Tag: Israel

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Convention Rabbinic Reflections

‘For This Have We Come to the Rabbinate’: CCAR President Rabbi David Lyon’s 2026 CCAR Rabbinic Convention Address

The 137th annual Convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis was held in March 2026 in the San Francisco Bay Area, where over 400 Reform rabbis gathered in person and online. Here, we share CCAR President Rabbi David Lyon’s moving address acknowledging the challenges of being a rabbi in this moment and a reminder to counter hate with courage and Jewish joy.

Only two weeks ago, we celebrated Purim. In ancient times, Persia returned the Jews to Judah; today, Jews seek to return Persians to Iran. It’s a topsy-turvy world sometimes. It’s not always ours to understand, but it’s always ours to make meaning. If only it didn’t take so long to return to our ancestral home in Israel, to repay the favor to Persia, or to anticipate peace after war in the Middle East. Apparently, it’s also going to be a while before Jewish institutions and the people who serve them can stop worrying and spending for security.

Our work, though, is a marathon, not a sprint, another sports metaphor that had to be explained to me by my colleague, Rabbi Adrienne Scott, who runs. I don’t run, unless I’m being chased. Esther, of course, was chased, but Mordechai had to remind her, in a horrible moment, that she had come to royalty “for a moment such as this.”

But, really? Under our circumstances, who hasn’t asked, “Have we come into the rabbinate for THIS?” Or maybe someone asked us, “For this YOU became a rabbi?” It’s rarely easy. So let’s be clear, today: For this and more WE were created.

Our learning begins in Vayikra where the Israelites and their priests managed their own sacred relationships with God through sacrifice. First among them, Moses brought different kinds of offerings. Referring to Psalm 18:26ff, Rabbi Nehemiah explains in Vayikra Rabbah: 

When Moses approached God with special courtesy, God treated him with special courtesy; when he came to God with frankness, God answered him with frankness; when he approached God with lack of directness, God countered him with lack of directness; when he sought a clear statement regarding his affairs, God made clear his affairs for him. (Midrash Rabbah, Vayikra 11:5) 

Without a Temple to offer sacrifices, the rabbis linked Moses’s relationship with God to the offerings of his lips and the intentions he brought with them. Then they linked Moses to themselves, and they taught that, with no Temple standing in Jerusalem, our verbal gifts would replace the sacrifices. The rabbis thus equated the power of their own prayers with the power of the best-intentioned sacrificial offerings. We, too, hope that our prayers and intentions will be worthy before God. 

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Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell on Cultivating Hope in a Time of War and Spiritual Challenge

I write this in the shadow of our shared grief. Rabbi Andrea Weiss’s death is a loss to our community, and to the world. So many of us have lost a teacher, a mentor, a trusted colleague. May we continue to teach her Torah of deep scholarship, her love of our precious inheritance, and her commitment to the health of a vibrant, inclusive Jewish tradition.

I am sitting on our Tel Aviv mirpeset in the sun. It is another gorgeous day: blue skies with only whispers of clouds, climbing up to 70 degrees, birdsong complementing the voices of children at play.

I, and they, are grabbing a few minutes of sanity as we wait for the next siren.

The children are outside on the grass because there’s no school. No school, limited commerce, unpredictable intercity transportation. This tiny land-locked country has become an island of fear as we wait for the next siren that will send those of us lucky enough to have one into the shelter.

I am one of the lucky ones. For me, this isolation is reminiscent of Covid times, when we kept inside and apart from others because of a different kind of fear. For the majority of Israelis, these days have taken them back to last June, what is now “the first Iran war,” and to October 7, and the months that followed. For too many, their minds swing back to hours locked in safe-rooms, and the subsequent discovery that beloveds had been murdered or kidnapped and their homes destroyed. And then, months of no recovery, no government support, no new housing, no return of the hostages, alive and dead. All this is just below the surface for thousands who call Israel and Palestine home.

Thousands of residents of Israel walk through their days with unaddressed PTSD. And yet, and yet there is kindness and caring and deep wells of compassion.

