November 21, 2025

The role of the rabbi is quite diverse. We teach, we provide comfort, we celebrate significant moments in people’s lives, we counsel, we stand up for the vulnerable. People look to us to be a moral voice and a source of wisdom.

In ancient times, when the rabbis or sages reflected on their role in people’s lives, Yosei ben Yoezer—leader of Tz’reidah—taught, “let your house be a meeting place for the sages; sit in the dust of their feet; drink in their words thirstily,” (Avot 1:4). When commenting on this teaching, Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh Leib, also known as the S’fat Emet, explained that our places of learning should be made into homes. When we come to a place of Jewish learning, in modern day, that place of learning is a synagogue. We want people to feel fully at home there.

What does that look like? Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz explains that we want people to discover a thirst for knowledge, explore, ask questions, and find opportunities to grow intellectually and spiritually. Empowering people to live and learn Jewishly and make the world a better place is core to the sacred work we do at Beth Tikvah. In order to bring that vision to life, we strive to equip our community members with the tools to make Judaism part of their lives and to support one’s Jewish journey in personal and unique ways.

Five months ago, Rabbi Karen Martin joined our Beth Tikvah family and is helping to make this synagogue a home. In the time that she has been with us, she has worked to bring Torah to our lives in new and creative ways. She has spent much of her time in these past few months learning and teaching; she has already enriched our lives in such a short time. She has opened my own eyes to perspectives on Jewish communal life, insights into Torah, meaningful prayer, and a passion for bringing people together. While Rabbi Martin has already been with us for several months, tonight is a moment to both honor her at her installation and celebrate her as a community. Bringing a new rabbi into the community provides opportunities for more touch points and opens pathways to discovering new depths of Torah.

We also learn in the Pirke Avot that we are to “aseh l’cha rav—make for yourself a rabbi (or teacher).” Every one of us needs a teacher. The magical power of a teacher is to open one’s eyes to making new discoveries, new meaning, and new possibilities. Judaism is such a rich tradition, and when we approach our tradition with a new lens and new perspective, our eyes open to new possibilities. It is my hope that, if you have not done so already, you will welcome Rabbi Martin into your lives as one of your teachers.

Our tradition is rich with insight and wisdom that provides much guidance at every stage of our journey. As rabbis, we are privileged to experience those most private and vulnerable moments alongside you. Thank you for letting us walk with you when you are vulnerable, for allowing us to be your teachers, and for providing us with insight into your lives so that we can create opportunities to encounter what is holy.

Please join us this evening as we mark a historical moment in our synagogue’s journey and officially celebrate and welcome Rabbi Karen Martin, her husband Stewart, and her children Sam and Joel.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

November 14, 2025

Over the course of several weeks this spring, we encouraged voter turnout for the 2025 World Zionist Congress elections. You may recall that the World Zionist Congress and the World Zionist Organization are responsible for allocating $5 billion over the next five years.

While groups were traveling to Israel on the JewishColumbus 614 Mission trip, the WZC delegates were meeting in Jerusalem. Thousands of Jews, representing Jewish communities from all over the world, had gathered to set the agenda for the World Zionist Organization. The gathering in Jerusalem allowed for the establishment of coalitions and the Reform Movement partnered with other similarly aligned organizations, including Mercaz from the Conservative movement. My colleague in Columbus, Rabbi Hillel Skolnik—Senior Rabbi of Congregation Tifereth Israel and leader of Mercaz—delivered a remarkable address to the Knesset Committee on Aliyah, Absorption and Diaspora Affairs.

There has been widespread concern that, due to the voting outcome, the delegates representing the liberal Jewish circles (the use of liberal here is to denote, Reform, Conservative and other non-Orthodox organizations) would be far fewer. However, the results proved the opposite—these liberal Jewish circles will have more power and more funding than ever before. Some of the resolutions adopted include:

·   Stopped funding for new settlements in Gaza

·   Ensuring equal government protection for Reform and liberal synagogues in Israel

·   Establishing a Commission of Inquiry to investigate the events of October 7

·   Creating a national mental health taskforce for soldiers and victims of terror

·   Expanding youth movements and Israel education in the Diaspora

·   Halting settlement expansion in E1, staying on the path toward a two-state solution

·   Supporting an equitable military draft for all Israelis

·   Increasing access to the egalitarian section of the Western Wall

·   Strengthening civil society, pluralism, and support for Holocaust survivors

We are deeply grateful for our delegates who spent the week in Jerusalem supporting Reform Jewish causes and helping to pave the way for Reform Jewish values to be present in Israel.

This week, I have been attending the Board meetings of the Central Conference of American Rabbis in New Jersey. Early in the week, we heard from Anna Kislanski, CEO of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism. Anna shared that 6% of Israelis identify as Reform Jews, while 33% support the movement.

Over the past two years, Reform Rabbis have led Havdalah in Hostage Square prior to the rallies. The week after the hostages were released, the movement decided they would no longer need to lead Havdalah—yet people still came, searching for it. One of the leaders who attended the rally had brought his spice box, candle, and kiddush cup but left them in the car, just in case. People yearned for Havdalah. Many had never heard of Havdalah before October 7, but now saw it as an essential part of their expression.

This movement revealed something profound. Reform Jewish leaders have learned that there is a place for Reform Judaism in Israel’s public square.

The work of Reform Judaism is authentic, and Reform Jewish life in Israel is vibrant. As more people encounter it, more come to support it.

Thank you again to all who voted in the World Zionist Congress elections. On to 2030!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

November 7, 2025

As the government shutdown has entered its second month, we are starting to see its direct impact in our own community. Earlier this week, I was invited to a meeting at the Worthington Resource Pantry with fellow clergy and community leaders to understand the shutdown’s impact on SNAP benefits. Those who earn at or below 130% of the federal poverty line are eligible for SNAP benefits. However, due to the shutdown, they did not receive those benefits on November 1. The federal government tapped into an emergency fund to allocate benefits, but at most, people will only receive half of the funds they typically receive each month, and it is unclear when those funds will be released. Additionally, the State of Ohio and Columbus City allocated emergency funds, but those funds are limited to people earning only 50% below the federal poverty line. The government shutdown also makes it impossible for any new registrants to enter the program. The Worthington Resource Pantry is able to serve people earning at or below 200% of the Federal Poverty line.

