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CCAR Press Women in the Rabbinate

Embracing Hope: Rabbi Liz P.G. Hirsch on ‘Covenant of Justice’

CCAR Press and Women of Reform Judaism have recently copublished Covenant of Justice: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations from Women of Reform Judaism. In this interview, Rabbi Liz P.G. Hirsch, CEO of WRJ and author of the book’s section introductions, explains how the collection serves as both a spiritual resource and a call to action.

What inspired you to select social justice as the theme for this latest book in WRJ’s Covenant book series? 

Social justice is one of WRJ’s core pillars. We were thrilled to debut this publication at the inaugural Rabbi Marla J. Feldman Social Justice Conference earlier this year–an event that highlighted dedication to action and activism. It is only fitting to continue our Covenant book series with a theme so integral to both our legacy and future.  

What was the process for finding authors? 

We put out a call for submissions to all who identified with our mission. We specified that those who submitted a piece for consideration identify as women, nonbinary, or gender fluid, in line with our most recent updates to our membership policy to be inclusive within our spaces.  

How does Judaism approach social justice in a unique way? 

Social justice is integral to our Jewish tradition. I turn to Pirkei Avot as a helpful example; you are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. We will not solve every challenge facing the world today, yet we also can’t ignore the important work that is before us, throw our hands up in the air, and not even try to start somewhere. From reproductive freedom, to defending democracy and protections against violence against women, we can turn to Judaism to help guide us in this important fight to create a more just and compassionate world for all.  

Can you highlight a piece from the book that exemplifies its approach? 

I had the honor of writing the introductions of each section of the publication, connecting the meaningful texts to WRJ’s resolutions and liturgical traditions. One of the sections, Embracing Hope, reminds us to always seek peace and pursue it, even when the work seems impossible. Here is a piece from that section, “Tears to Action” by Cantor Lisa Levine:

Tears to Action
From our tears comes action
from our fears comes compassion
in the world so torn from hate
we hear the cry to change our fate
and join our hands for the way
to free ourselves from this tyranny.

Bring us home to a time
where our leaders are not blind
everyone is equal
every spirit joined
sing for justice and for peace
sing for everyone’s release.

From our tears comes understanding
from our fear comes love
knowing who we are
gives us strength to soar
all of our beautiful differences
make us who we are!

Bring us home to the day
marching and chanting all the way
where everyone is equal
every spirit joined
sing for justice, sing for peace
sing to save our souls.

What do you hope readers will take away from the collection? 

Just as the other collections within this series, it is always the right time to lift up the voices of women and others pushed to the sidelines of our community. Each prayer, poem, meditation, and reflection exemplifies the themes of justice and equality, while making our feminist lens front and center.   

Rabbi Liz P.G. Hirsch is the CEO of Women of Reform Judaism (WRJ). She is a contributor to Covenant of Justice: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations from Women of Reform Judaism.

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Books CCAR Press High Holy Days Poetry

The Confession of a Broken Heart: A Poem for Rosh HaShanah

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is the author of Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion from CCAR Press. As Rosh HaShanah approaches, we share one of her poems from the book for the Jewish new year.

Hin’ni: Here I Am
The Confession of a Broken Heart

I am HERE.
I am here.
I stand before the open ark and
the eternal scrolls of our people
dressed in white light.
I stand ready to enter the Holy Days,
to offer prayers that urge me
to live better, kinder,
ever present to the pain of others,
to become a vessel of compassion, trustworthy,
holding hope in the midst of despair.

Hin’ni.
I am here, I am here.
I stand on the edge between earth and heaven,
between what I know and what I can never understand,
between life and life everlasting.
Mortality hovers, a rippling presence,
always there—lingering, waiting, holding.
I am here.

Hin’ni.
I am here.
I stand resilient, determined,
though I have been taken down,
forced to live a different way.
The rhythm of life has been altered.
Time unfolds and morphs, expands and stands still.
I have been called to be present, to pay attention.
What I have I learned?
What have I done with the time I have been given, glorious time of never-ending possibility?
Have I squandered the beauty, the radiance of life,
an offering to my inner being?

Who am I?
Where have I gone astray?
Am I worthy to pray with my people?
May I be worthy to pray with my people.

Hear my plea,
grant me the faith, courage, and wisdom
to enter into cheshbon hanefesh:
the fragility and humility of self-examination.

Hin’ni,
I am here, I am here.
May this fractured heart soften
and hold love and compassion
in a way it never has before.

