May 29, 2026

The Hebrew Bible offers two possibilities when translating the word “song” into Hebrew. One option is shira, as in “shiru ladonai shir chadash” – “Sing a new song unto God” (Psalm 95). Another example of this is when the Israelites reached the other side of the parted sea the book of Exodus reads “az yashir moshe uv’nei Yisrael et hashira hazot” – “And Moses and the Israelites sang this song…” (Exodus 15:1).

The second option is zimra as in Psalm 98:5 which reads “zamru l’Adonai b’chinor b’chinor v’kol zimra” – “Sing praise to God with the lyre and melodious song” or “Mizmor shir l’yom hashabbat” – “Sing a song of Shabbat” (Psalm 92:1).

Why would there be two options for a word we express singularly in English? The two options seem to indicate slightly different meanings, though the translations of the verses I cited above make that difficult to recognize. The Hebrew Academy suggests that it is only in modern Hebrew that we realize a distinction between the two. As we can see in Biblical translations, shira and zimra appear to be used interchangeably. In modern Hebrew the word shir or shira might suggest the actual text of a song or poem; whereas zimra, indicates the art or act of singing or playing an instrument. The verses above reveal that shira could accompany an expression of joy upon witnessing something new. Zimra, on the other hand, might suggest a more regular occurrence of singing that includes an expression of gratitude.

Perhaps a modern distinction can help us capture the meaning of tonight’s celebration honoring Julie Sapper’s retirement as our longtime Director of Musical Programming. On countless occasions, Julie brought deeper meaning to the shirim—the songs and sacred texts of our tradition—through zimra, the act of singing, whether through our voices or through instruments. Her love of music harmonized these two biblical expressions, bringing joy to our Shabbat, reflection to the High Holy Days, and her heart and soul to both the music and the people.

Julie has a deep passion for all music, and especially for Jewish music, as well as a profound love of teaching. She began her career as a music teacher long before she ever walked through the doors of Beth Tikvah. When she joined our community 19 years ago, she began as a music teacher in our Religious School. It was years later, through her own vision and creativity, that she envisioned the role she has held for more than a decade. We have all been blessed by her passion, skill, and wisdom. I hope you will join us for Shabbat tonight as we honor Julie for her 19 years of devoted service to Beth Tikvah. Come prepared to sing, whether you call it shira or zimra, our voices will help us celebrate such a special milestone. 

Mazel tov to Julie and her family!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 22, 2026

Earlier this week, there was an attack on a mosque in San Diego in which several individuals were murdered. Our sympathies extend to the entire Muslim community. No one should ever be murdered in their house of worship. We in the Jewish community know this pain, suffering, and fear all too well.

Each year at this time, I take a moment to recognize that many in our community are celebrating graduations. So many of our young people have walked—or will walk—with their classes in the coming days. This year, I have the honor of being the parent of one of these graduates. On Sunday morning, Zoe will put on her cap and gown and receive her high school diploma from Worthington Kilbourne High School. To say we are proud and excited is an understatement. The little girl who used to run to the bimah after services to be held by her dad has worked so hard to earn this moment.

While no one gives me a microphone to address our graduates, if I did, here are three lessons I would offer them.

Show Up

There is a beautiful teaching I learned from Rabbi Sharon Brous’ brilliant book, The Amen Effect. In ancient times, when people ascended the steps of the Temple in Jerusalem, they would enter, turn to the right, walk counterclockwise, and exit near where they had entered. However, someone who was suffering—one who was grieving a loved one, someone who was lonely, or someone who was ill—would enter with the crowd, turn left, and walk clockwise, moving in the opposite direction from everyone else. The entire community would know that this person was in pain. Those walking to the right would see them and say, “May God comfort you. May you be wrapped in community” (The Amen Effect, p. 3). To live in community, we must see those who are suffering and not just see them but be present for them. To walk through the world alone, bereft in grief or living with pain, reminds us that life is filled with mountains to climb. Seeing pain is not enough. Reaching out and showing up in a moment of need is an act that will be remembered forever. When your friend is in need, show up. Be there for them.

Open Yourself to Learning and Personal Growth

When we graduate, our hearts are filled with pride. We know so much because we have learned so much. But we cannot let our learning stop. Life brings profound experiences that offer moments for growth and reflection. You who are graduating are amazing people, but as you enter the world, work, and continue learning in college or graduate school, 10 years from now and 20 years from now, you will be different people. Life will come your way. Reflect on what happens and learn how those moments influence you to do differently and to do better.

In Pirkei Avot, the ancient collection of ethical teachings—which I jokingly tell our B’nai Mitzvah students should be titled “The Rabbi’s Greatest Hits”—the sage Yose ben Yoezer teaches: “Let your house be a meeting place for the Sages; sit in the dust of their feet, and drink in their words with thirst.” Make your home a place of learning and a gathering place for the wise. Sit at their feet and learn with thirst. That thirst reminds us that learning must never stop learning. Every person and every moment offer an opportunity to learn, we just need to remain open to it.

