May 4, 2025

How does one begin to reflect on eighteen years as a rabbi? For years, I was asked why I chose to become a rabbi? I became quite proficient at sharing the story about my rabbi, Phil Berger, of blessed memory invited me to meet with him before my junior year of high school. I had spent time that summer in Israel and several weeks at Kutz Camp, the NFTY Teen Leadership Academy. It wasn’t until 10 months later at the service honoring our synagogue’s seniors when he talked about the importance of being Jewish leaders, when I decided I wanted to be a rabbi. Fast forward 30 years from that summer and I look back on this first part of my rabbinic journey filled with abundant joy and blessings.

It has been the greatest honor to serve in two wonderful congregations, of course here at Beth Tikvah and at Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles. A day does not pass when I do not count my blessings for how lucky I have been over these years. I am filled with such gratitude for our staff, temple presidents, lay leaders, and congregants who make this community great. Each of you fill the work I do and my days with such holiness.

In thinking about these last eighteen years, I want to reflect on a few lessons I have learned along the way. As rabbis we spend so much of our work thinking about how we can bring meaning to people’s lives. We do this through education, prayer, meaningful programs. Over the years, I have created or co-created many different programs, and many have been great. Those programs are important as they are the steppingstones on which we walk from significant moment to significant moment. Being a rabbi is about helping to create meaning in those big moments; perhaps most importantly when people are vulnerable. The most sacred moments are those that I share with families at a B’nai Mitzvah celebration, a wedding, accompanying them through darkness of grief or when they are in need of healing. The programs are important but being present in these significant moments may be most important and sacred.

Judaism offers us a plethora of answers to a multitude of questions. Our tradition is a treasure trove of wisdom waiting for us to explore more of it. As a rabbi one of the most important things I can do is be a transmitter of our tradition. I recall first moving to Los Angeles in the days before GPS devices were a thing. We were still using Map Quest for most directions. When I arrived in LA, someone gifted me the famous Thomas Guide which was several hundred pages and contained a map of every street and neighborhood in Los Angeles County. You first looked up the street in the index of where you were going and then found it on the right page of the map. (Thank God for the GPS!) Part of being a rabbi is understanding where people are and when there is a question about Jewish life or wisdom, it is our responsibility to help connect them with answers. Years ago, I read a teaching from the Tzvat HaRivash which taught that if we have studied Torah during the day, it might bring us meaning as the lessons we learn might apply to our lives. As a rabbi, there are times when I need to be like the Thomas Guide or GPS helping to support us all on our journeys.

Lastly, the days following October 7th have taught me that Jewish Peoplehood and connecting to the core parts of our Jewish story enrich our lives and connect us to community. We are the sum of the stories we tell about ourselves. Each time we gather to celebrate Shabbat or a holiday, each time we gather to learn Torah, and each time come together as a community, we add to the stories. We are bound together by these stories which in some ways reminds us of the menorah that stood in the ancient Temple. The Torah tells us we are to light the lights regularly, tending to them until they light on their own. There is a fire that burns within each of our souls and every time we gather in community we tend to the flame of Jewish life.

I am so grateful to have served at Congregation Beth Tikvah for these past fourteen years and as a rabbi for the past eighteen. I am truly grateful to Debra, Zoe, and Shira who have shared this journey with me and been supportive every step of the way. Thank you all for being part of our extended family.

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 2, 2025

Shabbat Shalom! As fires continue to rage around Route 1, the central highway connecting Tel Aviv and Jerusalem that cancelled the annual Yom Haaztmaut Torch ceremony along with other events, we know that there is much turmoil within the hearts and souls of Israelis. Other turmoil reminds us that there are just three days left to vote in the World Zionist Congress elections (if you count today.) I am grateful to our Beth Tikvah team, led by Hannah Karr, Rob Rosenberg, Liz Shafran, and Joanne Strasser, who have worked to get our Beth Tikvah voters. The significance of this election is only further underscored by events that took place earlier this week outside the Reform Synagogue in Ra’anana. It was Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day for fallen soldiers and terror victims. At Kehilat Ra’anan people had gathered for a screening of an Israeli-Palestinian joint memorial service when a violent mob of Israeli far right extremists disrupted the event. People were forced to exit the synagogue under police protection. Rocks were thrown at attendees, and several were injured. Men yelled at women who were gathered there saying, “Because of you, soldiers, die,” and “Too bad Hamas didn’t take you”. Protesters also screamed horrible words including “whore” and “Nazi.” There are videos of the awful things said by the rioters and other videos of a group of men chasing after a woman who had left the synagogue.

Kehilat Ra’anan has been vandalized before in 2010, 2014, and 2016 with slogans that ridiculed the Reform movement. In response, Rabbi Chen Ben-Or Tsfoni, the rabbi of the synagogue shared the following words, “It is natural, after such a night, to feel anger or even hatred. But we must resist. We must not let hatred claim our hearts. If we give in to that darkness, our Judaism – built on compassion – will be defeated…we must walk forward together, toward life, toward light.”