Hin’ni, I am here.

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is an author, poet, spiritual counselor, inspirational speaker, and rabbi emerita at Congregation B’nai Jehoshua Beth Elohim in Deerfield, IL. She is the author of Omer: A Counting, Amen: Seeking Presence with Prayer, Poetry, and Mindfulness Practice, and Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion, all from CCAR Press.

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Books CCAR Press

‘The Sacred Struggle’: Holding onto Judaism During Challenging Times

The Sacred Struggle: Jewish Responses to Trauma, coedited by Rabbi Lindsey Danziger and Rabbi Benjamin David, is the newest anthology from CCAR Press. In this excerpt from the introduction, Rabbi David discusses the Jewish history of trauma and how his experience with cancer inspired the book.  

We twenty-first-century Jews are, of course, well versed in trauma. With the lessons of the Holocaust still ringing in our ears, we have encountered no shortage of stinging antisemitism and hatefulness in our own day.

Whether in Charlottesville, Pittsburgh, Poway, Jersey City, or Monsey, the relentless attack on Jews and Judaism has shaken all of us. We have grieved together and in time adjusted to a “new normal” in which antisemitism is less an abnormality and more a reality to be wary of every day. We do so amid a post-9/11 world that feels at times desperately unstable: a world where school shootings happen with regularity; where racism, homophobia, transphobia, and xenophobia are rampant; where bullying and cyberbullying plague our children; and where the natural world is under attack by forces that range from small to existential.

We feel in our heart for Israel—all the more so since October 7, 2023—too often maligned or outright denigrated by the international community, even as we mark the highly imperfect record of our beloved Israel. Terror within and outside of Israel has wounded our Israeli family for generations and, by extension, all of us.

How do we not turn to anger? Or, better yet, how do we cling to a Judaism of relevance and hope even in our anger and frustration? How do we maintain a relationship with a benevolent God in illness, in mourning, in dire sadness and frustration? Is it acceptable for a long-standing relationship with Judaism and the Divine to change following a period of distress? What does it mean to reevaluate one’s sense of Jewish heritage from a hospital room or a place of quiet grief? This book will explore these important questions, and more.

To be clear, by choosing to title this book The Sacred Struggle, we are not saying we believe nor will we argue that everything happens for a reason, nor offer up a type of theology that is clichéd or unhelpful. Rather, this title affirms that the act of struggle itself can become part of our sacred life journeys. By bringing together writers who have experienced profound hardship and been changed by that hardship, this book aims to shed light on what it means to hold onto Judaism during life challenges and give permission to earnestly evolve in our relationship to faith.

Rabbi Danziger and I both experienced cancer early in our rabbinic career. We were both young parents at the time, with young kids. We each learned a lot about trauma—trauma of the body and the spirit, and how trauma affects a family and community. Cancer is what brought us together, and our journey since has led to the creation of this book. We have both thought at significant length about the ways in which trauma can be life altering, both in ways that are negative and in ways that are surprisingly positive. We have both thought extensively about the pains we each carry and that our people carry. We have wondered together about themes of healing and change, both as human beings and as rabbis. This book comes therefore from both a deeply personal and professional viewpoint.

The Sacred Struggle begins with a useful definition of trauma from Dr. Betsy Stone before exploring the theme of trauma from a textual angle: What do our earliest sources teach us about Jewish responses to trauma? The chapters explore Biblical, Rabbinic, and contemporary approaches to trauma. We then examine different areas of potential trauma: the trauma of acute and chronic illness and how physical challenges impact our emotional and spiritual well-being; the trauma that can result from being marginalized because of race, gender, ability, or illness; the impact of personal and communal violence, from the streets of Memphis to the school halls of Parkland, from terror events to sexual assault; the trauma of natural disasters and the all-too-familiar trauma of pandemics; the trauma that can occur when one is part of a larger community that may be toxic, unhealthy, or simply not present; and finally, the trauma of family loss, which manifests as divorce, infertility, stillbirth, and death of loved ones.

Of course, just because we chose to group certain experiences of trauma does not mean that we are equating the experiences; every trauma is different, as is each of these beautiful, harrowing chapters. Indeed, each chapter goes to a highly vulnerable place; there is great honesty in this book. We believe that within these pages there is something for everyone. We have all lost. We have all been hurt. We can likely all find value in exploring the tools that these brave authors present us.