Kindness Matters

As I concluded the counting of the Omer on Wednesday evening, I read Rabbi Karyn Kedar’s words in Omer: A Counting, CCAR Press: “And know, of all the words I have found, kindness is the most powerful. It can transform the world. At the end of my days, the only thing I will regret in my life are times when I was unkind.” Psalm 89 reminds us that the world was built on a foundation of kindness. As builders, we lay the bricks of that foundation. Though it lies beneath the surface, it provides the strength and support we need to withstand life’s storms. Those storms have the potential to shape us or to harden our hearts. Kindness brings warmth from the depths of our souls. Let it burst forth and remember that kindness has a lasting impact.

There is one more bonus message I want to offer. Our young people are entering a world where too many harbor ill will toward Jews and toward Israel. Sadly, many of you have already encountered such hatred during your youngest years. Your Judaism lives within your heart and soul. It provides a pulse and rhythm by which your life beats. There are those who will try to take that from you. Don’t let them.

You know who you are. Beth Tikvah has planted sacred seeds of Jewish tradition and Jewish values within you. Water those seeds with every mitzvah you perform and every Jewish moment you celebrate. The Jewish people need you. Remember: kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—all Israel is responsible for one another. The Jewish people will support you, and you, in turn, will support the Jewish community.

Mazel tov to all our graduates.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 15, 2026

We have entered the wilderness. The fourth book of the Torah reflects the Israelites journey through the midbar, this intermediary period from the moment we left Egypt and received Torah to the time we entered the land of Israel. Torah commentator Aviva Gottleib Zornberg explains in her commentary, Bewilderments, that the book is intended to capture a brief episode in our history, but she explains, it tragically swells to deathly proportions. We imagine a moment in our people’s story when we are essentially homeless. It is a time period that ultimately sees one generation go and another come. That image is meant to change the mindset of Egyptian slavery, not to forget the story but to know that the lived experience of our slavery could not build a new society. As we wander throughout this land that is largely uninhabitable, we encounter little bushes with sharp spikes, there’s sand and rock all around us. We are hungry and thirsty; we long for what was because we cannot see a better future. This experience is fragile; we are vulnerable; we are attacked from behind; we battle for our future. The JPS Torah commentary calls the midbar uninhabited and unirrigated pastureland where Moses takes the flocks to pasture. As a shepherd he has some familiarity with this. We know from the citation of Michael Walzer’s words in Mishkan Tefilah that, “wherever we go it is eternally Egypt that there is a better place, a promised land; that the winding way to that promise passes through the wilderness.” Walzer’s enduring lesson to us is multifaceted. Our experience in Egypt is eternal; it lives in us and calls to us from the depths of history. We reach moments that are like a promised land, but we can only get there when we wind our way through a wilderness, a place where we encounter other challenges and obstacles that will help us reflect and grow.

One might argue that metaphorically in this moment in history, the Jewish people are in another wilderness. It is a time when we are constantly attacked from multiple places. The trauma of October 7^th still lives within us. As Israelis are striving to rebuild their lives. Americans Jews are facing antisemitism on campus and on social media. Though the ADL reported the number of antisemitic incidents in 2025 decreased from 2024, the number of violent antisemitic attacks increased. We see this with attacks on synagogues in Jackson, MS, and West Bloomfield, MI. Jewish life across Canada, Europe and Australia is increasingly difficult. Many are asking themselves the question, is it time to leave, and if not today then when? This is a barren wilderness in which we feel threatened, when the likes of the Amalekites or others attack us. And we are being attacked wherever we turn.

Before I continue, I need to offer a warning, what I am about to discuss may be quite graphic and triggering and so I want to preface these words with that warning. I imagine most of us have read or at least heard about Nicholas Kristof’s opinion piece in the NY Times this week entitled, The Silence That Meets the Rape of Palestinians[i]. The piece contains no less than 14 claims about brutal sexual abuse and rape by Israeli prison guards perpetrated against Palestinian prisoners in Israeli prisons. The charge is not that there were just incidents but “Israel employs systemic sexual violence that is widely practiced as part of an organized state policy.” Before continuing, I want to be clear that allegations of rape and sexual abuse need to be taken quite seriously and investigated. We know that there are incidents of sexual abuse, and those incidents must be dealt with, and those perpetrators must be punished. Every prison system in the world has issues of abuse and those issues must be responded to accordingly but to make a claim that Israel’s is systemic takes isolated incidents a step further into the world of blood libel.

Of the claims Kristof makes, twelve of them have no names attached, and no date or time, they occurred. He also publishes the claims of the Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor as fact. This group is long known to be affiliated with Hamas. To justify his claims, he approaches former Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, who was Prime Minister over twenty years ago. Olmert is quoted in the article saying, “Do I believe it happens? Definitely. There are war crimes committed every day in the territories.” The day after the opinion piece was published Olmert said, “Mr. Kristof’s article includes claims of extraordinary gravity, that Israeli authorities have directed the rape of children, that dogs have been used as instruments of sexual assault, that systemic sexual torture is state policy. I did not validate these claims.” 

Olmert references what maybe the most outrageous claim of the opinion piece, that Israel trained dogs to commit sexual abuse and assault. Not only is this scientifically impossible, as Matti Friedman explains in the Call Me Back Podcast with Dan Senor[ii], it is a claim that has been around in the fringes of anti-Israel conspiracists for years but had been ignored by mainstream media because it was ridiculous. What Kristof has done is brought it into the mainstream. Matti Friedman is a well-respected journalist who used to work for the Associated Press, he has published several books. Friedman teaches us about the historical approach to delegitimize Israel. First there was the apartheid claim which got some people upset, then you make the claim that Israel is a genocidal state, something worse than being an apartheid state. Last year claims surfaced about Israeli soldiers intentionally shooting children, and that Israel was intentionally starving Gazans. Friedman explains that you have to keep coming up with more and more charges so that Israel and Israelis can look terrible in the eyes of the world.