This synagogue is personal to Morissa Freiberg, our Director of Lifelong Learning and Education. When she traveled to Israel in January of 2017 on an educator’s trip with JewishColumbus, she attended Shabbat Morning services there. Experiencing Reform Judaism in action, Morissa was offered an Aliyah during the service which she has shared was profoundly meaningful.

Morissa’s story reminds us of our personal connections to events and places, even as they occur around the world. As I reflect on these moments, I am struck by how a day that is meant to be unifying and honor the memories of those who have fallen can turn to further deepen divisions that exist within Israeli society. This tragic moment underscores the importance of the World Zionist Congress Elections as we strive to turn out the vote to support Reform Jewish causes in Israel. As I have shared over the past two months, this vote will help allocate $5 billion in resources over the next five years. It is critical that you vote!

Next Shabbat when we read from the book of Leviticus, we will read the famous words, “V’ahavta l’rei-acha kamocha…love your neighbor as yourself.” A friend recently shared with me the image of a bus in Israel in which the window reads, “V’ahavta l’rei-acha kamocha…gam im lo kamocha…love your neighbor as yourself, even if he is not like you.” 

What fitting words for a moment such as this! These words reflect the essence and the values that Reform Judaism brings to the world. One would think they would also be values inherent to all ways of practicing Judaism. Clearly the religious right has different ideas. Rabbi Tsfoni’s words can be our guiding light as we move forward. Hatred will only darken the pathway before us, whereas filling out hearts with kindness, compassion, and light, will only make us stronger. If you have not voted, the time is now. Please do not delay any longer. Go to www.zionistelection.org and VOTE REFORM today!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

April 25, 2025

Throughout the Pesach holiday, as I ate matzah day after day, the bread of affliction reminded me of our people’s journey through the wilderness. The obligation to tell the Passover story brings with it the idea of working towards freedom. I recently learned from Yossi Klein Halevi in the Passover episode of the For Heaven’s Sake podcast, that one of the reasons why Pesach has resonated with so many different people and cultures around the world is because it is a promise of renewal and the breaking out of “the seemingly immutable.” Halevi explains that our Pesach story is the first instance where people born into a condition of slavery suddenly emerge into freedom. As part of this powerful conversation, Rabbi Donniel Hartman added that our story has universal resonance because the power of the Jewish people lies in the fact that this story empowers us to see ways in which we relate to the “other.”

When I was at the annual convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis several weeks ago, one of the major programs focused on the importance of respectful dialogue. We were asked to think about stories or moments in our lives that shaped our morals or our political opinions. I still recall as a high school student watching a movie in one of my Spanish classes in which the young teenagers in the film are filled with excitement as they plan the quinceañera of one of the girls. The film takes place in Los Angeles, and I recall the scene where someone yelled out la migra, la migra and the immigration police come to round up the people who were undocumented. This was an older film, likely filmed in the 1980s, but the fear in the young people and their families pierced my veins. As a Spanish major in college, I shared many classes with native Spanish speakers, who brought their personal stories to our classes. Never once did anyone ever ask or assume anything about their immigration status, they were our classmates.

Reflecting on these experiences—the emotions stirred by the film, the real-life connections I formed in college, and the enduring message of the Passover story and the Torah’s call to “Love the stranger, for we were strangers in the land of Egypt”—I’ve come to recognize a deep moral obligation to care for those who are different from me.

During Passover, I studied my daily pages of Talmud. The cycle has brought us to tractate Makkot, which focuses on legal proceedings in cases of manslaughter. Jewish law teaches us that in such cases, we are to send people to what we call “Cities of Refuge”. The Torah tells us in the book of Numbers that Moses was to establish these cities so that the one accused of murder or convicted of man slaughter can go there for their own protection from revenge. Essentially these cities are a prison. In the Talmud (Makkot 10a) we learn that every necessity must be taken care of for the person imprisoned there. Their basic needs, including food, clothing, and shelter must be provided for. Makkot 10a also teaches that we must attend to their spiritual needs as well, by explaining that if a Torah scholar was exiled there, his teacher relocates so he can continue to learn. The laws mentioned here are intended to ensure the dignity of the prison and the prisoner.

I was reading these words as news was spreading about the imprisonment of wrongly deported man Abrego Garcia and the horrid conditions of the CECOT Prison in which he was originally held. News reports have shown the inhuman conditions of such prisons in El Salvador. Lights are kept on 24 hours a day; prisoners are able to leave their cells for only 30 minutes. The overcrowding is excessive and there is limited access to toilets and other hygiene. 368 deaths have been documented after torture, physical beating, denial of food, water, clothing, and health care. The conditions are incongruent with what our Jewish teachings say about how we are to treat people, even if they are imprisoned. While the men imprisoned there are gang members and perhaps did terrible things, we ask, is it morally just to treat them in inhuman ways? We also wonder what it will take for this wrongly deported man to return to his family.