Rabbi Benjamin P. David serves Reform Congregation Keneseth Israel in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. He is the coeditor of The Sacred Struggle: Jewish Responses to Trauma and editor of Seven Days, Many Voices: Insights into the Biblical Story of Creation.

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Books CCAR Press High Holy Days

Facing the High Holy Days in a Time of Brokenness

Alden Solovy is the author of Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe from CCAR Press. In this post, he shares how he’s turning to two books to find meaning this year.

The High Holy Day season calls us to go from the experience of brokenness to the presence of God, from the pain of loss to the promise of renewal, from the worst of what we experience to the best of what we can imagine. We need—I need—the High Holy Day season this year more than ever.

This season of introspection and improvement arrives for me in the nick of time. I’m surprised by how much harder it has been to begin this year’s journey of self-examination. How could it possibly be any more difficult than last year, in the days leading up to the first anniversary of October 7, 2023? Consumed with writing in the aftermath of the attack that year, I completed my High Holy Day book Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe to give voice to the pain of our times and to elevate—against all odds—the call for hope, renewal, justice, peace, and life revived. Turns out, I wrote the book for myself.

Yes, I’m turning to my own book to find meaning this year. I typically find ongoing meaning by continuing to write, not by returning to my work, with the exception of public readings. I simply recommend my books to others, hoping they will find meaning and comfort in my words, and I keep writing. Yet I haven’t fully moved on emotionally and spiritually since October 7, and today my own book is speaking to me as if it is someone else’s voice.

My book, in fact, is singing a duet with another book of poetry, prayer, and inspiration. My heart is drawn to what Rabbi Karyn Kedar writes about the beginning of the High Holy Day journey, which is to experience and examine brokenness. It peaks on Tishah B’Av when we commemorate the destruction of the two temples in Jerusalem. As she writes in her new book Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion, “The month of Av grounds us with a simple warning: Humanity has an unlimited desire and capacity to create love, but at the same time, humanity has the will and the means to destroy itself. Av asks us to dwell in our desire to live an elevated life…”

I want to dwell in the desire for an elevated life. I want to live in a nation that elevates life. With hostages still in captivity, a two-year set of wars within wars, frequent sirens and trips to bomb shelters, starvation in Gaza, and with global antisemitism spiking, I am putting my hope and faith in this season of introspection to help me find not answers, but ways of being. How to be an Israeli-American progressive Zionist who has no faith in the Israeli government. How to be a Zionist who has given my life to this land, but demands a better government and a better future for Israelis and Palestinians alike.

“The High Holy Days can lift us on words of Torah and prayer to the heights of our best selves,” I write in the introduction to Enter These Gates. “The days also call forth the deepest moments of our vulnerability and pain.” We use that vulnerability and pain as medicine, as a path to healing ourselves as a pivotal step in healing the world.

This year, I am taking Rabbi Kedar’s Unfolding, and my own Enter These Gates, into my first High Holy Day pulpit as an HUC rabbinical student. It is a selfish act of love for myself and the community in which I will serve. It is a selfish act for the people of Israel to demand a better nation for ourselves and the world. It is a selfish act for all of Klal Yisrael for each of us to do everything we can to find the best of who we are and of what God expects from us.

So many prayers need to be prayed. I begin with this one, the opening piece of Enter These Gates. It is called “Pervasive Peace.” Cantorial soloist Rebecca Schwartz composed compelling music for this prayer, which can be heard on YouTube.

Pervasive Peace

May it be Your will, God of our fathers and mothers

That the year ahead brings a pervasive and complete peace

On all the inhabitants of the earth,

Beyond all the dreams of humanity.

,יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶֽיךָ, אֱלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ וְאִמּוֹתֵֽינוּ

שֶׁהַשָּׁנָה הַבָּאָה תָּבִיא שָׁלוֹם מֻחְלָט וְשָׁלֵם

,עַל כָּל־יוֹשְׁבֵי תֵבֵל

.מֵעֵֽבֶר לְכָל־חֲלוֹמוֹת־הָאֱנוֹשׁוּת

Y’hi ratzon mil’fanecha, Elohei avoteinu v’imoteinu,

Shehashanah habaah tavi shalom muchlat v’shaleim

Al kol yosh’vei teiveil,

Mei-eiver l’chol chalomot ha-enoshut.