I want to offer two more reflections. This piece appeared in the opinion section of the NY Times, not the investigative journalism section. Kristof could publish it appearing as investigative journalism because the opinion section editors would not push for fact checking. Second, this piece appeared in the Times the day before Israel was set to release a well-documented and researched report of Hamas sexual violence on October 7^th that is corroborated with Hamas’ own video evidence published to social media on that day. What we are seeing is a systemic effort to delegitimize Israel in the eyes of the world. The efforts work this way, if something horrific was committed against the Jews, like genocide perpetrated by the Nazis, then the Jews must be guilty of it too. If Hamas committed sexual violence against Israelis, then Israel must be doing it too. This effort makes claims that Israel is among the worst perpetrators of crimes against other humans. It delegitimizes Israel on the world stage which also results in those filled with hate to aggressively attack Jews around the world.

Matti Friedman helps us understand a framework for which we can approach an understanding of this blood libel. Back in 2014 for an article in the Atlantic, he wrote that “Western media has become less an observer of this conflict and more of an actor in it.” They are fueling the fire that is raging all around us. He invites us to think about such a piece in two ways. First, we might ask the question, is the writer trying to make Israel better or is the writer trying to make Israel go away? Kristof is not trying to make Israel better which begs the question is the conversation about it even worth having. For Friedman, if the discussion is about “how to make Israel a better country, a more moral country, a more successful country, a better place to live for Jewish citizens, for Muslim citizens, I’m very much interested in having the discussion, which is, I think, the most important discussion.”

If one needs further evidence of this, on the same day the NY Times published Kristof’s opinion piece, it also published an investigative journalism piece entitled, “How Israel Turned Eurovision’s Stage Into a Soft Power Tool.” The article sites numerous instances in which Primer Minister Netanyahu and the Israeli government advertised and encouraged voting in the contest. Government involvement is forbidden, according to Eurovision’s rules. What the piece fails to mention is that Israel was responding to efforts made by other countries to exclude it from competition. I decided to search the word Eurovision in the NY Times search bar to see how often articles about the contest appear in the newspaper. In 2025 and 2026 there have been 15 articles about Eurovision. Only five do not discuss Israel and the political situation. Two about how to watch, two about the favorites, and the last is about a new Eurovision contest beginning in Asia. Every other piece about Eurovision in the last two years involves some discussion of boycotts, Israeli influence in the voting, or something to do with Israel and the recent war. One cannot help but wonder if there is an agenda behind all this.

As consumers of news, how should we respond. The Midrash might offer several options. Bamidbar Rabbah teaches us that Torah was given in fire, in water, and in the desert[iii]. Why? Because this is how a person should acquire Torah, with a fiery enthusiasm, in a calm manner to understand the Torah correctly, and with the desert, to be humble enough to recognize that we must empty our minds to acquire a deeper understanding. One member of Dan Senor’s team responded in such a way. That person, in preparation for the podcast, messaged Dan saying, “the hard part is that, even if the worst claims in the piece are distorted or false, that doesn’t make the real failures in the Israeli prison system, any less painful.” We know there are real failures in the system, and we, like many Israelis want those who perpetrated abuse or sexual violence to be held accountable. That is the humility we must bring to such a situation, recognizing that there were abuses and harm done. That must be corrected. Second, we must fight such blood libelous claims with a passionate fire with a hope that people actually realize the ludicrous nature of such claims. We must ask that journalism standards return to those that require sourcing and verification. And like water, we must remain calm, not react immediately and use our own internal wisdom to start asking questions.

One other approach may come in the second verse of our parshah in which we read Seu et rosh[iv]. It is usually translated as “Take a census of the whole Israelite community.” More literally, it means “lift up the head.” A Hasidic commentator, named Shaloh explains that the word literally uses the word rosh here which means head. It teaches us the importance of the Jewish people, that each is a head, each is important. Each member of the Jewish community must feel the responsibility for their individual actions, for every action can improve the condition of the world. This, then, must be our focus. There will always be writers like Mr. Kristof who sling blood libel at us. We know our focus is to do mitzvot and bring light into the world. In Theodore Herzl’s book entitled The Jewish State, his concluding words are, “We shall live at last as free [people] on our own soil and die peacefully in our own home. The world will be freed by our liberty, enriched by our wealth, magnified by our greatness. And whatever we attempt there to accomplish for our own welfare will react with beneficent force for the good of humanity.” Herzl’s vision for Israel is not for the sole benefit of the Jewish people. He believes our accomplishments will improve the world, they already have and may they continue to do so in the future,

Living in this wilderness is incredibly challenging. But we remember the wilderness is the place where Torah was given. Let us receive it with a profound openness so it can teach us a measure of discernment to decipher truth from fiction and a calmness to engage in the discussions about how Israel can become a better society for all her inhabitants. Kein yehi ratzon.