On Monday, the Worthington Resource Pantry served 232 families. Their previous daily high was 205. They served 27 new families. Many TSA and FAA employees were among the newly served as they continue to work without pay. As the shutdown goes on, there will be further demands and strains placed on local resource pantries. The Worthington Resource Pantry currently has the capacity to serve the increased demands. However, they have authorized emergency funds to spend on dry goods. The Resource Pantry is hoping to stay ahead of the curve. For example, they receive fresh fruit from the Mid-Ohio Food Bank, but since the food bank receives food from the USDA, that will end this month as USDA workers are not working due to lack of pay from the shutdown. Donations will enable them to provide the fresh fruit and other items they need.

Jewish tradition is guided by several sources when it comes to responding to hunger. Practically speaking, we might turn to Maimonides compendium of Jewish law, the Mishneh Torah offers a collection of laws entitled “Gifts to the Poor”. Chapter 9 begins with a law requiring every community to appoint righteous individuals to a committee who will circulate among the neighbors each week to collect tzedakah. That tzedakah is placed in what is called a kupah, and then is distributed to the poor, providing food for seven days. Maimonides adds, “we have never seen or heard of a community that does not have a kupah for tzedakah.” This universal communal characteristic directs our concern to the dignity of every neighbor in our community and reminds us that we all play a role in ensuring no one goes hungry.

Here is how you can help right now:

1. Consider making a monetary donation directly to the Worthington Resource Pantry. This is the best way to help because the Pantry has purchasing power and can best use financial resources.

2. Consider purchasing and donating items from their needed item list. This list reflects items that they would buy at the same price as we would in the store. Please deliver these items directly to the Worthington Resource Pantry, not Beth Tikvah.

3. Consider purchasing/donating items from their Amazon Wish List. These items will be delivered directly to the Pantry.

Of course, we are a geographically diverse community. If you prefer to donate to a pantry in Dublin, Hilliard, Delaware County, or wherever you live, they will be incredibly grateful for the support. The Worthington Resource Pantry is the largest Pantry in the area because they serve people living in the following zip codes: 43016, 43035, 43065, 43081, 43085, 43229, 43235, 43240.

Below is the data for local SNAP recipients, many of whom are children and elderly:

As the shutdown drags on, demand will increase. When it comes to an end, neighbors will still face a lack of resources to keep food on the table and conditions will only improve slightly.

If you can help, please consider donating. If you need help, please do not hesitate to reach out to me or to Rabbi Martin. We are here to support you in these challenging times.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 31, 2025

Home.

Community.

Resilience.

Life.

It is difficult to find the words to capture these last three days on the JewishColumbus Israel mission. Traveling with our Beth Tikvah family and the larger JewishColumbus community has been incredible. We are the largest mission to travel to Israel since October 7^th with over 190 people. As I walked through the neighborhoods of Tel Aviv last evening, I saw a vibrant market, a kids’ Halloween party, trick-or-treaters, packed restaurants and bars. Tel Aviv has the vibrancy that it has always had.

Of the 190, 45 were first-timers, and only a few had been since October 7. You instantly feel at home. Where else in the world could you visit and be thanked for coming. Our opening dinner was prepared by celebrity chefs; one stood to speak and he thanked us for “coming to my home” and then he immediately corrected himself and said, “our home.” You feel an instant connection to the land and the people. They are our family.

When we arrived at Rickenbacker Airport on Monday afternoon to board our chartered ElAl flight, many of us saw old friends and began connecting to new ones. The JewishColumbus staff and volunteer committee have been planning this trip for the last 18 months. Their vision was to bring us together and connect us to Israel. After a long night’s sleep, we learned about Columbus’ direct connection to the Ein HaBasur Moshav in the Eshkol region.  Sivan Shefer’s parents made Aliyah from Columbus, OH to the Western Negev region of Israel more than 50 years ago. Their grandson Dudi was murdered on October 7 at the Nova festival. Sivan had a vision: to create a farm called Dialog for Life in memory of her nephew, Dudi. This farm specializes in healing the trauma endured by the residents of the region, IDF soldiers, and Nova survivors using the Human-Animal Dialogue method. JewishColumbus is the Founding Partner, helping to establish this incredibly impactful place. As we planted trees, made ceramic kalanit, and helped build this sacred place, we recognize that our community extends far beyond Central Ohio.

I am continually amazed by the Israeli people: the residents of Kibbutz Alumim who defended their Kibbutz on October 7^th. The residents of Kfar Azza, another Kibbutz I visited in May of 2024, promise to rebuild in the next two years. The Nova site has changed so much in the last 18 months. The memorials where laminated paper was on display have been replaced by permanent metal placards that share the stories of the victims. As I have immersed myself in these stories over the last two years, some of the names are becoming more familiar. To remember just one name keeps their memory alive. To have met family members of victims and learned their child’s story helps us personalize the connections in a more meaningful way when we see their names. I recall the feeling I had the first time I was at Nova. It was as if my soul had been sucked out of my body. That emptiness was only matched when I walked the grounds of Auschwitz. Perhaps one of the lessons of Jewish sovereignty is our ability to not only remember and build memorials but to know and share the name of every person who was murdered.

We woke up in Tel Aviv, ran and cycled on the beach, watched the sunset, and saw and felt that Israel is still a vibrant place. Yes, the trauma of October 7^th is still trapped in the souls of every Israeli, but so is the hope. It is the hope to be a free people in our own land. Together, with our family—the Jewish people, we share in the dream for our collective future. It is the dream that our ancestors shared when they wept by the waters of Babylon after the destruction of the first Temple. It is the dream that directed our hearts towards Jerusalem for centuries. It is the dream that Herzl and others after him turned into a reality. That dream is kept alive by every Israeli and Jewish soul. Each and every day, another stone is laid that hearkens back to our history and looks toward the future.

As Shabbat begins in Jerusalem and Columbus this evening, we nurture that dream through our prayers.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 24, 2025

I was recently discussing the concept of Jewish prayer as it relates to theology with our Confirmation class. One aspect of prayer that we discussed was offering a blessing of gratitude for moments we encounter in our lives. Of course, the students were familiar with blessings such as the Motzi (thanking God for bringing forth bread from the earth) or Kiddush (blessing over the wine). They were unfamiliar, however, with the blessing over the rainbow. In fact, they were quite surprised to hear that there was a specific blessing for seeing a rainbow.