Alden Solovy is a rabbinical student at Hebrew Union College who lives in Jerusalem. His books include Enter These Gates: Meditations for the Days of Awe, These Words: Poetic Midrash on the Language of Torah, This Grateful Heart: Psalms and Prayers for a New Day, This Joyous Soul: A New Voice for Ancient Yearnings, and This Precious Life: Encountering the Divine with Poetry and Prayer, all published by CCAR Press.

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Books CCAR Press High Holy Days

Understanding the Spiritual Journey from Tishah B’Av to Yom Kippur

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is the author of Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion from CCAR Press. In this excerpt, she explains the special rhythm of the Jewish calendar from the months of Av to Tishrei.

My wondering is my prayer. Beauty is my prayer. My spiritual agitation is my prayer. My prayer is the quiet by the window, which frames my thinking room as the sun sheds an early hue. I have sought silent amazement all the days of my life. I linger.

And I invite you to linger with me. This volume is my attempt to synchronize our spiritual search for meaning with the heartbeat of a few weeks of the Jewish calendar. It is an ode to our mortality, a song to our sense of impermanence. The words are meant to scratch at our imperfections. If we are flawed, and we truly are, then what is our worth? How do we find our purpose within the cracks and fissures of our being? Where do we find meaning?

We live and tarry in these questions for just a few weeks, from Av to Elul to the beginning of Tishrei. This becomes an arch where we slowly become aware, touching our existential longing to live deeply, intently, lovingly, and meaningfully. It is an invitation to a spiritual unfolding.

We begin with Tishah B’Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av—a time of mourning and remembering the many calamities that have befallen the Jewish people. The month of Av is a solemn period grounded in historical circumstances that encourages deep personal reflection. The Temple was destroyed on the ninth of Av in 70 CE because of human frailty; we chose hate over love, and all was lost for the nation. So too, with us—when we give in to negativity, we lose so much. Destruction, we learn, is caused by senseless hatred. Redemption will come with love.

We begin here, in the ashes, for we learn from our tradition that we are but dust. We are of the earth and will return to the earth. This is not a statement of self-deprecation—after all, we are also taught that we stand on holy ground—but rather a call for a humble perspective. It is the reality of human nature to rise and to fall, to love and to hate, to give and to withhold. The month of Av grounds us with a simple warning: Humanity has the unlimited desire and capacity to create and love, but at the same time, humanity has the will and the means to destroy itself. Av asks us to dwell in our desire to live an elevated life—an unfolding toward loving rather than fear.

Nestled between the lowliness of Av and the overwhelming spirituality of Tishrei is the ethereal month of Elul. Elul invites us to contemplate thoughts of forgiveness, love, and beauty. For the entire month, we sing songs of penitence, praying. Praying that we will be forgiven, for we are deeply flawed. Praying that we can forgive, for we are afraid to let go. Remembering that we are created for glorious things—if we can live a life of strength and resilience, depth and compassion.

Love is not a feeling but a spiritual state, not an emotion but a practice. We yearn for an expansive love that lifts us and connects us to our highest impulses. To be gentler with ourselves and find greater self-love. To embrace our relationships with open hearts and understanding. To find a faith grounded in the awareness that love abides and abounds if only we reach for it.

The mantra of the month of Elul is Psalm 27, recited daily: “There is only one thing I seek, to gaze upon beauty all the days of my life” (verse 4). We consider words and concepts such as God, holiness, love, and beauty. For me, they are synonymous and the dwelling place of the aspirational soul.

The calendar leads us further into the thicket of reflection, self-awareness, moral accountability, and spiritual elevation. The first ten days of the month of Tishrei are called the Ten Days of Repentance. For weeks now, we have readied ourselves for the intensity of these ten days. We have practiced sustaining a thoughtful and contemplative pose, thinking about where we have come from, who we are, and who we desire to become. We have tended to our wounds, nurtured our hearts, and immersed ourselves in matters of the spirit. It is healing to realize that these days begin with Rosh HaShanah, a celebration of Creation, when the world shines new and we know that the power to recreate ourselves lies within our attention and intention to do so. The shofar sounds, a clarion call to awaken what lies dormant within so that we may journey ever deeper into repentance and forgiveness, unfolding into a deeper sense of self.

And then Yom Kippur. We are tired, humbled, ecstatic with hope, crying out one last time. We deny ourselves food and drink. On this holiest of days, with nowhere to go, we go inward. We use metaphors that create a sense of urgency like “the gates begin to close” and “seal us in the Book of Life.” We sing one more time of sin and repentance, rocking ourselves, hopeful that we can find the way, the path to a deeper life. A more thoughtful life. A forgiving life. And we bring our generations with us, immersing ourselves in loss and memory and the acute understanding that we are mortal. Morality is the demanding consciousness of Yom Kippur, bidding us to live better, deeper, and kinder. From dust. To dust.