---

[i] The Silence That Meets the Rape of Palestinians

[ii] All references to Matti Friedman’s insights are from Call Me Back – with Dan Senor: The Making of the Kristof Column — with Matti Friedman, May 14, 2026

[iii] Bamidbar Rabbah 1:7

[iv] Torah Gems, Volume III Bamidbar, English Edition

May 15, 2026

Ten years ago, on a fall Shabbat evening, a group of men I didn’t recognize walked into services and sat in the back of the sanctuary. Several were wearing purple sweaters. I approached them to introduce myself, as I always try to do when new people come to Shabbat services. They told me they were visiting from Chicago for the weekend. After several minutes of conversation, I learned that they were part of the delegation from Northwestern University that had come to Columbus for the football game the next day between the Buckeyes and the Wildcats. A few were on the coaching staff; not all were Jewish. One of the men in a purple sweater introduced himself as Morton Shapiro, who at the time was the President of Northwestern University. He told me that if I ever needed anything, I could reach out. As they departed that evening, I wished them well and told them to enjoy the World Series, as the Cubs and the Indians were in the middle of an epic seven-game series. Mr. Shapiro turned to me and whispered, “See that guy over there? He is a part owner of the White Sox. We’re not rooting for the Cubs.”

I had not heard much about Morton Shapiro in the years since, though I knew he had stepped down and retired from Northwestern several years ago. He was in the news last week because he had been invited by Georgetown University to receive an honorary doctorate and serve as the commencement speaker for its law school graduation. When he was invited to speak, he encouraged the graduation class to look at much of what he had written for the Jewish Journal, Los Angeles’s Jewish newspaper. In recent years, he has repeatedly expressed support for Israel and Zionist views. Georgetown moved forward with the invitation because, as they stated, “Georgetown is a place that cherishes dialogue and debate.” Just days before the ceremony, students learned he would be speaking and wrote a letter in protest. Shapiro decided to withdraw because he “didn’t want potential protestors to distract from the day’s festivities.”

A week prior, at the University of Michigan’s graduation, Derek Peterson, outgoing chair of the Faculty Senate, spoke at commencement and said in remarks intended as a homage to the Michigan alma mater, “Sing for the pro-Palestinian student activists who have, over these past two years, opened our hearts to the injustice and inhumanity of Israel’s war in Gaza.” These words were not included in the original approved version of the speech and were ad-libbed in the moment. Prior to these remarks, he had praised the university for hiring its first Jewish professor, Moritz Levy, in the 1890s. Peterson justified his comments by tying the two together. Michigan’s president condemned the remarks, stating that graduation ceremonies are not the place for expression of personal political beliefs. Peterson’s words drew the loudest cheers of the speech and caused pain for many Jewish students in attendance. It also cannot be forgotten that some of those same protesters vandalized several buildings around campus, including the home of University Regent Jordan Acker, who is Jewish. Their actions incited fear and heightened the antisemitic atmosphere for Jewish students. His speech was not the time or place for those remarks.

Shapiro’s decision came just days after Peterson’s comments. He decided to publish his prepared remarks in the Jewish Journal anyway. They contained nothing political. Shapiro was replaced by a Georgetown Law faculty member who “has been outspoken in recent years, in particular for defending the right to express antisemitic views.” Shapiro’s speech is worth reading and is the source of the quotations above. His remarks “discussed humility, gratitude, and the need for dialogue in our polarized society.”

Shapiro wanted the graduates to understand that the most important skill they would need had nothing to do with interpreting the law or working as a team, but rather “the humility to realize how much there still is to learn.” His words speak volumes at a time when too many people insist they are right and leave no room to listen to anyone but themselves. People boast of their expertise when they might be better served by opening their hearts to the possibility of learning something that might invite them to reconsider their perspective and lead to growth.

Shapiro reminded the graduates that gratitude goes hand in hand with humility. None of those students reached that milestone without the help of others. He encouraged them to be grateful for all the people who supported them along the way. He invited students to reconnect with those who helped, explaining that they would be overjoyed to learn where the students are now in their lives.

Shapiro spoke about the lost art of dialogue and how a curse of moral certainty has infected many of our minds. A growing sense of disrespect and distrust has plagued so many individuals and communities. He praised Georgetown Law’s deep commitment to free and open inquiry, deliberation, and debate in all matters.

The students never heard these words. They lost a profound opportunity to carry with them essential wisdom for life—wisdom that on one hand seems obvious, but on the other feels so necessary. Shapiro wanted the students to help change the world for the better. Sadly, they are not better off for having missed the chance to hear his remarks. I hope they took the time to read them. As we take the opportunity to read Morton Shapiro’s words, may we recognize the importance of humility, gratitude, and the world’s desperate need for respect and trust.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 8, 2026

Each of us can recall significant moments in our lives. These moments might include becoming a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, graduating, getting married, or the birth of a child or grandchild. Memorable moments may also be more traumatic: experiencing a severe illness, the death of a loved one, or a terrible accident.

In their book The Power of Moments, Chip Heath and Dan Heath explain that a defining moment is a short experience that is both meaningful and memorable. They describe the essential elements that make up these life‑defining moments. They include:

Elevation: Defining moments rise above the everyday and transcend the normal course of events; they are extraordinary.

Insight: Defining moments rewire our understanding of the world.

Pride: Defining moments capture us at our best—moments of achievement and moments of courage.