As we have helped support a new immigrant over the past month, I am growing deeply concerned over the terrible fears facing the immigrant communities. There is increasing fear among the documented as well as the undocumented. Some of us may have family members or friends feeling such fear. While we may feel powerless to change what is happening, if you know someone who is an immigrant, a green card holder, or perhaps someone who is undocumented, perhaps you might want to reach out and tell them you are thinking of them. That personal outreach will go a long way to show concern and support.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

April 24, 2025

(Shmini 5782)

I want to begin with a story that is both shocking, unbelievable—and completely unsurprising. Let’s sit with that paradox for a moment.

On Tuesday, after some back-and-forth wondering about my sermon topic for the week, I walked into the Dublin Trader Joe’s to pick up a few items. As many of you know, when you enter Trader Joe’s and turn immediately to the right, you’ll find the refrigerated foods section, with the first refrigerator filled with all sorts of cheeses. As I turned the corner, I overheard a woman speaking with a store employee about kosher cheese. I wasn’t quite sure of the nature of their conversation, but it sounded like she had some questions.

I chimed in, “I happen to be a rabbi—let me know if I can help.”

The woman responded, “Well, I’m explaining to him that some hechshers aren’t really kosher and that Trader Joe’s shouldn’t place an additional blue kosher label on their store signage.”

I replied, “Oh, of course, that’s true. There are different kosher certifying organizations with various standards, and not all Jews follow every single one.”

She continued, “I spend time in the frum community, and we don’t follow this kosher symbol, only this one. That one is for Conservative Jews—I only follow the Chabad list.”

(For context: Frum is a Yiddish word meaning religious or pious.)

I asked where she went to synagogue, and she told me Ahavas Sholom. I then told her I was the rabbi at Beth Tikvah, to which she replied, “Oh, well that explains everything.”

Dumbstruck, I said, “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

She went on the defensive, saying she didn’t mean it that way and that she understood I had a more lenient or liberal approach to kashrut. But what I was hearing was, “You’re a Reform rabbi. You have no authority here.”

She then tried to re-explain her concern about the signage and asked, “If you’re a rabbi, where’s your kippah?”

I responded, “I completely understand the rules of kashrut—I’ve been a rabbi for 15 years.”

She said, “Well, I’ll have to ask my cousin Yaakov about that.”

The conversation shifted to the Jewish community in general. She said, “When people ask me—those who are moving to Columbus—where the Jewish community lives, I don’t tell them Dublin. I tell them Bexley, because they want to be with other frum Jews, and there is no Jewish community up here.”

I replied, “There is a wonderful Jewish community up here, and I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

As I walked away, three thoughts crossed my mind:

1. What do I do now—I need to put the non-hechshered chicken from the next refrigerator into my cart?
2. Why did I open my mouth?
3. Abraham Joshua Heschel was right: “Jews need to spend more time worrying about what comes out of their mouths rather than what goes into them.”

I finished my shopping, and the store employee ran after me as I walked to my car to tell me he thought I had handled the conversation well. He and I had a lovely discussion about the laws of kashrut, and I apologized for exposing him to the uglier side of Jewish community discourse.

Now for the coincidences—there are two.

The first: as I drove home, I thought, “Aha, I have my sermon!” How amazing that this week’s Torah portion is about the laws of kashrut. Chapter 11 of Leviticus, which we read in Parshat Shmini, is entirely dedicated to what may and may not be eaten. The chapter lists land animals, sea animals, birds, bugs, and more. There’s no reason given for any of the restrictions—just God’s declaration: “I am God.” Later laws of kashrut appear in rabbinic texts.

Commenting on this parsha, Diane M. Sharon writes in The Women’s Torah Commentary that Mary Douglas, in her essay “Self Evidence,” argues that biblical food prohibitions reflect wider historical and sociological realities. Douglas claims that the Israelites cherished boundaries, wanting to keep them strong and high. Any attempt to cross those boundaries was seen as a hostile intrusion.

And here lies the entire complexity of my Trader Joe’s encounter: it wasn’t about what is or isn’t kosher—it was about boundaries. What began as a discussion about what food one could bring into the house became a conversation about who is in and who is out of the Jewish community. It culminated in her questioning the legitimacy of my rabbinate because I wasn’t wearing a kippah.

(And in case you’re still curious—her issue with cheese was that some contain animal rennet, which is derived from the stomachs of young animals. Some rabbis allow cheeses made with microbial rennet instead, which is vegetarian. That was the source of her complaint. But I digress.)

The issue here is boundaries. In his book Boundaries of Judaism, Rabbi Donniel Hartman addresses the challenge of defining “Who are the Jews?” He notes that in times of crisis, we exhibit collective responsibility. But when it comes to religion, we fracture. Judaism, he writes, does not unite—it divides. This was on full display at Trader Joe’s.

Hartman reflects on a personal experience where he, as an Orthodox-trained rabbi, was invited to lead a retreat—on the condition that all prayer services include a mechitzah. Not kashrut, not Shabbat observance—just a gender divider. That condition alone was enough to create division and prevent community.

These boundary debates aren’t new. They go back to the Talmud and beyond. This week’s Torah portion literally lays out what is in and what is out—what makes one pure or impure. So how do we build a more accepting, united Jewish community?

