June 27, 2025
As I sat in the Charlotte airport Wednesday evening, patiently awaiting a flight home that was significantly delayed, I turned to my right and there were two ultra-Orthodox men sitting there. I debated whether to turn to them and say, “Hey, I am an MOT (Member of the Tribe).” The only thing that might have given it away was my Bring Them Home necklace. We never said anything to one another. As the delay increased, two women sat next down next to me, and I was convinced I heard Hebrew. But then it wasn’t Hebrew. Maybe it was Russian; and then there was English, then Hebrew again. One of the women wondered why there was no plane. I turned to her and said there was a plane. I had my opening… “Aten meYisrael? Are you from Israel I asked?” I am sure the last thing they expected out of my mouth was Hebrew. Surprised, one of the women answered, “I was born there but I now live in Canada.” I told her I was a rabbi, and she then said, “It’s nice to be with some of our people.” The moment reminded me of a song I would sing growing up in religious school written by my friend and colleague, Rabbi Larry Milder, “Wherever you go there’s always someone Jewish, you’re never alone when you say you’re a Jew.”
We’ve been living in a time where it has been so challenging to be Jewish. These moments echo the prophet Balaam’s words that we are a people who dwells alone. The silence of friends in some of the most challenging moments has only further emphasized these emotions. However, the time when I least feel alone is when I am at Beth Tikvah or in other Jewish settings. I can be my authentic self without worrying about judgment from others. Of course, there are moments when I might find myself in disagreement with others about Jewish law or the best future for the State of Israel; but at the end of the day, I know that we stand together in times of grief, pain, and sorrow.
Therein lies the essence of Jewish peoplehood. We are a family and a people that share an eternal covenant. Our origins come from being a family in the book of Genesis, and quite the dysfunctional one at that. Even though the individuals are deeply flawed, they are all part of the family, and regardless of what they do, they cannot be cut off. In the book of Exodus, Pharaoh first calls us a people, and he is afraid of us. We share pain in bondage, joy in our freedom, awe as Torah is revealed, and responsibility as we share in the covenant.
As I think about these last 20+ months, I think about how I have once again found my people. Together we have felt pain, we have celebrated moments of joy, we have joined for learning, song, and prayer. While I wish it would not take turmoil to bring us together, perhaps it is in the moments of turmoil that the ties which bind us together become stronger.
When I graduated High School, I went on my NFTY in Israel trip, but first we stopped in the Czech Republic to explore our history and visit Terezin, the model Concentration Camp that was used to show off to the Red Cross. While there, we sang the song The Last Butterfly, based on a poem by Pavel Friedman. At the end of the song we sing, “But I have found my people here…” It is a powerful reminder that there are so many moments that bring us together.
Rabbi Donniel Hartman teaches us that we are the sum of the stories we tell about ourselves. As a Jewish people, we must know our stories and we must share them. Ask your family members about their stories. Where did they come from? What is important to them? Why did they bring the sacred objects they brought? Whether we come from Buenos Aires, Brussels, Brooklyn, Be’er Sheva, or Be’eri, or Central Ohio, we are part of the people. We stand together in times of great need. It is why we felt such deep pain and concern when ballistic missiles fell on our cities in Israel in these last several weeks. And it is why we are called together to bring healing and hope to a future that desperately needs us. As we move forward, we will learn our stories, we will learn our tradition so that we can fulfill what is perhaps our most important obligation l’dor vador, passing on our tradition from generation to generation.
In the last twenty months, one of the best symbols describing Jewish Peoplehood was a poem written by Israel poet Racheli Moshkovits entitled a Coat of Many Colors.
My son returned from battle, his duffel bursting
With things that I had not packed for him.
Socks donated by the Jews in Argentina.
A quilted blanket smelling like someone else’s home
A blue towel from a family from the Moshav,
Tzitzit from Jerusalem.
A fleece jacket, gifted by a high-tech company,
A scarf knitted by an elderly lady,
Undershirts purchased by online shoppers,
A sheet that was given to him by a friend,
Gloves bought by teenage girls,
A jacket from the closet of someone who
Came and requested to give.
I spread out all those garments
And weave together a new coat of many colors.
See, Yosef, your brothers were there for you.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rick Kellner
This is the fourth installment of my reflections on Jewish values that will shape the future.