Connection: Defining moments are social. Weddings, graduations, vacations, work triumphs, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, speeches, and sporting events are strengthened because we share them with others.

Being a sports fan often comes with memorable moments. Whether your favorite team wins a championship or experiences a magical moment in the middle of a mundane season, certain occasions stand out. For fans who are unable to be in the ballpark to witness these moments, the way an announcer describes them often becomes part of the memory itself.

Earlier this week, John Sterling, the longtime voice of the New York Yankees, died at the age of 87. He began broadcasting Yankees games on the radio in 1989 and retired in 2024. At one point, he called 5,058 consecutive games, including the postseason. He broadcast eight World Series and described a Yankees championship‑winning out in five of them with his famous call: “Ball game over! World Series over! Yankees win, thuuuuh Yankees win!” (I know it is a bit sacrilegious to write about the Yankees in Ohio, but I am going to do it anyway.) Sterling called two perfect games—“He’s gonna get it…27 up, 27 down, baseball immortality…”—and who can forget his iconic home‑run calls: “It is high! It is far! It is… gone!” followed by a unique phrase for each player. “Bernie goes boom!” “A thrilla from Godzilla!” “Georgie juiced one.” “The Bam‑Tino.” “All rise! Here comes the Judge!”

As sports fans, we ride the waves of our teams, experiencing moments of thrilling excitement alongside moments of deep heartache. Often, it is the broadcaster who shapes the moment and tells the story in a way that deepens its impact. For me, as a longtime Yankees fan who listened to John Sterling’s deep baritone voice day after day, year after year, those memories stand out vividly. What stands out even more, however, are the memories shared by the people who knew him best. Suzyn Waldman, his longtime broadcast partner, shared that he did everything he ever wanted to do in life and that he was the kindest person you could ever meet. That is how one hopes to be remembered.

Sterling was Jewish, though he worked on the High Holy Days and rarely spoke publicly about religion. He was a devoted fan of Broadway and famously sang Fiddler on the Roof. He also played on a softball team called The Four Corners, referencing the tzitzit on the corners of a tallit.

As I read and reminisced this week about Sterling and the way he accompanied defining moments, I began thinking about the blessing of being a rabbi. This coming week marks the completion of my nineteenth year in the rabbinate. I have had the honor of being present for many of the most meaningful moments in people’s lives. I have stood with families as a loved one took their final breath. I have stood beneath the chuppah as couples began their lives together. I have sung siman tov as people took their first steps as Jews after conversion, and I have walked alongside people as they wandered the shadowed path of grief.

Among my favorite rabbinic moments are the personalized messages I share with young people at B’nai Mitzvah services. I do not know whether people remember every sermon or story, or whether our youth remember those messages, but my hope is that they help elevate the moment with insight, pride, and connection. Over the years, you have invited me, Rabbi Martin, Rabbi Huber, and other rabbis into your lives. We thank you for allowing us to walk through these moments with you.

As Chip Heath and Dan Heath remind us, “Moments matter!” Within the collective canvas of the standout moments of our lives, rabbis have opportunities to provide meaning, comfort, and wisdom. May we have the spiritual fortitude, soulful awareness, and profound wisdom to do so well.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 1, 2026

Each year, I look forward to Beth Tikvah’s Shavuot celebration. For years, we have called it Torahthon because, much like a telethon that goes on for hours on TV, the night of Shavuot is traditionally observed with hours of study lasting into the wee hours of the morning. Our study does not go that long, but we do take time to immerse ourselves in Jewish learning. The traditional name for this evening of study is Tikkun Leil Shavuot. The word tikkun, as we know, indicates healing or repair. Why would a night of learning bring us a sense of healing or repair? Or perhaps, why is a night of learning itself an act of healing or repair?

To answer those questions, we turn to the collective voices of our tradition. Bracha Seri, a Yemenite-Israeli poet, writes:

“With great awe I listen to my ancestors, reading, suckling from healthy roots, soaking in, tinkling through my soul—till the words ferment within—emerging, seeping through my heart, my life source.”

As links in the generations-long chain of Jewish tradition, we stand like trees with firm trunks and leaves stretching wide, providing shade. Flowers turn to fruit, to be picked by those who crave nourishment for a hungry soul. All of this is nourished from below by roots stretching deeper and deeper into the ground, drawing in water from pools lying far beyond our sight, and from above by the sun’s warmth as it converts light into energy.

Why is Torah likened to water, the rabbis once asked?

A midrash teaches that we read Torah on Mondays, Thursdays, and Shabbat because, just as a human being cannot go more than three days without life-sustaining water, so too a human being cannot go more than three days without life-sustaining Torah. While three days without Torah may not be detrimental to our physical health as three days without water would be, it is certainly detrimental to our spiritual health. The study of Torah is an invitation to immerse ourselves in the life-sustaining and guiding values Jewish tradition has to offer. However, it is not solely the words of Torah that guide us, but also the voices of our ancestors who taught and interpreted Torah as a guide for their own lives. Torah provides healing because its words nurture every aspect of our being.