Every time a rainbow appears in the sky, it is met with much excitement. People run to see it. Perhaps the best word to describe what people are feeling is awe. In his book “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life,” Dacher Keltner defines awe as, “the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your current understanding of the world.” He adds that awe is about our relation to the mysteries of life. In moments where we behold the rainbow, we don’t typically think about how the sunlight is refracted through the raindrops. We do not try to make sense of what we experienced; we stand in awe of its beauty trying to soak it all in.

When we behold the rainbow, does our mind take us to the story of Noah? Are we aware that there is a special Jewish blessing that can make such a moment both Jewish and holy? Our rabbis teach us that the blessing for the rainbow is:

.בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יהוה, אֱלוֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, זוֹכֵר הַבְּרִית וְנֶאֱמָן בִּבְרִיתוֹ וְקַיָּם בְּמַאֲמָרוֹ 

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam zocheir habrit v’neeman bivrito, v’kayam b’ma-amaro.

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, sovereign of the universe, who remembers and is faithful to the covenant and keeps the promise [made to humanity].

The Jewish connection to the rainbow comes from this week’s Torah portion. We learn that this connection is a sign of the covenant established between Noah and God. God promised not to destroy the world again and humanity promised to care for the earth and one another. The Talmud imagines that in a time of perfectly righteous people, there are no rainbows. so then, is it our hope that we should no longer see a rainbow? Rabbi Shlomo Riskin suggests in modern terms that since the rainbow is a half-circle, it means that human beings have a certain responsibility to become partners with God to care for the earth. 

Taking a moment to recite the blessing upon seeing a rainbow (or the blessing for eating certain foods or encountering other aspects of wonder) has numerous purposes:

1. It elevates the moment.
2. It ties us into aspects of Jewish history or our textual tradition that have been studied for thousands of years.
3. The blessing reminds us of the lessons we learn from the stories they are tied to.
4. Taking a moment to say a blessing is a Jewish act that forges a connection between Jewish joy and pride.

If you are interested in learning about more blessings in the Jewish tradition, you may want to consider downloading the “Daily Blessings (CCAR)” app in your app store.

In the months ahead we will be offering a “How-to” email each month which can help bring some guidance and insight into certain Jewish practices ranging from holidays to Jewish ritual life. We hope these emails will serve as a reference for you and may even open doors that spark your curiosity. Having a deeper knowledge of our tradition empowers us and enriches the ways in which we practice Judaism and live Jewishly.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 17, 2025

This past week has been an emotional roller coaster. It began with great joy as the 20 living hostages returned home to their families. That joy was met with the heights of dancing and with Torah scrolls as we celebrated Simchat Torah. With the ebb and flow of emotions, those feelings of joy were matched by pain as we began to learn about the ways in which the hostages were tortured during their time in captivity. From not bathing, to minimal food, to being chained for months, we cannot imagine their pain. Our hearts are also broken for the families of the 19 deceased hostages whose remains have not yet been returned. It is our hope and prayer that they will be returned home as soon as possible. These families cannot truly begin the grieving process until they are home.

During the period of captivity, there is a song that has become an anthem for Israelis. In Hebrew, it is called “HaBaytah, coming home.” The song, written by Ehud Manor and made famous by Yardena Arazi, was inspired by the pain of the 1982 Lebanon War. After performing for the soldiers, Arazi told Manor of her experiences, and he wrote the song, calling for a return home. As Lior Zaltzman wrote this week for Kveller, it also calls for a return to a place of ideals and democratic values.

The lyrics express deep hopes and longing for the return of everyone in despair. This is the translation of the lyrics:

Another year has passed, another year of madness, the weeds have grown in the path and the garden. The wind sighed opening the shutter and banging the old wall, as if calling: Back home, back home, it’s time to return from the mountains from foreign fields. The day is fading and there is no sign. Back home, back home, before the light is dimmed. Cold nights, bitter nights, closing in now. Until the dawn I pray for you, bound in the grip of fear I hear steps. Back home, back home, because it hasn’t yet been given as was promised a long time ago.

HaBayta was performed in a concert in December of 2023 with 1,000 Israel musicians and the sentiments continue to linger on our souls.

To mark this time of despair, we have added the ritual of praying for the return of the hostages to our Shabbat services by singing of the Acheinu. Adding this prayer has helped remind us that we are connected to the larger Jewish people; it has kept our focus on the hostages. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches us that “ritual turns us from lonely individuals into members of the people of the covenant.” His words remind us that we have a collective obligation to one another as a people and to the lofty partnership we share with God.

It feels like there has been a shift, and perhaps that shift demands the creation of a new ritual. We are in the process of discussing what that could look like and over the next several weeks, we may try several different rituals to see what fits. In this moment, it is important for us to take the lead of the Hostages and Missing Families Forum. They are reminding us that their world is incomplete.

Some have chosen to take off their yellow ribbons and Bring Them Home Now dog tag chains. I am continuing to wear mine because the hostages are not all home. And the question remains: what shall we do? This week, our Shabbat table that has been set for the hostages will hold 19 yellow flowers as a reminder that this color symbolizes the hostages. We will offer a prayer for the brokenness that the families of the unreturned hostages are feeling, but we will not sing Acheinu. (There is debate as to whether this should be said only for living hostages. As we study more, we may decide to add it back). Next week, we will offer a different ritual to replace the flowers and our sign.

We have also been singing Hatikvah each week since the war began. As we consider changes, we will be looking at adding different options of prayers for the State of Israel which would be traditionally said in the synagogue. These past two years have carried so much pain and have taught us many lessons. Among the most important lessons is our connection to the Jewish people and the critical need for the existence of the State of Israel.