Now, the second coincidence.

As many of you know, I’ve been studying a page of Talmud each day. The day before my Trader Joe’s experience, we studied tractate Yevamot, page 14a, where we learn that although the schools of Hillel and Shammai differed in their laws of marriage, they still intermarried. Even amidst deep disagreements, they stayed connected.

On the following page, Rabbi Elazar bar Tzaddok brings olives to his teacher, Rabbi Yohanan the Horani. Rabbi Yohanan says, “I don’t eat olives,” even though his real concern was about impurity. He didn’t want to offend. His choice? Peaceful coexistence.

Scholar Sharon Weiss-Greenberg writes that today’s daf teaches us how to handle difficult social moments rooted in different religious practices. You may disagree with someone—you may believe their food isn’t kosher, their Shabbat isn’t proper, their Jewish identity isn’t valid—but for the sake of community, harmony must triumph.

Here lies the lesson: We must withhold judgment of our fellow Jews. Humility and deep listening bring peace. When we make room for another soul—their beliefs, their practices—we strengthen our community. May we all strive to live mipnei darchei shalom—for the sake of peace.

Kein yehi ratzon—may it be so.

April 18, 2025

When we sing Chad Gadya, The Only Goat, at Debra’s family Seder, it is our tradition to take on the parts of the different animals and symbols of the song and do something that represents that symbol. Every year, we call Debra’s closest friend from college, who now lives in California, and we get a toilet flush for the water sound. For several years, I have taken on the role of the fire, where I shuffle my Spotify playlist called “Fire Seder Songs” which includes the word “fire” in the lyrics of each song. The playlist includes songs like Alicia Keyes, This Girl is on Fire, Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark, Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire, Adele’s Set Fire to the Rain, and more (I am happy to take recommendations to add!). As we do every year, we sang Chad Gadya and concluded our seder. Upon waking up the next morning, that moment of fun and celebration turned to sadness as I learned of the fire set by an arsonist to the Pennsylvania Governor’s mansion in the room where Gov. Josh Shapiro celebrated his family’s seder.

Whether we consider this act an act of terror, political violence, antisemitism, or all three, I cannot help but be drawn to the image below in which there are several words from the burned family Haggadah that managed to survive. On the right-hand page, is the transliteration of Hatikvah, our people’s national anthem. The specific words that jump out are Od lo avda tikvateinu which translates to “our hope is not yet lost.” If there is any sentiment or value that truly embodies the Jewish people, it is hope, in Hebrew Tikvah; a word we know all too well in our congregation. Yehuda Amichai once wrote that we are a people infected with hope and thank God for that. Hope is what keeps us alive in challenging times. Having lived through countless instances of turmoil and hate, hope has enabled us to survive. It has been the source of our vision for the future as we have imagined and reimagined our Jewish faith. It has been a kav, that we have tied to the future and forged a plan to take us forward. It has been a mikveh, a pool that has sustained us and given us life when we feel everything is lost. Our hope is not yet lost and as long as a Jewish person walks on earth, hope will sustain us.

The other line emerges from the left-hand side of the page, where it says the Little Goat. A reference to Chad Gadya. As I mentioned earlier, it is a fun song, and some say it was included in the Seder as a way to keep young people engaged. However, according to Rabbi Dr. Raphel Zarum, Dean of the London School of Jewish Studies, who wrote in a 2019 article for The Jewish Chronicle, this melody and every animal or object in it symbolizes something larger. The goat represents the Jewish people facing oppression. The cat, an ancient symbol of Egypt; the dog, the Assyrian and Babylonian empires that employed dogs to hunt; the stick is the Persian empire, and so on. Every symbol reflects some entity that tried to overtake us. At the end of the song, God appears and saves us. The song is a metaphorical version of the poem V’hi sheamda in every generation they rise up to kill us but, in every generation, God saves us from their hand.

The question we ask is how does God save us? It is through the telling of stories. God commands us to tell the story of Passover, and with that telling comes the command to remember. We remember our journey out of Egypt; we remember the journey after the destruction of the temple, after the expulsion from Spain; we remember the pogroms; the Holocaust. In every generation we remember the moments of blessing that emerged from the darkness. Those moments are part of the story. Gov. Shapiro said, “Northing the assailant could do would deter me from my job as governor, nothing he could do would deter me from proudly and openly practicing my faith.” It is that resolve that lives within us. Through all the turmoil, we have strengthened our souls. I am always reminded in these moments of the words of Israeli graffiti artist the Yiddish Feminist who said, “Our wounds are centuries old, but so are our strength and resilience.” May these words ring in our hearts and souls and give us the resolve to move forward in times of darkness.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

April 11, 2025

Upon their release from captivity, Liri Albag and Agam Berger shared the stories of how they kept their faith through captivity. Berger shared that it was particularly challenging to keep Passover because there was no access to Matzah. Berger insisted that they bring her cornmeal and dates. Berger and Albag, who were held for the majority of the time by Gazan civilians, drew a Haggadah. Liri made decorations for the table. Berger reflected that she took on Psalm 119:30 as her motto, “I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I set your rules before me.” For Berger, the prayerbooks and texts she convinced her captors to bring to her, along with her study of Torah, and refusal to light fire on shabbat were a way of defiance. Like so many times before in our history, Berger’s faith kept her alive. To have the ability to choose faith is a way of expressing power in a time of powerlessness. Berger was surprised that they respected her desire to keep her faith.