Why is Torah likened to light, the rabbis once asked? The Book of Proverbs, the Jewish Bible’s collection of ancient wisdom, teaches us: “The mitzvah is a lamp, and Torah is light” (Proverbs 6:23). Just as the sun provides light to help a tree grow, so too the Torah provides light, sustaining our own Jewish growth. The rabbis of the midrash (Genesis Rabbah 3:6) teach that God took the light from the first day of creation and hid it away for future generations of the righteous to uncover. It is left to us, in every generation, to immerse ourselves in Torah study so that we may discover that light. Yet we know that we do not take that light in solely for ourselves. We use it to create fruit—mitzvot, our actions—which become a light to all those touched by what helps us grow.

Why is Torah study an act of tikkun? Because it raises up wisdom from generations past, brings us light that guides us on our path, and helps us reflect that light into the darkest places we encounter.

Written by Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 1, 2026

One of the meditations I often read before the Mourner’s Kaddish was written by Hannah Senesh. With her poetic pen, she wrote the following words (translated from Hebrew):

Yesh Kochavim – There Are Stars

There are stars up above, so far away we only see their light long, long after the star itself is gone. And so it is with people we have loved—their memories keep shining ever brightly, though their time with us is done. But the stars that light up the darkest night, these are the lights that guide us. As we live our lives, these are the ways we remember.

In the past week, the Jewish world lost two incredible individuals who made an impact far beyond the Jewish community. Last Friday, Matan Koch breathed his last breath after a recent diagnosis of advanced stomach cancer. He was 44. I had known Matan since the late 1990s, when we worked at Eisner Camp together. Matan was one of five children. His sister, Rabbi Shira Koch Epstein, was a classmate of mine in rabbinical school.

Matan was truly an incredible human being. He was born with cerebral palsy and, as a paraplegic, spent his life in a wheelchair. He was brilliant, attending Yale at 16 and then going on to Harvard Law School. When I first knew Matan, he tutored Hebrew for kids at his beloved Eisner Camp who were preparing to become b’nai mitzvah. He did so with a kind heart and a joyful sense of humor. Years later, he became a fierce advocate for disability rights and a spokesperson for inclusion. He spoke at Congregation Beth Tikvah in April of 2017, where he gave a brilliant sermon on these themes.

After the weekend, he asked me for a quote. I said, “Through personal reflections, wisdom from our tradition, and a vision of wholeness, Matan reflects on the potential of what a community can accomplish when inclusion is a priority. Matan speaks with passion and facilitates meaningful conversation, which can help a community implement its vision.” Matan Koch brought an incredible light to the world, and all of us who were touched by his life will miss him greatly. If you would like to read more about his legacy, I encourage you to read the obituary published about him earlier this week by JTA. May Matan’s memory be an enduring blessing, and may we continue to work toward radical inclusion to ensure that no one is forgotten.

On Monday, Dr. Edith Eger, a Holocaust survivor from Hungary who survived Auschwitz, immigrated to the United States, was mentored by Viktor Frankl, and became a psychologist in her fifties, was taken from us. She was 98. In her memoir The Choice, Eger shares her harrowing story of survival. Perhaps just as miraculous, she shares her story of resilience. Intending to move to Israel after the war, she and her husband placed all their belongings on a boat, only to change plans at the last minute. She came to the United States, settling in Baltimore. I read her memoir earlier this year. The wisdom she shares with the world was molded by her ability to grapple with the struggles of her past. Guided by the lessons she learned from Frankl, she recalled her mother’s words to her on the train to Auschwitz: “Just remember, no one can take away from you what you put in your mind. We can’t choose to vanish the dark, but we can choose to kindle the light.”

This wisdom molded Eger’s approach to her psychology practice. She created her own unique approach to therapy, calling it CHOICE Therapy: Compassion, Humor, Optimism, Intuition, Curiosity, and Self-Expression. She explains her therapy by teaching that if we are stuck in the past, where we might say, “If only I did this” or “if only I did that,” then we live in a prison we create for ourselves. She explains that we all have freedom of choice, and we can exercise it in the present.

Eger was captivated by the experience of the Passover seder that tells the story of the liberation of the ancient Israelites from Egypt. In her life’s work, she developed her own version of the Four Questions:

1. What do you want? Eger explains that this question, while simple, gives us permission to listen to ourselves and our true desires and not give in to what someone else wants from us.
2. Who wants it? This question empowers us to listen to ourselves rather than live up to another’s expectations of us. Eger writes that we might need to give up our need to please others or our need for others’ approval.
3. What are you going to do about it? While positive thinking is important, change comes about through positive action. Eger explains that when we practice something, we become better at it. This includes fear and anger. If we want to change, we must notice what isn’t working and act intentionally to make change. We must empower ourselves to do it.
4. When? To quote the great Rabbi Hillel, “If not now, when?” There is no better time than the present to make change. Eger writes that we need to start now.

May Dr. Edith Eger’s memory be for a blessing.

While the loss of these two individuals is profound, their memories continue to shine ever brightly because of the wisdom they taught the world. As we internalize some of these lessons, we keep their memories alive.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

April 24, 2026

Our involvement in and engagement with organizations have the potential to shape us, and when we become leaders in those organizations, we have the potential to shape them. For young people, organizational participation is sometimes part of the college résumé-building process, but more importantly, such involvement provides community and profound meaning. For young Reform Jewish high school students, their involvement in Jewish teen organizations is certainly meaningful, with the potential to form their identities.