In these moments of continued pain, we pray for the return of the remains of the hostages still in Gaza so that their families and the Jewish people can grieve and begin the path toward healing.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 10, 2025

I cannot help but feel a joyful hope as Shabbat begins and we dwell in our sukkah this week. On Tuesday morning, I walked 1.07 miles at 6:29 a.m. with the OSU Hillel Community to mark the two-year anniversary of October 7. That somber mourning, coupled with intense rain that hung over the day, left me feeling sad and detached. But a mere thirty-six hours later, we learned that the long-anticipated hostage deal and ceasefire had been reached and all sides would come together to sign the agreement. In that moment, I felt a sense of relief and optimism, as if the weight of the world was starting to lift off Israel and the Jewish people. Of course, we think of the hostages and their families who have been crying out for this greatly anticipated moment, and the families of the soldiers and reservists who have spent countless days serving Israel. And we must always hold in our hearts the 466 soldiers who died fighting for Israel’s right to exist and bring the hostages home, and all those who died on October 7. May we always remember their names.

And for those who are familiar with our sacred texts, many began to recall the verse in Nehemiah 8:17 which reads, “The whole community that returned from the captivity made booths and dwelt in the booths—the Israelites had not done so from the days of Joshua son of Nun to that day—and there was very great rejoicing.” The captivity referred to here was the Babylonian exile, which took place after the destruction of the First Temple. Upon their return to Israel, they heard the Torah read aloud for the first time, and they took it upon themselves to fulfill the mitzvah of joy with the celebration of Sukkot, what our rabbis came to call zman simchateinu, the time of our rejoicing. The Israelites having not done so since the days of Joshua served as a reminder of the cyclical nature of our collective Jewish story. The Sukkot in the time of Joshua marked a liminal moment between our redemption and our returning home. And now a new generation returned home from captivity and built booths as a reminder of our past. In this moment, we rejoice on Sukkot because we are commanded to, but we rejoice because our people have been broken for far too long, with some of our family held in captivity for 735 days.

Yesterday morning, I decided to Google Hostage Square. I wanted to see if there was anything that would capture the feeling of the moment. I recall on our congregation’s trip in May 2024, I left the airport, and the taxi dropped me at Hostage Square to meet our group, which arrived only hours before. It was a somber place set with a Shabbat table that carried the dust of the tunnels. The clock counting the time from the start of the war was a central marker of this sad place, and the tents representing the communities that had been attacked along the Gaza border represented the potential for human connection and the stories that would now be etched on the hearts of our people for eternity. We sat in the tent and listened to their stories. Every Saturday evening since October 2023, that place has been home to rallies calling on the government to bring the hostages home. It has been a place of prayer, sadness, tears, and hope.

When I Googled Hostage Square, videos played of singing and dancing, and tears of hope. They sang Hava Nagila, Shalom Aleichem, Od Yavo Shalom, and Bashanah Haba’ah. They also sang Shir L’shalom, a song of peace. It was the song that Yitzhak Rabin sang in 1995 before his assassination, whose bloodied words were recovered from his pocket. Rachel Shani Stopper, from our sister city of Kfar Saba, said to the Times of Israel, “This is the most exciting day we have, that we could have expected…It is impossible to imagine what it will be like when we bring [the hostages] to the country, walking on the soil of the land of Israel.” Stopper came for the weekly rallies, but she said she never sang like she did this week. She says it was a reflex, not an active choice. “For two years,” she said, “we’ve held the sadness, pain, and frustration, and now it’s just coming out. You can’t control it.”

Hostage Square is located outside the Beit Ariela Library and the Tel Aviv Museum of Art. It sits opposite the IDF Headquarters. Prior to October 7th, it was known as Golda Meir Square. This location was chosen because it sits opposite the IDF headquarters, and it was the hope that the hostages would always remain the focus of the war. Amit Slonim wrote for the Jerusalem Post that former hostage Emily Damari had arrived. We remember her because of her now permanently wounded hand, missing two fingers. She was singing Od Avinu Chai. She hugged fellow hostages who returned from Gaza and says it is a fellowship no one asked for. Former hostage Omer Shem Tov was smiling, but Slonim writes that this smile is different than prior ones. He says, “It is an exhale shaped like joy with the optimism of hope.” Ziv Abud just wants to pull the plug on that remote counting the days.

Danny Moran’s son Omri was kidnapped from Kibbutz Nahal Oz and told SkyNews, “I feel a heavenly sense of joy and overwhelmed with emotion. There is no greater joy than this. It has been like waiting 9 months for a baby, but instead I have been waiting for two years. I feel ecstatic.”

These expressions of anticipated joy and relief, coupled with singing and dancing, brought me to a verse from Psalm 30 which reads hafachta misp’di l’machol. It is traditionally translated, “You turned my mourning into dancing.” Rabbi Richard Levy, in his commentary on the Book of Psalms entitled Songs Ascending, writes that “All of us experienced times in our lives such as illness or depression when we felt like we were living on the edge of an abyss of despair, abandonment or hopelessness.” Rabbi Levy, in his wisdom, suggests that rather than feeling as though God and all other beings have abandoned us, the psalmist encourages us to see this dark condition as an experience of God’s anger or facelessness, rather than God’s absence. Then finally, when our situation changes, our lament turns to joy, our grief to dance. Rabbi Levy says such a response comes because we long for it, we hope for it, we pray for it. It will not come unless we ask for it. The preceding verse reads, “Listen Adonai, show graciousness to me, Adonai, be my help.” We have been praying for the return of the hostages for two years. When they return, it will be a time for rejoicing.

And yet, the joy does not solely reflect the complexity of emotions of this moment. While they are coming home, the physical condition of the hostages will bring us tears of sadness. And for the families of the 28 hostages who are no longer alive, they will cry tears of grief. Rotem Cooper, son of Amiram Cooper, whose father lived for four months in captivity and died there, says in this moment he feels he will be lucky to get his remains and bury them. For Cooper, this is the best outcome. For others like Cooper, they will hopefully be able to hold funerals and observe shiva.

It will be a period of national joy and grief. It seems odd to hold those emotions all together at one time. But the traditional reading for Sukkot, the Book of Ecclesiastes, reminds us, “A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under heaven: there is a time for weeping, and a time for laughing, a time for wailing, and a time for dancing.” While the Midrash teaches us that the weeping and wailing are tied to a period of mourning, the laughing and the dancing to the time afterwards. But what if it all happens on the same day and in the same season? Perhaps these words are meant to remind us that life is filled with complex emotions. Biblical scholar Michael V. Fox explains that the answer to our question may be found in the word zman, meaning time. This word is repeated throughout this poem and does not refer to specific moments in time but an occasion that is right for something. He reminds us that certain occasions demand a certain type of response. This moment demands a multifaceted response because we have held a collective grief and sorrow for two years. God willing, we will celebrate the return of 20 living hostages, but we will mourn and grieve with those whose lives will forever remain wounded because of the barbaric attacks of October 7th.