And amazing resilience. I spent a day the week before last, just before the war began, in Bethlehem with two friends, an Israeli and a Palestinian friend, both of them activists in Combatants for Peace. We shared coffee and conversation, visiting the Healing Center that Nimala, our Palestinian friend, is building in Beit Jala, then being tourists for an hour at the Church of the Nativity, where we were guided by Mohammed, the husband of their colleague, Fatima. When I was in Palestine last year, Fatima shared her story, thanks to a translator, of her work as a peace activist in Gaza, and her amazing escape to the West Bank. Her story was shared at the annual Joint Memorial last year, read by someone else, as Fatima herself needs to shield her identity.

Thanks to the invitation of Rabbi Efrat Rotem, director of MARAM, I was able, on Wednesday, February 11 and Thursday, February 12, to join over thirty of our Israeli rabbinic colleagues for a two-day study retreat. We gathered at Kibbutz Dalia in the north of Israel. Study and meditation retreats have been essential to my professional and spiritual growth, so I was delighted to join my Israeli counterparts for an immersion in Jewish study, prayer, and sharing our work and our lives.

Our colleagues gathered from across the country, from their full-time and part-time positions working for the College, the Israeli Reform Movement, the World Union for Progressive Judaism, individual and regional congregations and k’hilot, training the next generation of Reform Jews in a range of educational settings, and work as chaplains and freelancers. Like the CCAR, our Israeli colleagues include men and women and non-binary souls of a wide range of ages in backgrounds.

Our scholar in residence was our colleague Rabbi Nancy Wiener, Director of the Blaustein Center for Pastoral Counseling, and professor of Human Relations at Hebrew Union College in New York. Nancy has been researching and writing about moral injury, helping her students and colleagues better understand and address the profound spiritual wounding that takes place when core beliefs are shattered and betrayed.

This topic was not theoretical for the Israeli colleagues who came together from all over Israel. Nancy taught in Hebrew, illustrating her teaching with a series of illustrative Hebrew slides. We learned about the invisibility of moral injury, and the challenge of honoring that we, as caregivers, are each carrying versions of the harm that we learn to identify in others. She reminded us of the essential role of listening and honoring the silence—or the floods of words—that may be shared with us. She taught us the linguistic and clinical differences and similarities between PTSD/post-traumatic stress disorder and moral injury, illustrating psychological and spiritual challenges with examples from our sacred texts.

As those of us who have had the privilege of studying with Nancy know well, she challenges her students, in this case, her colleagues, to immediately explore the learning she has shared by breaking into chavurot or small groups. Throughout our day of learning together, we explored a typology of survivor narratives to help us, as listeners, better accompany those who share their stories with us.

Our retreat was expertly and wisely led by our colleague Rabbi Efrat Rotem. Our time together was a rich balance of prayer, study, and play. I especially appreciated our evening of trivia. Efrat is a gifted comedic impresario and had crafted an evening of silliness rivaled only by some of our colleagues’ elaborate Purim presentations. We divided into teams of five to eight and competed with one another for mastery of an extraordinary range of trivia, from daily prayer to rabbinic citations to popular culture to geography. I was fortunate to sit next to Rabbi Michael Marmur; without his translations and encyclopedic mind, I would have missed much of the fun! I loved the easy comradeship—indeed, the full engagement—of our colleagues that, for me, mirrored the deep connections and mutual devotion between them.

Sharing t’filah with other rabbis is one of the greatest gifts of inclusion in our community of sacred service. When we lift our voices together, I am wrapped in sacred intention, reminding me of the clarity that brings me back, again and again, to our holy gatherings.

As I write this, there are no non-Israeli flights into and out of Israel. It is unlikely that our Israeli colleagues will be able to join our annual CCAR Conference in California. We continue to pray as one for a cessation of this wide-ranging and destructive war.

May all who gather for the CCAR know that we are indeed one, each of us working in our own small corner of the world, cultivating sacred seeds of hope in this time of war and spiritual challenge.

Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell (HUC-JIR ’86) has been blessed with a rich and varied rabbinic career. She currently serves as Spiritual Director at the New York Campus of Hebrew Union College. Blessed to be a savta of three, Elwell lives in Philadelphia and Tel Aviv with her partner, Nurit Levi Shein.

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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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Israel Rabbinic Reflections Torah

Rosh Chodesh Adar: Leadership From Below—The Heroic Work of Our Israeli Reform Rabbis

Rabbis who have served congregations know the power of standing at the pulpit before an assembly of our people to teach and preach the words of Torah. On such occasions, we bear the mantle of Moshe Rabbeinu, who brought Torah to our people at Sinai. Could there be a more important leadership role for a rabbi? Yes, I believe there is—a role that is equally critical and perhaps even more important, just as there was for Moshe.

In our Torah study in recent weeks, we have read the accounts of Moses in his quintessential role as lawgiver, prophet, and intimate partner of the Holy One. He ascended Mount Sinai and stood face to face with God—panim el panim—and received the Torah. But the moment didn’t last. The holiness and purity of the scene on high wasn’t matched with appropriate piety from the Jewish people below. They grew anxious and fearful that they had been abandoned, and so they committed an epic act of apostasy by building and the Golden Calf.

Seeing what was happening on the ground, God told Moses to “go down…” (Exodus 32:7), to descend from on high. In the Talmud, Rabbi Elazar offers an important understanding of the words “go down.” “What is their meaning? he asks. The Gemara replies: “Go down from your exalted position, for I granted you greatness only for Israel’s sake” (Bavli B’rachot 32a).

Moses had a world-shaping role to play at the top of the mountain in receiving Torah, but as Rabbi Elazar suggests, his most important leadership role was performed at the bottom of the mountain with his people. He advocated for them and helped them to find their way forward when all seemed lost.

This is true for rabbis today. The greatness of our service is not primarily in grand public oration or in great scholarly teaching, but in the ways in which we hold and heal our people in their times of crisis and trial.

This “leadership from below,” this binding of the wounds of our people and walking with them from darkness toward light, may be the truest measure of our value as rabbis. We see it here in America among our colleagues in their faithful service to their communities, and we see it among our colleagues in Israel in particularly powerful and poignant ways.

Consider the story of Rabbi Yael Vurgan, who has served the regional council of Sha’ar HaNegev, right on the Gaza border, since her ordination six years ago. Working in partnership with a handful of dedicated lay leaders, Yael has brought Jewish culture and spirituality to secular Israelis in a beautiful spirit of openness, inclusion, and pluralism. She has led from below, meeting people where they are and helping them grow individually as Jews and together in community.

Since the brutal massacres on October 7, for so many members of the communities she serves, Yael has been there, heart and soul for her people, spending hours upon hours listening to them, supporting them, conducting funerals, offering spiritual care, and traveling all over the country to bring a healing presence and the power of Jewish ritual to thousands displaced from their homes. One small but powerful example of the impact of her work on the ground are the two hundred mezuzot she delivered to two hundred displaced families that are now affixed to the doorposts of their temporary homes.

Another shining example of leadership from below is the work of Rabbi Orit Rozenblit. Orit grew up a secular kibbutznik who began to search for her Jewish identity as a young adult. She studied Judaism and then taught at the Oranim Academy. In 2000, Orit moved with her family to Metula, in the far north, and began working in Kiryat Shmona. In 2008, she established a pluralistic beit midrash for young adults. Shortly thereafter, she was recruited to HUC-JIR, where she received her rabbinic ordination while also building a congregation that by 2022 had grown to eighty members.

Then came the war, with its daily bombardments from Hezbollah, which forced Orit, her entire community, and tens of thousands of others in the north to evacuate, scattering them throughout the country as far away as Eilat. Wherever her people have gone, Orit has stayed connected to them and been there to support them individually. But how could she keep her community together in its dispersion? Though unable to restore them to their physical homes, she helped them find spiritual shelter: together, they would write a new sefer torah. Thanks to a generous donor from the US, she was able to commission the first Israeli Reform sofer, Rabbi Shlomo Zagman, to write a Torah scroll, bringing the community together to join in the process, restoring their spiritual center, and giving them hope for renewal.