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is an author, poet, spiritual counselor, inspirational speaker, and rabbi emerita at Congregation B’nai Jehoshua Beth Elohim in Deerfield, IL. She is the author of Omer: A Counting, Amen: Seeking Presence with Prayer, Poetry, and Mindfulness Practice, and Unfolding: A High Holy Day Companion, all from CCAR Press.

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Rabbinic Innovation

Rabbinic Innovators: Rabbi Rachel Van Thyn / RVT: A Rabbinate Built Upon Supporting People During Their Most Sacred Journeys and Moments

The Central Conference of American Rabbis, Reform Judaism’s rabbinic professional leadership organization, is home to more than 2,000 Reform rabbis across North America and beyond. And while Reform rabbis wear many hats, often at the same time—Torah scholar, officiant, pastoral counselor, chaplain, educator, organizational leader, activist—they also serve in a wider range of settings, changing the shape of the sacred work of the rabbinate with innovative new visions for Jewish communal life.

We’re proud to share the stories of CCAR members who are taking our ancient Jewish traditions and imaginatively and courageously building new programs, practices, collaborations, communities, and transformational approaches to Reform Judaism. We’re also sharing how, even in dark times, so many CCAR members find joy as rabbis, and we share their hopes for the future of the Reform rabbinate and Reform Judaism.

Rabbi Rachel Van Thyn (RVT) is a New York-based Reform rabbi, ordained in 2013. Here, shares her innovative rabbinic journey from working in a congregation to becoming a board-certified hospital chaplain, serving on the front line during the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as her personal challenges with fertility, which became an opportunity to help others on their fertility journey.

How do you describe your rabbinate?
My rabbinate has always been connected to two core values: the pursuit of justice and the value of hospitality or welcoming. My grandparents were Holocaust survivors, and I was raised with the sense that it is our responsibility as human beings to make the world a better place. My home congregation served as a welcoming and inviting space where people were embraced regardless of what they looked like. Since I grew up in a predominantly non-Jewish city, having a place where people were excited and happy to see me and where I didn’t feel excluded shaped my future path without my realizing it.

As a rabbi, these poles of justice and inclusivity guide my professional and personal selves. Every professional role I have embodied has been with a pursuit of these principles, whether working for a congregation, camp, a nonprofit organization, or a healthcare system.

What is the rabbinic motto or the words that guide your rabbinate?
To recognize that there is so much that is happening internally for each person I encounter that I may never know about, and thus to treat everyone with kindness, compassion, and dignity.

I also feel connected to the teaching that says every person should carry a note in each pocket: one that says, I am but dust and ashes, and the other which says, the whole world was made for me. Our work is in each moment to figure out which pocket to draw upon.

How have you innovated within your rabbinic career?
There are two significant ways I’ve been innovative in my career. First, I moved from pulpit work and became a board-certified chaplain, and then completed additional training to become a CPE Supervisor (a CPE Supervisor trains and supervises clergy and professionals in multi-faith chaplaincy). I knew for a long time that being with people in crisis and difficult moments, counseling people, and holding space was something I felt energized by and drawn towards, even before I became a rabbi.

I have worked at a massive healthcare system for nearly a decade, including serving front-line during the COVID-19 pandemic. These surges coincided with part of my fertility journey to become a parent, and I found myself undergoing IVF treatments while we walked through an unprecedented time in history. Our family had good support, but we needed specific kinds of emotional, spiritual, and ritual care that we didn’t have. So I began creating it for myself.

After I was lucky enough to give birth to a child, I established Clara Fertility Counseling & Support—a practice (not associated with the hospital) that provides these types of support to people in their family-building journeys, regardless of whether they consider themselves spiritual or religious or not. I work with individuals and couples, holding space for questions and feelings as they strive to expand their families, and I also work with organizations and congregations with things like offering best practices towards being inclusive to their members, many of whom are wrestling with in/fertility.

I also run support groups for those on in/fertility journeys. I utilize my training as a chaplain and educator to assist people in using their own wisdom and resiliency to make it through difficult moments.

How has your rabbinate evolved throughout your career?
I’ve been privileged to serve in a variety of settings: in a pulpit, in non-profit organizations, at camp, and now in healthcare. I’m not surprised where I’ve ended up, but I could not have predicted the journey!