Last week, we learned that our very own Cade Crane was named President of NFTY, the North American Federation of Temple Youth. Our kids know Cade as our song leader and K–2 music teacher in religious school. Our families know Cade because he has joined us to lead songs for our family Shabbat service celebrations. We are so proud of his involvement this past year as NFTY Ohio Valley regional president and look forward to his leadership on a national level.

While I cannot speak to how NFTY has shaped Cade’s life—that is for Cade to share—I can say that he has traveled across the country attending NFTY events. In a leadership capacity, he helps guide and lead programming for many Reform Jewish teens. Personally, I am not sure I would be sitting here as your rabbi without NFTY shaping my life. From my days in what was then called LIFTY (Long Island Federation of Temple Youth), I remember engaging in thoughtful conversations about Jewish values and Tikkun Olam. NFTY prayer services introduced me to creative worship, as we combined traditional liturgy with contemporary melodies, poetry, and readings. The moments I experienced during kallot and NFTY conventions remain vivid memories in my mind. Leadership opportunities during my youth gave me the confidence to know that I had a voice. NFTY certainly shaped me.

I am so proud that Cade will now have the opportunity to shape it. While NFTY looks different than it did in the mid-90s, it still provides an important outlet for Reform Jewish teens to create community. As NFTY President, Cade will have the opportunity to be a voice representing North America’s Reform Jewish youth. I know that, as a teen, I thought the national board members were really cool and was in awe of their leadership. Jewish life continues to be in a pivotal moment. We know the challenges facing the Jewish community writ large, and in many ways, those challenges affect teens even more acutely. Our teens have questions about what it means to be Jewish in a world where so many have turned their backs on Jews and Israel. Teens strive to navigate a world where Jewish values can sometimes conflict, and they wonder which direction to choose. In the coming year, when the Reform Jewish world needs a voice representing Jewish youth, they will turn to Cade to be that voice.

Cade became Bar Mitzvah in December 2020, a time when we were celebrating these significant life cycle moments on Zoom. He has been involved in GUCI, our Reform movement’s regional summer camp, as a camper, counselor, and song leader. Cade has been through our confirmation program, has taught in our religious school, and has been a leader locally in Student to Student, a Jewish organization that goes to public schools to teach about Jewish life. He is also highly involved in his local community in Marysville. Cade now has the opportunity to bring all that he has learned to his new national leadership role as he helps shape the future of this organization. There are significant questions facing Jewish youth at this moment, and we are proud that Cade will be at the forefront of these conversations.

Congregation Beth Tikvah is a thriving congregation in the Midwest. As we sit down to celebrate Shabbat this evening, let us take a moment to think about Cade Crane, NFTY’s next President; Marci Delson, whom we just honored as WRJ Heartland District Co-President; Andy Shafran, who serves on the Executive Board of the Union for Reform Judaism; and, I humbly include myself, as I serve as President-Elect of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. All of our lives have been shaped by these organizations, and we now have the blessing of shaping them.

Cade, I share with you the words Moses shared with Joshua when he passed on his leadership: “חזק ואמץ, hazak v’ematz—be strong and of good courage!”

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

Rabbi Rick Jacobs, URJ President, and Cade Crane at the October 2024 NFTY Collab.

April 17, 2026

We are in the midst of a ten-day period of modern Jewish holidays that began Monday evening with Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. Rabbi Donniel Hartman and Yossi Klein Halevi labeled these days, in this week’s For Heaven’s Sake podcast, as Israel’s “10 Days of Awe.” The days continue from Yom HaShoah to Yom HaZikaron, the day to remember Israel’s fallen soldiers, and conclude on Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day. We associate the 10 Days of Awe with the traditional liturgical time on the Jewish calendar between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Tying these modern holidays to the traditional 10 Days of Awe elevates their meaning, as these days invite us to dive into our past and recognize the thread that connects the Jewish people across the present moment and throughout history.

In the podcast, Rabbi Hartman refers to the holidays as a “speed bump to stop you from your regular flow of life. A holiday descends on you and demands something of you. It demands that you think about something. It demands that you remember. It demands that you concentrate on a certain value or idea. That’s the way all holidays work.” It’s a remarkable metaphor because speed bumps are meant to slow us down. In my neighborhood, they were installed because people drove too fast, putting young children in danger. To call the holidays speed bumps shows us that we need to slow down and pause. In Israel, on Yom HaShoah, sirens blare and everything stops for two minutes. On Yom Ha’atzmaut, the nation stops—and the celebration begins. The debates pause for a day, and we simply celebrate Israel’s existence.

Yossi Klein Halevi adds another layer to the conversation when he explains that Yom HaShoah is the consequence of Jewish powerlessness. Yom HaZikaron is the consequence of Jewish power, as we mourn the lives of those who fought to create and preserve independence. Finally, Yom Ha’atzmaut is the day we “suspend our grief, agony, and debate” and simply celebrate that we exist.

I appreciate the need to pause the debate so we can celebrate our existence. God knows (literally) that we, as a Jewish people, spend much of our time debating and discussing who we are and where we are going. We spend days doing that. For one day, we need to celebrate. If these are days that call on us to remember and concentrate on a certain value or idea, then let us do just that. Can we remember where we came from? Can we remember the stories of those who helped build the State of Israel?