These are but two of the many, many moving and inspiring stories I could share of Israeli Reform rabbis who are leading creatively and dynamically, imitating the Holy One as “healers of the broken-hearted,” (Psalms 147:3) taking account of every individual they can and drawing them close to one another in life-affirming communities. They are our heroes, and we are blessed to have them as our friends, colleagues, and role models of the power of leading from below.

L’shalom ul’shuvam shel kol hachatufim.

If you are able, consider supporting the sacred work of our Israeli colleagues by supporting the IMPJ.

Rabbi Arnie Gluck is Rabbi Emeritus of Temple Beth-El in Hillsborough, New Jersey where he served for thirty-three years as a tireless teacher, scholar, and advocate for social justice.

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Israel Rabbinic Reflections

Rosh Chodesh Kislev: Moving Americans Beyond Their Own Narrative on Race as They Seek to Understand Israel

The Reform Israel Rabbinic Cabinet has created a monthly forum where rabbis share their thoughts on teaching and preaching about Israel in the month ahead. For Rosh Chodesh Kislev, Rabbi Yael Dadoun shares her wisdom on moving Americans beyond their own narrative on race as they deepen their understanding of Israel’s and the Jewish people’s beautiful diversity.

I once tried to explain to a colleague that Jews come from diverse backgrounds and that we have the wonderful responsibility to honor those differences by celebrating distinctive rituals and experiences in Judaism. With a flick of the wrist she responded, “Yeah, but we all eat lox and bagels!”

Having grown up in a Moroccan-Tunisian-Israeli household in Connecticut, I only first heard about lox in my sophomore year of high school—and to be honest, lox is still not my preferred bagel topping. For those of you wondering, I’m also not going to spread hummus on my bagel either, but that’s not the point. 

What I wished my colleague would have said was, “Tell me more about your rituals! What do you eat on special occasions?”  

In the last few years, I’ve observed that some Americans assume all Jewish people have an Ashkenazi background. There’s a similar assumption made about Israeli society—that Israelis are all “white” and of European descent. This is one of the reasons Israelis are often called colonizers, implying that Israelis come from foreign backgrounds and are not indigenous to the Holy Land. Thus, when we try to understand what is happening in Israel, we make incorrect parallels between American and Israeli society, superimposing American challenges with race and oppression upon Israel. 

Author and journalist Matti Friedman points to a recurring narrative he sees in the United States. He argues that many Americans are using their image of home to construct their image of Israel. He brings to our attention that some conflate the conflict between Jews and Muslims in the Middle East with American struggles of racism. They peer out into the world making claims about others but are actually looking at a mirror in which they mistakenly see their own unique struggles as the reason for conflicts across the globe—conflicts with their own unique set of circumstances as the root cause. Ultimately, America’s history of slavery, racism, and the struggle of Black communities in America have nothing to do with the history of the Jewish minority in Europe and the Islamic world who fled centuries of death and religious persecution by returning to their historic homeland in Israel. Israelis are diverse, and very real and challenging divisions and separations exist within the society, though for very different historical reasons than American segregation.

In 2019, The New York Times published an op-ed by the respected scholar Michelle Alexander, the author of an important book on incarceration. She described Israel’s conflict with the Palestinians as “one of the great moral challenges of our time,” claiming that Israeli society is guilty of “practices reminiscent of apartheid in South Africa and Jim Crow segregation in the United States.” For Alexander and other American writers, Jews living in the distant Middle East have wrongfully become an embodiment of American racial oppression. Rather than taking time to learn about the complex history of the region, the remarkably diverse background of Jewish Israelis who are over 50 percent Mizrachi and Sephardic (i.e., non-European), and the wide-ranging political beliefs of Israeli society, they seem to fall back on age-old tropes in which Jews are blamed for whatever problems may exist in a given society.  