And what if there are bodies that don’t come home or cannot be returned? How shall we respond? The Shulchan Arukh (Yoreh Deah 375), a Jewish legal text, says that if a body cannot be recovered, one observes shiva and says kaddish but does not hold a funeral. It is an incomplete mourning. We cannot truly build back what we had on October 6th, 2023. There will always be scars and wounds. Just as we carry the pain of the destruction of the Temples and mourn those moments, maybe there is something we can capture from the lessons the rabbis taught about its destruction. In the Tosefta (Sotah 15:10–15), a rabbinic legal code that parallels the Mishnah, we learn about a great discussion of how we should mourn the loss of the Temple. Rabbi Ishmael explains that since the destruction, it would be appropriate that we do not eat meat or drink wine since these were used in the Temple service. Rabbi Yehoshua responds that if we are going to do this, then we should not even drink water, for it was used as well. The followers of Rabbi Ishmael were shocked. To which Rabbi Yehoshua said to them, we cannot mourn excessively, and it is impossible to not mourn at all. He reminds them that a person may plaster their house with lime, but they leave a small amount unplastered as a remembrance of Jerusalem. Perhaps, leaving a place on the wall unplastered or unpainted, combined with the partial mourning rituals, we will encounter reminders of the eternal brokenness. Maybe it can help bring some measure of comfort. It will never be complete.

The images of dancing in Hostage Square will stay with me as much as the tears and pain of that place. We are a people that builds and rebuilds on top of the sorrow. Where have we done that? In the holy city of Jerusalem. In the Book of Ezra, we begin to learn about the rebuilding of the Second Temple upon that return from exile and captivity. We read, “When the builders had laid the foundation of the Temple of the Eternal, they sang songs extolling and praising God, ‘For God is good, God’s steadfast love for Israel is eternal.’ All the people raised a great shout extolling the Eternal because the foundation of the House of the Eternal had been laid.” When they rebuilt the Temple, they shouted together. However, in the next verse we read, “The elders who had seen the first Temple, wept loudly at the sight of the founding of this house. Many others shouted at the top of their voices.” Here we see the complex emotions of the community. Those who witnessed the destruction and had experienced the loss must have recalled the memories of the destruction. How painful those memories must have been. The younger generation shouts with joy because they did not know the personal pain. But then the next verse comes to teach, “The people could not distinguish the shouts of joy from the people’s weeping, for the people raised a great shout, the sound of which could be heard from afar.” The weeping and the joy become indistinguishable. God willing, in the days ahead, when the hostages return, we can begin to heal from our collective grief and trauma. The weeping and the shouts of joy will unite because as a people, we will hold that pain and resilience together. And tonight, we hope for the last time, we will pray for the return of the hostages with this new blessing written for this moment.

May It Be

May it be, our brothers and sisters, that just as you showed strength and courage in the terrible inferno, so may you find the strength to heal upon your return and as you walk the path of recovery. May you be embraced by the tens of thousands of loving hearts that never stopped worrying, hoping, acting, and working for your sake.

May it be that we know how to serve as a support and a source of strength—material, emotional, and spiritual—for you and your families. May we together weave the thread of the hope for salvation, so that your return will proclaim peace and herald good.

May it be that we preserve this shared home. May we honor the light revealed in the actions of all those who never stopped striving and crying out for your return.

May it be that the memory of those we could not bring back safely, and those who fell in battle, remain with us forever—an eternal flame of pain and hope, of sorrow and consolation.

May the verse be fulfilled through us: “To bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives” (Isaiah 61:1). Let us all say: Amen.

Sources:

[1] https://jewishrituals.org.il/tkasim/may-it-be/?mc_cid=b0143fd0a9&mc_eid=c9c03ba22d

[1] Songs Ascending, Rabbi Richard Levy, CCAR Press

[1] https://www.timesofisrael.com/liveblog_entry/group-dances-sings-songs-of-hope-and-peace-at-hostages-square-in-tel-aviv/

[1] https://www.jpost.com/israel-news/article-869878 [1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUhNhYSfVBE

October 10, 2025

On Tuesday morning October 7th, I joined the OSU Hillel community at 6:29 AM to walk 1.07 miles to remember the barbaric attacks that took place two years earlier. The somberness of the day and the heaviness of the rain weighed on us as we prayed for the return of the hostages and sang Hatikvah at Mirror Lake. I was invited to be the community rabbinic representative.

Thirty-six hours later, on October 8th, the world received the news that a deal had been finalized to return the hostages and end the war. Such news brings joy and relief as the two years of war, anguish, and suffering can come to an end. The effects of the war will scar our souls for years to come as the pain of the hostages and their families was a focus for Jews all over the world. Every innocent life that was lost in this war will remain in our hearts as well.

For the last two years we have prayed for the return of the hostages as part of our weekly Shabbat prayers. It is my hope that, as we welcome Shabbat this evening, this will be the last time we have to pray these words. These words begin with a word of family, acheinu (our siblings) and then continue to remind us that the whole house of Israel has been brought to pain. When they return, the entire family of Israel rejoices. May it be so.

At the conclusion of the Amidah, we always offer a prayer for peace. In Mishkan Tefilah, our siddur, there is a footnote with teachings from a text called Perek HaShalom. They are a collection of statements about peace from the minor tractate of the Talmud called Derekh Eretz Zuta. One of the teachings reminds us, “Great is peace, for peace is to the world as leaven is to dough.” Peace is an essential component of the world. It is the leaven that causes dough to rise. So too, peace causes humanity to rise in its spirituality, in its ethical demands, in its efforts to help us exist.

In the years ahead there will be many books written about how this deal came to be. Pressures from President Trump and his negotiating team of Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner; pressures from Qatar, Egypt, and Turkey brought both sides to the table. Peace is fragile, it is something we pray about and something we must work towards.