When I read The Genius of Israel by Dan Senor and Saul Singer last year, I was drawn to a story about a man named Tzvika Fayirizen (pp. 108–111), who retired in 2020 after 35 years of service in the IDF. His final position was commanding the IDF Education Corps. Fayirizen wondered why the IDF had an education corps when no other Western country did. He asked what motivates a young person to respond to their enlistment letter by saying, “I want to be a combat soldier,” and to take an oath to die for a cause greater than themselves.

He offers three answers. First, the willingness to die for one’s brothers and sisters in arms. He acknowledges, however, that a young person has not yet gone through training, so there must be something more. His second answer is what he calls the heritage of battle—stories shared by previous generations of soldiers, passed down as a sense of responsibility.

For me, though, the third answer is the most compelling. Fayirizen shares that when he turned 18, his grandfather took him on a walk and told him a story no one in the family had ever heard before. His grandfather had served in the Polish army, was captured by the Germans, and lined up in front of a pit to be executed. Instead, he threw himself into the pit, waited until everyone had died, and then escaped into the forest. He went on to serve with the partisans during the Holocaust.

Then Fayirizen’s grandfather said, “During those six years, I had many dreams. I dreamed of food. I dreamed of my wife and son” (no one had known he had a wife and son before coming to Israel). “I had many dreams, but I could not dream of one thing. A person can only dream of something they can imagine, and I never imagined that I would walk unbowed as a Jew in the State of Israel—and that this country would be mine.”

Then he shared words that struck me deeply: “Do me a favor. Make sure that it does not fall apart.” As we celebrate Israel’s 78th birthday, we think about all the people who have done the sacred work of keeping Israel alive. It is a place that allows Judaism and Jewish culture to thrive. It is a place at the heart of the Jewish people, even if we do not all live there. As Fayirizen says, it is a home we are meant to nurture and protect.

If that is a story to remember, then perhaps the idea we should reflect on is found in the closing words of Theodor Herzl’s The Jewish State, published in 1896. He writes, “The Jews who wish for a State will have it… We shall live at last as free men on our own soil and die peacefully in our own homes.” Herzl envisioned a state that would benefit both the Jewish people and humanity. Yom Ha’atzmaut is a time to celebrate what Israel has contributed—not only to the Jewish people, but to the world—through advances in science, literature, technology, community, and more.

The debates and the grief can be suspended for the day. These are days to remember—and to celebrate.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

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

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:

Written by Rabbi Rick Kellner

April 3, 2026

The power of the Jewish people lies in our ability to tell stories. The stories shared throughout the generations have brought us insight and wisdom. They have told of our hardships and our resilience. In the times of Torah, we learned of the flawed nature of the individuals we read about each week. The Talmud and the Midrash added stories of practical wisdom to our canon. Later, the Hasidic masters brought a deeper sense of spirituality as they sat on Shabbat afternoons and shared their soulfulness with all who gathered around their rebbes’ tables.

For the last two nights, we have gathered around our tables to tell the quintessential Jewish story. Our Exodus from Egypt reminds us of the tremendous hardships we faced, the signs God sent to reveal divine power, the experience of being seen as other, the joy we felt in our freedom, and the responsibility we accepted when God revealed Torah to us. In many ways, this story spirals throughout history, as its themes reemerge again and again, offering us lessons through the echoes of time. As a Jewish people, we are reminded of how we stand up to Pharaoh in every generation. The story reminds us of the moment we became a people and realized our responsibility toward one another, as our journey through the wilderness required us to care for every tribe and every member of the community. Through all of this, we learned who we are—a people who recognize that kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh, all Israel is responsible for one another, and that the cry “Let my people go” is both a particular and universal call to freedom.

I have been thinking about these themes recently as I consider how our Beth Tikvah story fits within the larger framework of our people’s story. Just a few weeks ago, our membership inched past the 500-household mark. It is a number we have not surpassed since the late aughts, and it is something to celebrate. Since I arrived at Beth Tikvah, I have striven to serve our members to the best of my ability, trusting that the rest would fall into place. I have learned along the way not to focus on membership totals, as they are not something I can control. As a clergy and staff team, in partnership with the Board of Trustees, we work hard to create meaningful experiences for our members—experiences where you can find Jewish joy, be touched by Torah, and use its lessons to impact the world around us.

Our Beth Tikvah story is one that embraces Jewish life in all that it offers. Throughout our nearly 65 years, Jewish life in Northwest Columbus has been centered at Beth Tikvah. Living on this side of the city offers incredible opportunities to create meaningful moments of blessing—through learning, connecting to the Jewish people, engaging with Israel, and working to heal the brokenness that exists around us. We are a people-centered organization that strives to bring Torah into the world around us. We have faced hardships and challenges along the way, but Torah has always helped us bring light into the darkest spaces we encounter.

All of us share this sacred journey together. We are a caring community that celebrates the gifts of every soul. As we concluded the reading of the Book of Exodus a couple of weeks ago, we once again read how the Israelites were incredibly generous with the gifts they brought to build the Tabernacle. I am grateful to each one of you, our members. You bring the unique gifts of your souls, and through those gifts, you help make Congregation Beth Tikvah the sacred community we aspire to be. As we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, may we continue to write this sacred story together.

Shabbat Shalom and Mo’adim L’simcha,

Rabbi Rick Kellner