As American Reform rabbis, we have the incredibly joyful opportunity to showcase how truly diverse Jewish people are, both in our ethnic backgrounds and religious rituals. This perspective can help to counter a simplistic and flawed narrative that paints Jews in the US and Israel as a homogenous group and can elevate the many different voices of our people. Such an approach would go a long way in enriching our American Jewish tradition while more accurately describing Israel’s fervent diversity and culture.

The Reform Israel Rabbinic Cabinet asks that if you choose to respond to this author, you do so only with kavod harav—respect for the rabbi sharing their wisdom, experience, time, and talent.  

Rabbi Yael Dadoun is a rabbi at Temple Mishkan Or in Beachwood, Ohio.

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Israel Rabbinic Reflections

Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan: A Fork in the Road for the Next Generation’s Engagement with Israel

The Reform Israel Rabbinic Cabinet has created a monthly forum where rabbis share their thoughts on teaching and preaching about Israel in the month ahead. For Rosh Chodesh Cheshvan, Rabbi Allie Fischman shares her perspective on teaching and learning about Israel at Reform Jewish summer camps.

We are sitting at a fork in the road in terms of Israel engagement with the next generation of URJ leaders. Overall, we had a fantastic summer at URJ Camp Newman, where I serve as director. We also received multiple emails from Newman alum who are calling upon us to shift our Israel education to “share a more true and wider narrative about the land of Israel, the people of Israel, and the evolution of the current State of Israel.”

Since 2016, we have been working with The iCenter in Chicago to find a model that feels like the holy grail of Israel education in a camp setting (spoiler alert: no one has discovered it yet). How do we teach a “balanced” narrative, as some folks ask for, when we only have two to three hours during a two-week camp session to focus on Israel? How do we teach campers and staff to understand the nuances that young adults can handle? How do we convey the importance of the teachings of the movie Inside Out: that we can hold multiple truths and narratives at once, and feel compassion and love for multiple groups of people at once?  

This summer, we saw a handful of our fifteen- to seventeen-year-old campers and eighteen- to twenty-four-year-old staff members unwilling to embrace the concept of holding multiple truths about Israel. Rather than criticizing the Israeli government’s choices in the war, but still loving the Jewish homeland, they instead choose to forge a Reform Jewish life that simply does not include Israel as a main component. They feel comfortable singing Israeli or Hebrew songs but not ever stepping foot on the land. My heart hurt to speak with these campers and staff members. Israel remains such an important component of my Judaism, and these young future leaders of the Reform Movement want to create Reform Jewish life without Israel. Though this was a small percentage of 175 staff members, their stance reveals a shift from alumni before them. 

We need to come together as a Movement to consider the path ahead for Israel education. Congregations, youth groups, URJ camps, Reform Jewish parents—we could all be stronger together by creating a more unified plan of Israel education across all Reform Jewish platforms. No single religious school, no single camp, no single Reform Jewish parent or mentor should bear the entire weight of teaching our children about Israel and its complexities. I imagine a future where we work together across different areas of engagement to ensure that we teach our young leaders that understanding, holding, and embracing multiple truths and narratives displays strength, humility, empathy, and compassion.  

Though we encountered difficult conversations around Israel from some of these young folks this summer, our URJ camps also provided a vital haven for campers, staff, and faculty across the country. We provided another safe space to come together and be joyfully Jewish. We did everything we could to hold with care and love the hearts and souls of our visiting Israeli staff members and campers. Ultimately, I wonder how and if we can come together as the teachers of our future generations to find ways to teach about the nuances and complexities of Israel, while also passing on the importance of embracing and holding multiple truths. 

The Reform Israel Rabbinic Cabinet asks that if you choose to respond to this author, you do so only with kavod harav—respect for the rabbi sharing their wisdom, experience, time, and talent.  

Rabbi Allie Fischman has served as URJ Camp Newman Associate Camp Director from 2014 to 2018 and as Camp Director since 2018. 

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Israel Rabbinic Reflections

‘The Wheat Is Growing Again’: Rabbi Tamir Nir on Communal Spiritual Regrowth After October 7

Rabbi Tamir Nir is an Israeli Reform rabbi and the founder of the Israeli Reform congregation Achva Ba’Kerem in Jerusalem. Here, he shares his hope for regrowth and renewal even in tragic, trying times, and he shares how his Reform congregation, which includes a community garden, has provided a spiritual refuge during the war.