For eighteen months, there have been hostages held by Hamas in Gaza. We know that about two dozen are still living, and we are longing for them to come home. As the seder concludes this year, as it does every year, we will sing “L’shana haba-ah biYerushalayim. Next year in Jerusalem.”  The hostages who were held captive know what it is like to long to return home. On the seder night when we break the bread of affliction, we know that our people are deeply broken. Without these 59 hostages, it is as if we have lost a limb. We long for them to return home and we say to the tyrants holding them hostage the same words Moses said to Pharaoh, Let my people go! It is incumbent upon all those who have power to do what they can to bring our people home.

It is hard to believe that I was in Jerusalem just over 10 months ago with fellow Beth Tikvah members. The need to feel connected to our people is strong. We are drawn closer to the pain and the trauma they live each day. Jeffrey Goldberg in The New American Haggadah, writes that the phrase Next Year in Jerusalem, is actually a repudiation of the Wicked Son who separated himself from his people. The idea that we long for Jerusalem is to say, we will not abandon our people. He notes that in Israel, they long for Next year in a rebuilt Jerusalem. They understand that in every generation there is profound brokenness, and with this expression, we hope to heal the wounds. For us, Next Year in Jerusalem certainly means that the hostages will be home, and we will once again have days of peace.

There is more, however. Next Year in Jerusalem will mean that I will hold Israel in my heart as I go to www.zionistelection.org and cast my vote for the Reform Slate. With that vote, I work to heal the brokenness by voting to ensure that the Israeli government allocates enough resources for Reform Judaism, egalitarian efforts, and LGBTQ+ people in Israel. If you have not yet voted, please vote today!

Next year in Jerusalem could also be literal. If you have yet to sign up for the Columbus Jewish Community mission for this October, there is still space available. Next year, in the Jewish calendar, you could physically be in Jerusalem with the Columbus Jewish community. If you are interested in traveling to Israel, this will be an incredible opportunity to bear witness to the atrocities of October 7th, volunteer, experience Shabbat in Jerusalem, and more. Please feel free to reach out to me, or I can put you in touch with Andy and Liz Shafran who are serving on the host committee. The information about the trip is below.

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom and a Chag kasher v’sameach,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

April 4, 2025

I have always been struck by Michael Walzer’s words in our prayerbook, Mishkan Tefilah, which I often read before we sing the Mi Chamocha.

               Standing on the parted shores of history

               we still believe what we were taught

               before ever we stood on Sinai’s foot;

               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.

               That there is no way to get from here to there

               except by joining hands, marching

               together.

Walzer is a leading American political thinker who has written about political theory and moral philosophy. This text is excerpted from his book entitled Exodus and Revolution in which he reflects on the real power of the Exodus story.

These words can be challenging as we read the idea that “wherever we go, it is eternally Egypt.” The notion of being stuck in a narrow place, suffering hardships, and an eternal metaphorical darkness might lead us to moments of despair. The next line reminds us that there is a better place, a promised land, and the road to get there may be winding. As we read these words, we reflect on our journey. Out on the horizon lies a vision of a better tomorrow. Jewish tradition teaches us about creating a world as it ought to be. Our initial reaction when we think about such a notion is that this describes the work of tikkun olam. That is, of course, true. However, might it also be possible that such words invite us to think about our personal day-to-day journeys? Surely, we all face challenging times, whether we encounter illness, obstacles along the way, or people who have harmed us. These words echo the ebb and flow of life, reminding us that we travel an unknown path from darkness to light, back to darkness, and—God willing—to light once more.

Walzer teaches us that there is only one path to get from the darkness we are in, to the light we hope to find. He notes that it is not the path; but the people with whom we travel that path. Whether the person with whom we travel is a trusted friend, a family member, a teacher, therapist, coach, or rabbi, we need people to share the journey with us.

I am reminded of a story in which a person is lost wandering in a forest. She doesn’t know the way out. Finally, she encounters someone else, and says, “I am looking for the way out of the forest, I have walked in all these directions and have not yet found the way out. Do you know how to get out?” Her new travel partner replied, “Well, I have walked in all these directions, and they were not the way. Let’s walk together and we will find the way out with each other.”

The story teaches us that, to find the way out, we have to travel with a trusted friend. This is the story of Passover. It is the message of our People, that we marched out of Egypt together, side-by-side. As I reflect on our world today, I am still reminded of the power of the Jewish people to come together to support one another in these continued times of crisis. Passover is the story of our people; it unites us in hope knowing that we build a better world and strengthen our people by journeying together.