The entire nation of Israel can breathe again. It is our hope that we are emerging from this narrow place, this mitzrayim, and we are welcomed into a wide expanse. The Psalmist so beautifully captures this sentiment when expressing the words in Psalm 118:6 “Minhameitzar karati yah, anani bamerchav yah…From the narrow places I called to God, from a wide expanse God called to me.” The claustrophobic narrow spaces make it hard to breathe, but entering the vast expanse makes breathe easier.

As we enter this Shabbat on Chol HaMoed Sukkot, we pray that the Sukkah of Shalom, the fragile shelter of peace will bring us comfort and that this agreement will endure.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 3, 2025

With last evening’s final blast of the Shofar still echoing in souls, I want to hearken back to one prayer we shared during yesterday’s long day of prayer. When I need to feel grounded during the year, these are words I might turn to which would remind me of our core purpose. When we long for God’s presence, these are the places we go to find the touch of the Holy.

As we, once again, read these words with Shabbat about to emerge, may our hearts be filled with compassion to hold all the brokenness, and may our hands be strong so that we can collectively heal the wounds of the brokenhearted.

Yesterday, Rabbi Martin addressed the painful divisiveness in our society and the importance of openness to diverse viewpoints. She encouraged us to join together in a listening campaign in which we will share our concerns about the complexities we are facing together.

On Wednesday evening, I spoke about the importance of maintaining a connection to and a love for Israel, even if some of us might feel troubled by actions taken by the Israeli government. Our commitment to Israel needs to be grounded in our connection to our people and a vision for a better tomorrow. I hope you will consider joining me in a learning series I will be offering entitled “Two Peoples, One Land” in which we will be strengthen our understanding of our own narrative as it is tied to the State and land of Israel. We will also explore the Palestinian narrative so we can gain a better understanding of the complexity of the history. If you would like to read my sermon, A New Dream of Zion, please click here.

Though Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are behind us, we still have exciting plans to celebrate Sukkot and Simchat Torah. I want to take a moment to thank Rabbi Martin for her leadership. It has been a blessing to have a clergy partner this year. Thank you to Julie Sapper, our Director of Musical Programming for her coordination, leadership, and direction of our Shironim, Neilah Singers, Teen Singers, and Instrumentalists. Thank you to John Stefano and Debbie Costa, for their beautiful voices and partnership in leadership. Thank you to Morissa Freiberg, Hannah Movshin, Bentley Adkins, and Cade Crane for their coordination and leadership of our youth programming and services. I would also like to thank Debbie Vinocur, Hannah Karr, Everett Smith, Rhonda Simon, Alisa Swissa, Enos Wisnewski and our custodial team for their attention to detail and the planning of all the logistics for our High Holy Day Services. We know that you do so much behind the scenes and the High Holy Days would not happen without you. Thank you to the many volunteers, including all our singers, ushers, greeters, the Brotherhood and Women of Beth Tikvah for all you did to make these High Holy Days possible.

As we move into the year ahead, may we each find opportunities to connect with one another through the many offerings we share.

Shanah Tovah and Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

September 26, 2025

We are a story telling people. When we sit down at our seder tables, we tell the stories of our past and we think about how our lives are reflected in those stories. We are commanded to tell these stories to our children. What are the stories we tell about ourselves?

When I was younger, my mother would share the stories of her family with me. She shared memories of visiting her grandmother and playing with her dolls. Her family tradition on Passover was that the kids always hid the afikomen and the parents had to bargain it back from the children. She remembered how she would hide under the table and the afikomen would be hidden in her crinoline.

As a child, my mom shared that she chose guitar lessons over religious school and becoming a Bat Mitzvah. When my grandfather died months before I was born, she didn’t have the tools to say the Mourner’s Kaddish. My mother decided to enroll in the Adult B’nai Mitzvah class at our synagogue, which had already started. She took private lessons so she could catch up to the rest of the class. Before she knew it, not only was she reading Hebrew, but she was serving on the board and designing the monthly bulletin. (That was long before we had computers, and she would literally cut apart the text of articles and lay them out on our dining room table.)

Her story mirrors the story of our people; it reflects the ebb and flow of exile and returning home. We all have our own unique stories to tell and as we share them, we see how the stories of others are mirrored through our own. We also see our personal journeys intertwine with the larger Jewish story.

Earlier this year, as we walked through the NOVA Festival Exhibit and Memorial, I was overcome with emotion about how important it was for us to be able to tell our own stories. I was also struck by the fact that so many of us are not fully aware of our own history. I recall enrolling in a Medieval Jewish History course in college and my eyes were opened to so many layers of our history that I had only learned about in passing. We can certainly do more to open our eyes to Jewish history. Learning our story can help instill a sense of pride as we recall the resilience of our past. When we think about our story, how can we help but marvel at the fact that so many of the nations we encountered in the Torah (eg. the Jebusites, the Moabites) are no longer here, but we are? We have endured every exile, every pogrom, every attempt to destroy us. We have had the chutzpah to survive.

As a story-telling people, we need to continue to tell our stories and notice the way they are mirrored and interwoven with the stories that have been shared about our people for generations. On Yom Kippur afternoon, we will have the opportunity to immerse ourselves in storytelling. First, during Stories from the Bomb Shelter at 1:30 pm, we will engage in dialogue with Sylvia Shafran and Alaina Towne who were caught in Israel during the 12 Day war with Iran. At 3:00 pm, our Yom Kippur afternoon service will weave the stories of our people’s past as they are mirrored through individual stories of our congregants. Our Beth Tikvah members will reflect on themes that emerge from the Torah. At 4:30 pm, our Yizkor service will invite us to the shadow of memory when we think about our loved ones and how they shape and guide us.

We are a storytelling people. Every opportunity to share a story enriches our own sense of memory and, in many instances, reshapes it. As we learn more about our past, we dive deeper into the pool of our history and dig through the layers of the past to uncover our people’s treasures. Our memories shape our present and invite us to chart our own paths forward. Yom Kippur afternoon will be a powerful opportunity for us to continue the journey of sacred reflection that occurs during this season.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

September 19, 2025

Many years ago, on a trip to Chicago, our family took the elevator to the viewing level of Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower). The 360-degree windows give breathtaking views of Chicago and Lake Michigan. One can even stand on an extended window protruding outside the structure with clear glass, making it seem as though you are standing on air. These views give us opportunities for moments of awe as we behold the city from such a height. Awe takes many forms; we find awe in the beauty of the world. We find awe in our emotions through sacred actions of others, through art, and music. During these High Holy Days, the music certainly gives me a sense of awe. Every so often, I find a hidden gem in the prayerbook inviting me to stop and think.