_____

“It’s not the same old house now; it’s not the same old valley
You’re gone and never can return again.
The path, the boulevard, a skyward eagle tarries…
And yet the wheat still grows again.”

Dorit Tzameret wrote this song after the 1973 Yom Kippur War. In it, she wonders how wheat can grow again after everything has gone and is simultaneously amazed and excited by nature’s regenerative capacity.

This is how I have found encouragement, hope, and motivation since the beginning of the war and even today.

These days, the squill is the only plant that grows and blooms in Israel after a long and dry summer. It emerges from the dry and barren land without leaves or branches, an upright, white, proud inflorescence like the phoenix. It renews itself, like the new year, which comes out of the void, and the moon, which is covered and then shows the ability of renewal.

I founded the Achva Beit HaKerem—a Reform congregation in the Keram community in Jerusalem—in 2007 because I understood the acute need to build communities for secular Israeli urban society. The necessity of fostering identity and belonging and creating frameworks for support and mutual responsibility to build personal and community resilience. We need to achieve political power to make a difference in the neighborhood, the city, and even the country.

The reality in Israel proves that the traditional synagogue is not suitable for most of the Israeli society: Secular Israelis want to contribute and immerse themselves in acts, in tikkun olam.

We built a community garden with the understanding that this is the place where the community can grow. The garden is where trees and vegetables grow, and people create a community. It is a gathering space open to all, without fences or definitions—a synagogue without walls. Since it is an open public space, the garden invites residents from all sectors and genders so everyone can feel welcome and significant.

Our garden calls for an endless and continuing encounter with the cycle of nature. Working in the garden requires faith, even in the simple act of sowing: “Those who sow with tears will reap with Joy” (Psalms 126:1). We need faith that the seed will sprout, grow, and bear fruit. This action encourages faith and hope and a call for action that leads to social action. This act proves our ability to repair and create with nature, with the help of rain and the sun, in partnership with God.

I want to share two new projects that have grown in our community this past summer.

  1. During the war, we started holding carpentry workshops in the garden, focused on repairing old and broken furniture and recycling wood. Here, too, we witness our ability to mend what is broken, despite the brokenness. Many of the participants in the workshops today are reservists who left Gaza, as well as their spouses.
  2. “Beer Garden” has become a regular weekly event lately, attracting hundreds of people. We learned that sitting with neighbors over a glass of beer opens hearts and creates closeness, as well as new interactions between people. Sometimes, it even leads to new initiatives and projects.

“How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and that is the gateway to heaven.” Genesis 28:17

The services held in the garden on Shabbat and holidays call us to pause, rest, admire our joint effort, and enjoy “the fruit of our labor.” We connect to each other and God. This profound experience of joining together offers spiritual renewal and strength, which is needed in these difficult days.

In prayer for good days, peace, growth, and peace.

Rabbi Tamir Nir is an ordained Reform rabbi who serves as the congregational rabbi for Congregation Achva Ba’Kerem, which he founded in 2007. Rabbi Nir teaches Jewish and Islamic thought in a high school for religious and secular Israelis. He recently served as Deputy Mayor of Jerusalem, where he bridged differences between the many diverse communities that make up the city, as the head of the BINA Secular Yeshiva, and as chair of the Heschel Center for Sustainability. He has an MA in Jewish Education and a BA in Architecture and Urban Planning. 

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CCAR Press Israel Poetry Prayer

El Malei Rachamim for October 7

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar shares this poem to commemorate one year since the October 7 attacks. It is entitled El Malei Rachamim (“Merciful God”) after the traditional Jewish memorial prayer. CCAR Press has also put together a full collection of poems, prayers, and readings to mark one year since October 7. Download the collection here.