I think my rabbinate has evolved by listening to that voice of discernment within—the same voice all of us have the capacity to hear for ourselves—to figure out which corner of the world I need to devote my heart and energy to next. It’s not always easy to hear this voice or to sometimes take a leap in a new direction, and in the past I felt pressured to make my rabbinate look a certain way. But along the path I’ve found teachers and mentors who encourage me to be myself, and to pursue my understanding of how a rabbinic life can look, even if it’s different from others. I do my best now to encourage other clergypeople to listen to their own voice, because we need all kinds of people and all kinds of rabbis in the world.

What do people find unique, unusual, or surprising about your rabbinate?
People find it surprising that a lot of my day is spent teaching, serving, and caring for others who aren’t necessarily Jewish. Every day is different, and each story that I encounter is unique. At the same time, my identity as a chaplain and an educator is completely rooted in who I am as a rabbi and in Jewish values. So even if the people I’m connecting with aren’t Jewish, I’m still grounded in and drawing upon my Jewish values and teachings to orient me in the work of caring for others. Training to become a board-certified chaplain and then an educator took many years of study and practice, and I remain humbled every day by learning from and with my students and my patients. The learning never stops—nor should it!

For my family-building and fertility work, which is not associated with my work at the hospital, though I draw on my skills and training to do it—it has allowed me to share with the wider world the complexities of what in/fertility can look like for people. Every story is unique, and for so many, their experiences are invisible. I hope I’m helping change that narrative. Getting to accompany people on their journeys is a deep privilege.

What is the most rewarding aspect of your rabbinate?
It’s very hard to narrow down to one thing! Many days at the hospital, I am meeting patients and their families on some of the worst days of their lives. Being with them in their sacred journey of illness, death, or recovery is intense and meaningful. With my students, bearing witness to their learning a new skill or in their own self-discovery brings me such joy.

With my growing in/fertility work, I feel gratitude when someone shares with me that they feel seen, recognized, and supported. Or when they feel safe enough to say something aloud maybe for the very first time.

What excites you or makes you feel the most hopeful about the future of rabbinate?
I am excited by all the creativity in the field. Just as I have found an area in which I believe I can make a real difference in peoples’ lives, so too have my colleagues and future colleagues—regardless of what type of setting we are in. And that more and more people are being embraced for who they are and what skills they can bring to the world.

Rabbi Rachel Van Thyn is a Clinical Pastoral Educator at The Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City and is also the founder of Clara: Fertility Counseling & Support. She also serves on the Board of the Central Conference of American Rabbis.

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Israel Rabbinic Reflections

Presence, Partnership, and Compassion in Action: Serving Shoham Israel’s Ve’Ahavta Reform Community In a Time of War

Rabbi Rinat Safania Shwartz serves the Ve’Ahavta Reform Community in Shoham, Israel. Here, she shares her experience serving the Reform Jewish community in Shoham during the twelve days of the war with Iran, part of the ongoing war they’ve been living through since October 7, 2023.

Living Without a Shelter

To protect myself emotionally, I tried to disconnect from the reality of what might happen to my family and me. Still, on the first morning of the war with Iran, Friday morning, I joined hundreds of Israelis at the supermarket—stocking up as if for a world war. I spent 2,000 shekels buying food and water, feeling that familiar sense of hysteria and dread. That’s how we cope here.

My home has no shelter room. We run to my brother-in-law’s when sirens sound. Two weeks prior, just as we sat for Shabbat dinner, the first siren sounded. The evening was over before it began. We hardly slept. We got up three times during the night because of the missile alerts. When not in the shelter, we sat in fear, watching horrifying images from Ramat Gan and Rishon LeZion—the first two cities to be directly hit by deadly missiles.

And yet, in a strange way, the missile fire from Yemen in recent months has developed in us some kind of resilience. The kids know the drill, but the fear has only grown deeper. The destruction is massive. The uncertainty is endless. And through it all, I’m checking on our community, leading Zoom-based Kabbalat Shabbat services, trying to keep us spiritually connected.

I worry not only for us, but for our Jewish brothers and sisters abroad, facing growing threats. It’s heavy. I try to function through distance, but it’s hard.

A House Destroyed

It was a terrible night: eleven dead, three missing, dozens injured, and thousands without homes. People emerged from rubble in pajamas. The trauma is everywhere.