As we do the final preparations for our seder gatherings this week, let us remember the sacred power of partnership and peoplehood.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

March 28, 2025

Shabbat Shalom! This week I was blessed to attend the annual convention for the Central Conference of American Rabbis. On Monday morning, I was installed as President Elect of the Conference. The mission of the CCAR is to “support and strengthen Reform rabbis so that our members, their communities, and Reform Jewish values thrive.” I have been an active volunteer in the CCAR for more than a decade. I began as a volunteer on the advisory committee of the Mishkan T’fillah Journal edition– which we give our religious school students–and continued co-chairing a trip to Israel and serving on our annual convention committee for five years (including as chair of the 2019 convention). I have served as chair of Continuing Rabbinic Education, and then for the last four years as a board member–including two years as Vice President of Program and Member Support. Over the years, I feel that my rabbinate has been strengthened because of the wisdom and insight shared by presenters and colleagues.

Serving as a rabbi isn’t always easy but, through my work, I encounter lots of joy and blessing. Early in the convention, we were asked to share the aspects of our work that bring us meaning and my response was being able to sit with people in their most vulnerable moments, whether in the hospital, at the end of life, or in the earliest stages of grief. Sometimes, just being present for someone, not needing to share words, or wisdom, but just the presence of their rabbi brings blessing and meaning.

The role of the rabbi can be challenging because people have expectations that we may not be able to live up to, letting people down along the way. As rabbis we must recognize when we need to stand up, speak out, and step back to let others lead. Through it all, there is an obligation to ground all we do in Torah and live by the highest ethical standards embodied in our ethics code.

As I think about the many lessons that I am taking away from this year’s convention, there are several that stand out. First and foremost, we had the opportunity to acknowledge and reflect on the 35^th anniversary of the “Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate”. At the 1990 convention, the report was accepted amid great tension. Colleagues shared harrowing and painful stories about their experiences of being rejected for jobs because of their sexuality. A few colleagues also shared that despite all of the hardships, they were able to find many blessings. This program brought me tears of sadness and pain, along with those of joy and blessing. Additionally, Rabbi Michael Marmur, who visited Beth Tikvah as our Resler Scholar-in-Residence in May of 2023, taught us about anxiety and hope as the engines of Jewish life. His beautiful teaching inspired us to see hope (Tikvah) as a thread (kav) attached to something that pulls us toward a better tomorrow, and also as a mikveh, a pool that gives us sustenance.

These last few days have certainly been a pool of sustenance for me. As I return home, I am excited to attach that thread to something that will carry us forward into the future.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

March 21, 2025

My heart sank this week when Israel returned to war. For two months, our hopes were lifted with the return of the living hostages and our hearts ached as we were reminded of Hamas’ brutality with the way they took the lives of the Bibas family and other hostages, and they played mind games with every hostage release. My friends and family in Israel were able to live without the threat of rockets raining down on them; soldiers and reservists were able to find reprieve from the grinding days of war. The cycle of violence continues today as Shabbat arrives in the world and the remaining hostages have not seen the light of day for 532 days.

As a rabbi and a Jewish leader, I am in a unique position where people turn to me for analysis and wisdom as if my opinion even matters. The opinions in our community about the return to war are quite diverse, some in favor, some opposed. The backdrop of this return to war is that in recent days, it has come to light that Netanyahu wants to fire Ronen Bar, head of the Shin-Bet (the Israeli security service) as he no longer trusts him. This sentiment stems from the organization’s investigations into Netanyahu’s chief aides for taking money from Qatar to boost the Qatari image ahead of the 2022. As American Jews, many of us are deeply invested in what happens in Israel and our opinions may even stem from our own domestic political viewpoints.

As time has passed, I find myself wondering if it matters what Rabbi Rick Kellner thinks about this security action or that security action. My opinion won’t change a thing and the outcomes of a single battle or political action won’t change either. Instead of speaking, I try to listen. I listen to the voices of Israelis. Yarden Bibas said this week, “Israel’s decision to return to fighting brings me back to Gaza, to the moments where I heard the sounds of explosions around me and where I feared for my life as I was afraid that the tunnel where I was being held would collapse. My wife and children were kidnapped alive and were brutally murdered in captivity. The military pressure endangers the hostages while an agreement brings them home.” His thoughts turned to the fate of his friends, David and Ariel Cunio, who are still held in Gaza.

Noa Argamani, who was rescued by the IDF in an intense mission, recalled the first time hearing the word hudna, ceasefire, in November of 2023 and people started moving and going home. When she heard the sounds of explosions again, she recalled, “Suddenly, all the dreams of going home, of hugging family and friends—shattered in an instant. The thought of seeing the light again felt so far away. One moment, the ceasefire was gone, and with it, the hope that I would get out of there alive. I’m sorry, Avinatan (her boyfriend who is still captive). I’m sorry that for 529 days, you haven’t seen daylight. I’m sorry that you were left behind. We must save them! Too many hostages who were taken alive—were murdered in captivity. We must save every living soul! This is our mission. We cannot leave them behind.”