As an introduction to the Shofar service, Mishkan HaNefesh, our High Holy Day prayerbook reminds us that the sound of the shofar tekia, is one whole note, shevariam, is three broken notes, and teruah is nine broken notes. The prayerbook then invites us to see our own lives through the window of these shofar sounds. We are reminded that once we were whole and, through the wear and tear of living, we become broken and shattered. There is a nehemta, a comfort, that through the powerful process of teshuvah, self-reflection and repentance, we become whole again.

This season is an invitation for us to peer through the window of our souls and recognize that the journey of our lives is a winding path (not so dissimilar from Sheryl Crow’s song). We have moments when we feel whole – maybe it’s the joy of a family simcha, a promotion at work, going to a concert with friends, finishing a good book, learning something meaningful and more. However, we know that life’s journey can break us. We might receive challenging news about our health, lose a job, or face what seems like an insurmountable obstacle. Returning to wholeness can be incredibly challenging. Sometimes we need to take a view from the perspective of the windows atop the Willis Tower. That vantage point expands our view so we can see beyond what is directly in front of us.

I find it interesting that one Jewish tradition, according to the Talmud, says that a sanctuary should have windows. I often think the reason for this is that we recognize that there is no boundary between a space of prayer, Torah learning and the rest of the world. When we immerse ourselves in prayer and study, we remind ourselves that our tradition is meant to be carried out to the world around us. I love looking through the windows of our sanctuary, especially at this time of year. The leaves have begun to change and are even starting to fall from the trees. As I look through our clerestory windows, I feel as though I am one with the world. This is part of the experience that brings me to wholeness as I do the difficult work of teshuvah.

As you look through the windows on these High Holy Days, you may notice two broken windows on the north side of our sanctuary. We have been aware of these windows for several weeks. They were caused by errant shots from a BB gun from neighborhood kids who were taking target practice at a bag in their backyard.

Perhaps the shattered nature of the window reminds us of the sacred work we strive to do to find wholeness. Whether it is through prayer, learning, or action, the work of repair is much more difficult than what it takes to shatter us. Shattering comes in an instant; repair takes time and emerges from the delicate work of the hand and soul.

May this season be a season of tikkun – of healing and repair – as we think about our lives and the journey we need to take towards wholeness. On behalf of the entire Beth Tikvah staff, I want to wish everyone a shanah tovah, may the new year be filled with joy and sweetness for all of us. I do hope you will join us on Tuesday afternoon at our Open House so that we can greet the new year together with a sweet treat. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

September 12, 2025 | Shabbat Sermon – Ki Tavo 5785

It took years after the Broadway show Hamilton debuted for me to finally get to say, “I was in the place where it happens.” Lin-Manuel Miranda, the show’s creator, left us with a profound question at the end of the show: “Who will tell your story?” Aaron Burr notes earlier, “History obliterates in every picture it paints.” He is teaching us that after we die, we have no control over who tells our story, but we realize that the story of our lives is all that is left. Hamilton is Miranda’s attempt to uncover Hamilton’s life, which for nearly two centuries was often hidden in obscurity when compared with the other founding fathers of our country.

The lyrics of this final song begin with Washington reflecting that when he was young, he wished he knew he had no control of “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?” Jefferson chimes in and says Hamilton’s financial system was a work of genius. Madison adds that he took the country from bankruptcy to prosperity and that he doesn’t get enough credit. Angelica bemoans the fact that every other founder’s story is told. It is Hamilton’s wife Eliza who works to tell his story. She shares in this song that she interviewed every soldier who he fought with, and she tried to make sense of a thousand pages of his writing. Angelica and Eliza sing together, “We tell your story.” Eliza talks about the orphanage she set up in New York City and how in every one of the children’s eyes, she sees Hamilton. “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?”

As Jews, we are a storytelling people. It may be one of the things we do best. And this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, grounds us in our obligation to tell our story. The parshah begins by telling us, “When we enter the land, we are to bring the first fruits as an offering.” The ritual is detailed. You bring the first fruits to the priest and say to him, “I acknowledge this day before your God Adonai, that I have entered the land that Adonai swore to our ancestors.” The priest then takes the basket, and the person is commanded to say the following:

“My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and dwelled there but became a very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried out to God, the God of our ancestors, and God heard our plea, saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. Adonai freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents, bringing us to this place and giving us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. And now I bring the first fruits of the soil which You, Adonai, have given me.” (Deuteronomy 26:5–9)

I am so moved by the power of this ritual. Moses’ instruction to us is that once we have settled the land and we have first fruits that have grown from the soil, we have to bring them to the priest. And it is not just the first time—it is every year. If any of us have ever done home gardening, we will remember when that first fruit grows on the plant. We want to eat it because of our excitement. But the Torah comes along and says, “Not so fast. Bring that first fruit as a donation to God.” It is an instruction in gratitude—that it is not you who did it, but there are natural forces at play. And when we bring the first fruit, we don’t just offer it as a donation—we tell a story. It is the story of our people. We tell the story, reminding ourselves of the challenge of being a wanderer and then living in a place that is not our home. Then, we share the pain and suffering we experienced while living in Egypt, reminding ourselves that God brought us up out of the land of Egypt.

There is something profound about living in the land, going about your business, doing the work you need to do, and being required to bring in an offering of gratitude before you even get to enjoy the literal fruits of your labor. And then to have to offer a specific blessing—which is the literal telling of our story—reminds us of the importance of not forgetting our past. It would be far too easy to forget our past after settling in a place and encountering the joys of abundant blessings. This ritual establishes for us the necessity of telling our story. But why?

Perhaps one answer lies in the debate about the nebulous nature of the opening line of the blessing: “Arami oved avi, my father was a wandering Aramean.” The text immediately invites us to think about who it is referring to as our father. Ibn Ezra understands the Arami to be Jacob. If we know our story, that interpretation makes sense. Jacob journeyed to Egypt with his family, and we grew and became populous there. Ibn Ezra adds that when Jacob was there, he was poor—he was oved, perishing.