As a community, we canceled events due to safety regulations. We have no shelter room in our synagogue. Instead, we called every member, making sure they had shelter. Then, I received a message from a young family in Rehovot—a couple I married—whose home was destroyed. They made it to the shelter just before the explosion. Now they had nowhere to go. I talked the mother through what to pack. I drove over to be with her. She was having a panic attack. We sat in the shelter together, along with others waiting to be evacuated. Volunteers, social workers—everyone helping each other. Eventually, the family was sent to a hotel in Jerusalem.

That same day, we opened a joint relief center with Shoham’s city council to gather donations. And, like every afternoon since October 7, we stood at the intersection, holding photos of the hostages.

Each night brought with it the same uncertainty. And we were afraid.

Our Community Response: Acts of Love and Solidarity

In the face of crisis, our Ve’Ahavta Reform community in Shoham is motivated by compassion and purpose.

We turned our synagogue into a center of compassion, in partnership with Shoham’s welfare department and the Yad MiShoham volunteer organization. We collected clothing, toys, and baby items for displaced families. Teens sorted donations. Volunteers delivered supplies to hotels.

Our youth baked challot and cookies for families of people called to reserve duty. Others prepared meals for these families. Women crocheted dolls for evacuated children. We also supported children with special needs whose routines collapsed, offering relief to their parents.

This is what a community looks like: presence, partnership, and compassion in action.

Holding the Soul

Amid the chaos, we held onto our spiritual core. Each evening, after praying for the hostages, we opened a quiet Zoom space. No expectations. Just presence. On some days, five people attended. On some, fifteen. I was there each time— not to preach, but to be with whomever needed it.

We continued our Beit Midrash. We kept singing, even through tears. Board members called every elder just to ask “How are you today?:

Shabbat continued—on Zoom, or around a single candle. We made space for grief, fear, resilience—and for one another.

Small Hands, Soft Clay

Sometimes healing begins with something small—like soft clay in a child’s hands.

Ronit Hana Golan, a member of our community, opened her pottery studio to parents and children. Schools were closed. Fear was high. Most families were stuck at home. The workshops took place near a bomb shelter. Kids could create. Parents could breathe. It wasn’t just art, it was therapy. A reminder: we are not alone.

Standing with Displaced Israelis

Nearly a hundred buildings around the country were completely destroyed or severely damaged, and tens of thousands of Israelis have lost their homes and had to be displaced. Many lost everything. Others had only ten minutes to retrieve whatever they could

In Bat Yam, we met evacuees living in hotels. They face emotional trauma and bureaucratic chaos. Most are not even officially recognized as displaced. Some were instructed on Saturday night to leave their rooms by Thursday—with nowhere to go. Agreements extended hotel stays until Sunday, but the future is unclear. We’ve started visiting hotel rooms, offering presence, comfort, and dignity.

Now is the time for Jewish solidarity. To listen, to support, to act.

Rabbi Rinat Safania Shwartz is the founding rabbi of the Ve’Ahavta Reform Community in Shoham, Israel.

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inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Robin Nafshi’s Pride Reflections: ‘They Got a Lesbian Rabbi After All’

In honor of Pride Month, the critical contribution of our LGBTQIA+ rabbinic and Jewish community, and the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate, the CCAR is honored to share the stories of the experiences of LGBTQIA+ Reform rabbis.

In the mid 2000s, I applied for a pulpit position in a very conservative part of the country. I had been ordained three years prior, and had not received a single full-time job offer. I pursued this position in part because my partner’s father was from the area and she had many, many wonderfully loving relatives living there.

I was met at the airport by the synagogue’s search chair. He told me that he was excited about my candidacy, as he really hoped the congregation would offer me a job and prove that they were not a bunch of rednecks. I knew my time with these folks was going to be challenging.

At the synagogue, the first person I met asked me if I talked about being gay in all of my sermons. I responded that I usually talked about the Torah portion, not my sexuality. Another person asked if in my previous jobs, I was allowed to work with children. I was so stunned, I just looked at the person with a blank stare.

When I finally got around to meeting with the committee, the questions were irrelevant and even offensive. I was grateful when someone asked me about my favorite professional basketball team, a sport I had not followed since the 1970s. “I was a fan of the New York Knicks when I was a teenager,” I said, not revealing that it was because my dad was a Knicks fan; “I’m sure I could become a fan of the local team if that’s important to the community.” I wondered what presumptions were going through their heads when they asked a lesbian rabbinical candidate about sports. Did straight women get those questions?