And I also hear the voice of Rabbi Gilad Kariv, a Reform Rabbi who is a member of the Knesset said, “Hamas terrorists must be eliminated, and Israel must act against the renewed organization of Hamas. But a government that prioritizes Israel’s security does not return to intense fighting while firing the head of the Shin Bet and aggressively passing legislation that divides the nation. Above all, it does not do so while continuing to abandon our brothers and sisters who are hostages, left abandoned for 529 days. Another round of destruction and casualties won’t bring back the hostages, nor will it topple Hamas rule. The hostages will only be returned through a deal. Hamas’ rule will only be eradicated through a combination of military actions and political initiatives.” With Rabbi Kariv’s words, we truly understand the difficulty of this situation, the need to remove Hamas, the need to bring the hostages home, and the complexity of Israeli domestic politics about which we might not even understand completely.

We ask ourselves what is there left to do? As Jews, we turn to prayer; we pray for the return of the hostages, we pray for the blessing of an enduring peace, we hold compassion in our hearts for all who suffer, and we revert back to what we had done for so many months, check in on friends and family who once again feel the tension of war. May we also support each other during these difficult times.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

March 14, 2025

Chag Purim Sameach and Shabbat Shalom! It was wonderful to gather last night to hear the reading of Megillat Estaba…I mean Esther. Thanks so much to Robin Brenneman and Julie Sapper for coordinating and directing our excellent Purim Spiel Defying Tragedy, and to all the cast and crew – adults and kids – who gave us such a joyful Purim celebration.

As Purim continues throughout the day until sunset, it is interesting to note, as I did in my Tikvah Topics article that the name Esther means hidden. God’s name is “hidden” in the book of Esther. It does not appear even once. In fact, the closest we get to even thinking about God is when Esther sent a message to Mordecai asking him to organize the entire Jewish community to pray and fast for three days on her behalf. The idea that God is hidden might make this sacred text a perfect book for us to understand contemporary Jewish life. Now, 80 years after the liberation of Auschwitz and the end of the Holocaust, the big question we have thought about is where is God in such awful times? Where was God on October 7^th? Where was God in the gas chambers, the crematorium, and on the trains? Where was God on that fateful Shabbat morning of October 27^th, 2018, when Robert Bowers walked into the Tree of life Synagogue in Pittsburgh and murdered eleven Jews, wounding six others?

We grow up reading the stories of the Torah and become most familiar with a God who destroys the earth with a flood or calls out to Abraham telling him not to sacrifice his son, or God speaking to Moses from the burning bush and parting the waters of the Sea of Reeds so the Israelites could march to freedom. Such stories teach us that in the Bible God is an active God, one whose mighty hand saved the Israelites from slavery and is an active force in the world. And yet, when we turn to God today to end terror, heal cancer, or lift someone up from poverty, we wonder why God doesn’t respond. This is the central post-Holocaust question. Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, a modern-day Orthodox Rabbi, theologian and Jewish thinker, explains to us that we have entered a new time in history, it is a third era, in which God is completely hidden. God has withdrawn Godself from the world. This does not mean that God is inactive. Quite the contrary, God is quite active, but through us. God speaks to us when we study Torah. As members of the Jewish community, we uphold our end of the covenant which is to say that we partner with God and help bring God’s vision to life. The covenant has two sides, God is on one and we are on the other. God’s voice speaks to us through study and prayer and requires that we bring God’s presence to life in the world.

This is where the story of Esther comes in. Esther and Mordecai could have certainly called out asking God to intervene when Haman wanted to destroy the Jews of Shushan. Instead of waiting for God to act with a mighty hand, Esther and Mordecai realize they have agency; they take their future in their own hands and act. This is what it means to fulfill the covenant to take the lessons of our sacred texts, what we might refer to as God’s voice teaching us and guiding us, fulfilling God’s side of the covenant, and bringing those teachings in the world. Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, perhaps inspired by the book of Esther, teaches us that God has hidden Godself in order that we would act. God’s contraction is meant to empower us. As this Purim day continues, let us remember we have agency; we can act; we can bring light and joy to the people around us who most need it.

Chag Purim Sameach and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

March 7, 2025

Shabbat Shalom! It is wonderful to be back, and I am so incredibly grateful for my time away these past few weeks. I want to express my profound gratitude to the staff and lay leaders who helped to cover for me while I was away, including leading services and Torah study. My time away gave me an opportunity to take a deep breath and spend time reflecting on Jewish life and the complexity we are encountering in the world during the last few months. Over the course of this time, I read several books which has helped me formulate my thinking about our congregation and how we can best carry out our vision, to empower people to live and learn Jewishly and make the world a better place. As I reflected on my readings, I will be spending the next several months in conversation with some of our lay leaders about the thoughts and challenges we are facing in the Jewish world and how we can best live in a world motivated by Jewish pride.

During this past month I read the following books which I highly recommend:

The Triumph of Life by Rabbi Yitz Greenberg is a reflection on theology over the course of Jewish history. Rabbi Greenberg writes of the role God plays in the world in this third era of Jewish life, post-Holocaust. God, he writes, has completely withdrawn from the world, meaning God no longer acts in the world, leaving the fulfillment of the covenant up to us.