El Malei Rachamim

In blessed memory of you

hiding in the fields and bushes,
and the joggers out for a run,
and the moms and dads making breakfast for their toddlers in their kitchens,
and the parents in their safe rooms, holding the door handles for hours,
and the babies—innocent infants—and the grandfathers, and the grandmothers,
and entire families, parents watching their children die, children watching their parents,
and entire neighborhoods of young adults who were waiting to begin their lives,
and you, the brave, throwing hand grenades back out of the shelters without doors
over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again,
and you, the courageous, who ran towards the carnage to save who you could over again,
and you who were trapped in hundreds of incinerated cars,
and the fathers who frantically drove from the north to find their children
who cried, Abba, they are near, and I’ve been shot, find me,
and the friends who escaped but returned to rescue their friends and were killed,
and you who were raped and maimed and mutilated,
and you, who danced as the sun rose and will never see another sunrise and never dance again,
and the hostages stolen, beaten, tortured, starved, kept in dark tunnels and family homes,
and killed cruelly in captivity,
and the young women who stood guard on the towers over Gaza and who watched from screens
in darkened rooms showing us, warning us, and were ignored, and were slaughtered,
and the civilian guard who held the line to the last bullet without help for hours,
and the brave police who fought to the end, and the superheroes of the Israel Defense Forces,
valiant, brave lions of Judah…

Your lives were brutally taken on October 7, 2023 and in the relentless aftermath.
El malei rachmim, have compassion upon your souls,
El malei rachmim, have compassion upon our broken hearts.

Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar is Rabbi Emerita at Congregation B’nai Jehoshua Beth Elohim in Deerfield, Illinois. She is the author of Omer: A Counting and Amen: Seeking Presence with Prayer, Poetry, and Mindfulness Practice, both from CCAR Press.

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CCAR Press Israel

October 7, One Year Later: Readings for Commemoration

CCAR Press has compiled a collection of prayers, readings, and poems, many written by CCAR members, to mark one year since the life-changing events of October 7, 2023. Here, we share the introduction to this collection:

October 7 has indelibly left its mark in our hearts and memories. We remember where we were, what we were doing, and the sinking sense of horror and loss on what should have been a day of celebration and joy in our Torah. Too many Israeli lives were lost; too many hostages were taken; too many families were displaced. The aftermath has unleashed one horror after another: rising waves of antisemitism in the Diaspora, widespread evacuations in Israel’s north, hundreds of Israeli soldiers fallen in battle, and tens of thousands of innocent Gazans killed because of Hamas’s actions and Israel’s response.

There are times to address each of these horrors—to demand hostages be returned home, to reckon with antisemitism at home and abroad, to soothe the divisions within the Jewish community. There will be a time for healing and rebuilding—God willing, speedily. But today, on the anniversary of the worst violence against Jews since the Holocaust, our task is to bear witness, to remember, and to mourn.

These readings may be shared as part of services and ceremonies with attribution of the authors and the CCAR. We hope these readings, prayers, and poems will provide support, meaning, and connection as you commemorate the anniversary of October 7, 2023.

Download the free collection.

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Israel Rabbinic Reflections

Rosh Chodesh Elul: Two Reform Rabbinic Perspectives on Teaching About Israel and Finding Ourselves in the Wilderness

The Reform Israel Rabbinic Cabinet has created a monthly forum where two rabbis will share with Reform rabbis their thoughts on teaching and preaching about Israel in the month ahead. For Rosh Chodesh Elul, Rabbi Melissa Simon has shared her thoughts, and Rabbi Dan Moskovitz has shared a Davar Acheir, a second perspective. 

Writing About Israel in Advance, by Rabbi Melissa Simon 

When I was asked to write this piece, my first question was “How late can I submit it?” This was not just because I have a tendency to procrastinate, but rather because every passing hour seems to see shifts and changes in the reality on the ground in the Middle East. So how can someone write about Israel in advance?  Writing about Israel in advance requires flexibility, an awareness of the possibility of a last-minute edit or rewrite, and creativity. It means identifying goals or themes and then ideating around them. Sometimes these initiatives can lead to meaningful adaptations and ideas.  