Needless to say, I was not offered the job. A wonderful colleague did, who, after a few years, came out of the closet and married her female partner. They got a lesbian rabbi after all.

Rabbi Robin Nafshi serves Temple Beth Jacob in Concord, New Hampshire. Her partner, Cantor Shira Nafshi, also serves Temple Beth Jacob.

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inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Shoshanah Tornberg: Pride and Two Pregnancies

In honor of Pride Month, the critical contribution of our LGBTQIA+ rabbinic and Jewish community, and the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate, the CCAR is honored to share the stories of the experiences of LGBTQIA+ Reform rabbis.

During my first contract negotiations, my congregation was in new territory, never having hired a woman as clergy. I argued for maternity leave. In the end, they gave me about four weeks of leave only in the event that I personally gave birth. There was something curiously odd about how my gender failed to align with their ideas about what parenting could or should mean.

In the end, my partner and I had a remarkable pregnancy story. We had chosen an anonymous donor, and decided my partner would try to get pregnant first. We both wanted the chance, but it seemed like she might have less time to work with. She tried for many months and had a few miscarriages. We took a hard look at our situation, and realized that we had two wombs in “their” mid-thirties.

We wanted to maximize the odds that we would have a child. So our plan was to go back and forth until we had a viable pregnancy. The IVF team assured us that we would be very unlikely to BOTH have pregnancies that “took.”

Well, in later years, folks would ask us if we planned it. We learned that she was pregnant, and then a week later, we learned that I was pregnant. My response is always, “Do you know anything about fertility?” How on earth would someone plan for two simultaneous pregnancies? It gave new meaning to the oft-uttered phrase, “We are pregnant.”

When we brought our new little ones to shul for a formal welcome, my partner and I each held one of our babies as we schmoozed at a reception. A woman nearby us complained to a friend that I should not be carrying the child that my partner birthed, and vice-versa (as we were at the time), because it confused people.

I had no words in that moment for how one might respond.

Rabbi Shoshanah Tornberg, RJE was ordained at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion (HUC-JIR) in 2006. She serves Congregation Keneseth Israel in Allentown, Pennsylvania.

Categories
inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Peter Kessler’s Pride Reflections: ‘I Have No Room In My Soul to Remember the Disappointments’

In honor of Pride Month, the critical contribution of our LGBTQIA+ rabbinic and Jewish community, and the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate, the CCAR is honored to share the stories of the experiences of LGBTQIA+ Reform rabbis.

When I realized I was different from the other boys, not actually knowing what gay meant, the idea of embracing the “other” made it into my consciousness. I loved my connection to Judaism—after all, my father was a lifelong Jewish educator, and my late mother loved being president of the sisterhood and our congregation, which inspired me to spend my life helping others. The collision of Judaism and my blossoming gay life cemented the fact that the rabbinate was my calling.

In the late 1970s, there was no place for an openly gay man to become a rabbi. I found solace at Congregation Or Chadash in Chicago, a haven for the gay and lesbian Jew, where I made lifelong friends—at least lifelong for those who survived the AIDS epidemic, which decimated my social circle in the 1980s. By 1990, it was clear to me that applying to rabbinical school as an out gay man would be my lifelong goal.

I was ready for rabbinical school, but rabbinical school wasn’t ready for me. It took a year of Hebrew study before I applied a second time, after being rejected the year before, most likely by a committee unwilling to make history. So in 1991, I was the one who made history, and made my way to the HUC-JIR Year in Israel program, hoping that I would be able to be a congregational rabbi after my years of study.

I was the last one in my class to be placed.

Now, on the 35th anniversary of gay and lesbian rabbinic students who were the trailblazers at HUC-JIR and in the Reform Movement, I have no room in my soul to remember the disappointments, only the triumphs that I was able to accomplish with a supportive family made up of my relatives, friends, and colleagues.

In 2025, I consider myself to be the luckiest rabbi in America, serving a pulpit on a sub-tropical island in the Gulf of Mexico, and basking in the pride of my accomplishments both personal and professional. I remain grateful for the happy years I spent with my ex-partner and continue to bask in the joy of the accomplishments of my son, Floyd. I am proud to be who I am, and proud to be what I am.

Rabbi Peter Kessler is a CCAR member and serves Congregation B’nai Israel in Galveston, Texas. He is originally from Chicago and was ordained by the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in 1995. He earned his Doctor of Divinity in May of 2021.