.

Whether our kids are at:

• GUCI (our URJ regional camp in Zionsville, IN)
• 6 Points Sports
• 6 Points Creative Arts
• 6 Points Sci-Tech
• Camp Wise
• Camp Livingston
• Emma Kaufmann Camp
• JCC Day Camp

Or any other Jewish summer camp experience this summer, we know that Jewish summer camp is one of the leading experiences that helps build Jewish identity and Jewish community. Studies have shown that time at Jewish summer camp creates connections for Jewish youth that lead to lifelong, enduring commitment to Jewish life.

At Beth Tikvah, our Brotherhood has helped support Jewish youth attending Jewish summer camp each summer through the annual Chicken Souper Bowl. Jeff Wasserstrom has led this effort year after year. He has helped raise hundreds of thousands of dollars, and our Beth Tikvah campers have benefited from his efforts for many years. Thank you to Jeff and the Beth Tikvah Brotherhood for making camp possible for so many of our youth.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

Reflections by Rabbi Rick Kellner

Rainbow by Kevin Johnson

from Mishkan Ga’avah: Where Pride Dwells, edited by Rabbi Denise Eger, CCAR Press

When I see a rainbow on

The flag flying

From the lamp-post,

Fluttering in the

Pacific breeze,

I know that God

Made a covenant

Between us.

If we lived our lives

In black and white,

We would never see

That promise God made.

To see all those colors together

Reminds me

That God is there

For you and me.

…

Signs of God’s covenant with humanity and with the Jewish people are everywhere. Torah teaches us that the bow in the clouds after a storm is a sign of God’s covenant. We also learn in the book of Genesis that brit milah is a sign of the covenant. Later, in Exodus, we are taught that Shabbat is a sign of the covenant between God and the Jewish people. Together, these signs trace the unique partnership God forms—first with all humanity, then with the descendants of Abraham, and ultimately with the Jewish people.

For the poet Kevin Johnson, God’s rainbow covenant shifts from the clouds to a flag blowing in the breeze. What is typically seen refracted through raindrops becomes a symbol stitched together, extending God’s covenant and reminding us how God embraces all creation. For members of the LGBTQIA+ community, who have so often been marginalized and excluded, seeing the Rainbow or Progress flag is a powerful reminder of spaces where they are welcomed, affirmed, and embraced.

Perhaps the most powerful line in this poem is the comparison between living in black and white and living in a world of color. To live in black and white is to live in a binary world, with limited ways of seeing one another. Johnson invites us instead to see the world in its full spectrum of color, an invitation to recognize and honor the diversity of humanity, just as God created each of us.

Embedded within the Jewish concept of brit—covenant, we find themes of hope, protection, and mutual loving-kindness. We are all responsible for extending these values to the LGBTQIA+ community. As we enter Pride Month, we will celebrate with Pride Shabbat on June 5^th and then join Worthington Pride on June 7^th. Through these celebrations, let us wave the Pride or Progress flag proudly, as an expression of the fullness of God’s covenant with all humanity.