Rashbam, Rashi’s grandson, disagrees with Ibn Ezra. He suggests that the avi was Abraham because it fit him better, as the prayer should begin with the beginning of Jewish history and continue with the first fruits.

Perhaps their answers do not really matter as far as who the subject of this text is, but rather the overall content and purpose. Benno Jacob explains that Arami is not the name of a resident of any particular country but more so that of an occupation. He adds, just as the merchant was called a Canaanite and the caravan of traders who brought Joseph to Egypt were called Ishmaelites, the shepherd or the wanderer was called an Aramean. And the Mussar text Sefer HaHinukh brings it all together by explaining that we say these words as the blessing because the utterance of our lips deeply impresses our mind and imagination. If we tell the story as part of our blessing, it will shape us both ethically and with a rootedness in our history.

The question we ask ourselves just ten days before Rosh Hashanah is: Who tells our story?

This is a time and a moment when we do the deepest work of discovering and rediscovering our own story. We see ourselves mirrored in our tradition, and in every generation, the sacred story that rises from the text of Torah and the annals of Jewish history emerges and re-emerges again, helping us reflect on our lives and give them new meaning and purpose. Telling our story helps us go another layer deeper, because as we vocalize this sacred story, we remind ourselves that we are not alone. We came forth out of Egypt hand in hand with a family, sharing the journey together. And yet, we still wonder: Who tells our story?

It is that sharing that is critical to storytelling. Psychologist Ira Hyman looked closely at the lyrics of the final song in Hamilton and notes that throughout the entire show, it is Aaron Burr who is the narrator. But in the final song, it is Hamilton’s wife Eliza. Hyman explains that the change in narrator determines who tells our story and who shapes the perspective and how we remember. He writes, “A narrator determines the story, choosing events and perspectives to include—and just as importantly, choosing what to leave out. History is supposedly written by the winners. But history is really written by those who write. They decide how to tell the story. The narrator is important for our personal memories as well. Who tells the stories in your family, or in your circle of friends? That narrator plays a critical role in how we reconstruct our memories and our shared past.”

When we sit down to tell the Jewish story, we find a story that has been curated over the centuries by rabbis and leaders who have captured the complexity of the past, reminding us of what is sacred. Those stories are often combined with commandments that are discussed and debated on the pages of books. It is the study of those debates that brings the stories to life. We tell the story in every generation because we are the newest narrators of the story.

Hyman adds an interesting insight—he reminds us that “Remembering is a collaborative process in groups. [Families or friends work to tell a story together.] Once a group collaboratively remembers something, that recollection will influence each person’s own memories.” As Jews, we do not sit alone to tell our story—we share it in groups. We are narrators of a collective past that we are actively living.

When I tell the story of my life, I see it as a journey that was rooted in my own family’s journey. When my grandfather died months before I was born, my mother wanted to mourn. As a Jewish adult who could not read Hebrew, she knew the way she could mourn was through the recitation of Kaddish. She endeavored to learn Hebrew, and it became an important part of her life. Along with my father, they committed to making Judaism central to our lives throughout our upbringing. They took us to Israel as teens and impressed a deep connection to Jews and the Jewish people upon our hearts.

Rabbi Donniel Hartman likes to teach that the Jewish people are the sum of the stories we tell about ourselves. While every Jewish person cannot hear the story of every other Jewish person in the world—or every other person who has ever lived—I like to imagine that God is the collector of every Jewish story. As we share our story and the prayers in our hearts, God is collecting it all. And perhaps through coincidence, brings us to moments where we encounter someone with a similar story.

One of the names for Rosh Hashanah is Yom Hazikaron, the Day of Remembrance. The second set of calls of the shofar is called Zikhronot—reminding us that God remembers the covenant with us. Yosef Yerushalmi, who wrote a book entitled Zakhor – Remember, explains that the nature of Jewish memory has never been dispassionate recollection but rather evocation, identification, and re-actualization. In explaining what this means, Ellen Umansky teaches: we read the stories of our past because in them we see confusion, fear, and a sense of hope, and taste the bitterness of slavery and the sweetness of freedom—in short, we experience all that our ancestors experienced as if we were there. We also recognize that we live these experiences as well, and the stories of our past can help us navigate our own unique pathways forward as we tell our stories.

“My ancestor was a wandering Aramean…” How do I see myself in that story?

That is the question we need to ask ourselves. When we sit down to study Torah, when we sit down and open up our prayer book, when we sit down at the Passover Seder—we open the pages of our collective past and we have to ask ourselves: How do we see ourselves in it?

Rabbi Donniel Hartman shares a story about a time he was on faculty at the Brandeis-Bardin Institute, which was offering a program for college students. A student came up to him and asked if he was one of the teachers. He said he was, and the student asked, “Why should I be Jewish?” Hartman thought about his response and realized that if he said, “You should be Jewish because Judaism teaches you to be a moral human being or connects you to God,” the student might respond, “What, only Jews are ethical? Only Jews have a relationship with God?”

Instead, Hartman gave one of the most profound answers he could have given. He said, “There is no reason why you have to be Jewish. You can live a perfectly meaningful, ethical, and valued life as a secular American, or a Christian, or a Muslim for that matter. Why then be Jewish? The only reason to be Jewish and to belong to the Jewish people is if doing so adds meaning and value to your life. I will be sharing what I love about Judaism and how it has added meaning to mine. Whether it does so for you is for you to determine.”

Hartman’s words are an invitation to each of us to open a book, engage with, and live our story. “Who lives, who dies, who will tell your story?” For us, right now, we tell our own stories. This season of the High Holy Days gives us the opportunity to write them as well. By seeing ourselves mirrored through our people’s story, we gain wisdom and insight from the challenges and journeys told in our sacred texts that help us shape our stories. As we remind ourselves of our wandering past, we share our own journey that is also filled with challenges and blessings.

In these days and weeks ahead, let us find the opportunity to sit down and tell our story to a friend or neighbor. May we have the wisdom to look deep into our past, and may we have the courage to use the memories to shape our lives and Jewish identities in the future.

Kein yehi ratzon.