For a Time Such as This by Rabbi Elliott Cosgrove is a reflection on Jewish life post October 7^th. He discusses the challenges presented by community, the war, and antisemitism. The title of the book comes from the book of Esther when Mordecai calls out to Esther saying for a time such is this, perhaps you were placed at this moment in time to bring about healing and wholeness and lead in a complex world.

If You Will It by Elliot Abrams is also about living in a post October 7^th world in which Abrams makes several suggestions about how to strengthen the Jewish community. He reflects on the importance of immersive experiences like Jewish summer camp, Jewish education, and the role of Israel.

Morning has Broken by Erica Brown which is a collection of short reflections from day-to-day life relating to the complexities and challenges of the Jewish world after October 7^th. She shares insights about the Torah and how to approach one’s life in this challenging moment.

Ghosts of a Holy War: The 1929 Massacre in Palestine that ignited the Arab-Israeli conflict by Yardena Schwartz is arguably the most important book I have read about the history of the conflict which dates back to the massacre in Hebron in 1929 when more than 100 Jews were murdered in a pogrom. She ties the history of that event to the Hamas attacks and helps us understand the complexities of this century long conflict. This book is a must read for anyone interested in learning more.

Gates of Gaza by Amir Tibon is a remarkable story about how he and his family survived the attacks by Hamas on October 7^th in his shelter on Kibbutz Nahal Oz, the closest Kibbutz to Gaza. The story weaves the history of the Kibbutz, the complexity of the political situation, peace efforts, and Israeli internal politics with the harrowing events of that day.

Lastly, I read The Ravine by Wendy Lower which is one of the most important newer works about the Holocaust in which Lower researched a photo she had uncovered in the archives of the United States Holocaust Museum which showed the tragic death of a mother and her child during the Holocaust. Rarely, she reflects, do we have imagery of the exact moment of death and her books takes through her research to try to discover the context and the people, both the perpetrators and the victims in the photograph.

As I reflect on all these important books, it is important that we all remember the World Zionist Congress elections begin on Monday March 10^th and continue through May. It is my simple request that everyone make a plan to vote and that we all vote for the ARZA slate. Voting in the WZC elections is critical because the congress will decide how $5 billion are allocated to support Jewish life in Israel. The ARZA slate supports egalitarian Judaism in Israel, Reform congregations, LGBTQ+ rights, and regional security. To learn more please visit www.vote4reform.org and remember to vote starting next week!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

January 31, 2025

I was asked earlier this week if I would stop wearing my “Bring Them Home Now” dog tag necklace when all the hostages returned home. I responded that I would gladly take it off tomorrow if they were all home. Each week, we wait with bated breath for the announcement of which hostages will be released. As family, we are overcome with joy for those who get to embrace their loved ones. And, as family, we are pained by the weight of the sorrow of those who still await the return of their lands. Just yesterday we welcomed home Agam, Arbel, and Gadi, along with five Thai workers who have been held hostage. We anticipate the return of more hostages tomorrow (at the time of this writing, the names of them have not yet been released). We anxiously await the return of the Bibas family, with 5-year-old Ariel, and now 2-year-old Kfir (he was 9 months old on October 7 when he was taken hostage.) The images of the young women surrounded by Hamas terrorists are striking images. The four young Israeli women soldiers standing up in the face of their captors, waving, and not allowing themselves to feel inferior reflects their strength.

Earlier this week, I came across this poem by Rachel Srulovitz, originally written in Hebrew.

There are mothers

Who birthed their daughters twice

The first time

They arrived from the Garden of Eden

The second time

From Hell

Then as today

They waited to hear the crying

That says it’s okay now

To breathe.

These words demonstrate the similarities between two moments of arrival, both accompanied with tears and a desire to breath. A first time from joy; a second time from pain. These words speak to the varied emotions hostage families and the entire Jewish people have been feeling for many months. We all know the pain, and at the same time, we can’t know the pain. We will continue this emotional roller coaster for weeks. As we await the return of the remaining hostages and each time they come home, we say Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, matir asurim. Blessed are You, Eternal One, who frees the captives.

After this weekend, I will be away on a month-long sabbatical. I will return to the office at the beginning of March. Each year, I am grateful for this time to study and be with my family. This year, I enter this time struck by seemingly existential questions about Judaism and Jewish life. I am reflecting on the animating forces of fear and pride, power and powerlessness, anxiety and hope. There have been many texts written in the last two years that reflect on these themes and what it means to be Jewish at this moment in history and how we navigate the world moving forward. I am hoping to take all that I learn and think about what it means for us at Beth Tikvah and how we might reflect on these themes as a community. I am also eager to continue to think about how we can find the best ways to respond to the needs of our community based on reflection from these scholars.

As we navigate this very challenging moment in the world, I hope that we can continue to come together to learn, celebrate, pray, and support one another.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Rick Kellner