Over the first seven months of 2024, I organized and led three trips of Hillel campus staff from the United States, Canada, and Poland to Israel to better understand the post-October 7 reality. We painstakingly crafted a journal full of poetry, songs, prayers, and art. But then we faced a challenge: we desperately wanted to believe that our hostages wouldn’t still be held captive by the time the trip took place, yet it was a possibility (and sadly a reality throughout each trip). What did we do? We found an image that resembled a torn piece of tape, like the one Rachel Goldberg—the mother of hostage Hersh Goldberg-Polin—has been wearing attached to her clothing, what she calls “an emblem of pain,” marking the days of captivity of her beloved son, who was tragically murdered by Hamas. In solidarity, many of us around the world have been wearing the torn tape with the unbelievably increasing total number of days. We printed the blank tape image at the top of each day’s journal page and invited the participants to fill out the number of days each morning. It became a painful yet powerful ritual each day, as we marked the difficult passage of time. It centered the people of Israel and their reality at the forefront of our minds and hearts. 

The take-away I have from this experience is that however difficult it is, we must talk about Israel, we must write about Israel, we must engage in the work of Israel education—even when it is hard, even if our old systems and plans have failed us, even if we fear we will make a mistake. 

We need to center Israeli voices in our work, and we need to travel to Israel to experience the changed realities. We need to read books and articles, listen to podcasts, and watch TV and movies in order to add to our knowledge. We need to be creative with how we engage with Israel, and we need to be expansive in how we understand the people, land, and State of Israel. 

The greatest danger is the silence. The fear of getting it wrong causes some people to freeze and to fail to act. Our Jewish communities need prophetic and strong voices. They need sermons that make sense of what is hard to understand. They need classes that explain history and how present realities have come to be.   

Yes, sometimes you might need to edit that sermon right before services because something has shifted in world events. Yes, sometimes you might need to throw out the lesson plan to hold space to deal with a challenging reality. Yes, sometimes we can confess that we too are confused or scared or challenged. 

But even when it is hard—perhaps precisely because it is hard—we need to write, speak, and teach about Israel today and every day. 

Davar Acheir / Another Perspective: Always in the Wilderness, by Rabbi Dan Moskovitz 

Thank you, Rabbi Simon, for your thought-provoking and honest reflections on the challenges of writing about Israel amidst the daily uncertainty and dynamism of a post-October 7 world.

I too have been putting off my High Holy Day sermon topic selection let alone outlining and drafting, which by Elul is usually at least in my head if not on paper. Shabbat sermons and divrei Torah have been similarly “eleventh hour” as events impact perspective on a daily basis.  

And yet some things about Israel and the experience of Jews in the diaspora never change, even as they appear new to us as twenty-first-century Jews. For over seventy-five years, the miraculous existence of the State of Israel, to say nothing of Jews in the West in general; the nature, character, and acceptance among the community of nations of both the Jewish State and the Jewish People has been fragile and under attack from enemies “foreign and domestic.” The fantasy we tell ourselves is that the forces unleashed on October 7 are new and different, rather than revealing something that has been there all along, and that our people have faced for millennia.  

Franklin Foer’s piece in the Atlantic, “The Golden Age of American Jews Is Ending,” makes the point that what we are experiencing now is not the exception but rather normative of attitudes toward Jews and becoming normative toward Israel. I draw some degree of strength from that sad reality. We have been here before and are still here.  

I think of the tens of thousands of sermons and articles written by our rabbinic predecessors in their own precarious times; the strength (koach) and wisdom they gave their communities in dire moments such as these that guided our people through the wilderness. Maybe that is the burden and the blessing of being a Jew or a Jewish State—we are always in the wilderness striving toward a promised land, a promised time, but we never quite get there. In the striving, in the wilderness journey, our true character is formed and the dangers to our survival are revealed so we can confront them.  

The Reform Israel Rabbinic Cabinet asks that if you choose to respond to these authors, you do so only with kavod harav—respect for the rabbi sharing their wisdom, experience, time, and talent. 

Rabbi Melissa B. Simon is the director of Israel education for Hillel International and lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is the senior rabbi of Temple Sholom in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.