Tag: rabbinic reflections

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CCAR Convention Rabbinic Reflections

Connection, Reflection, Renewal: Reform Rabbis on the Gifts They Received at CCAR Convention 2026

Each year, the Central Conference of American Rabbis’ annual Convention brings together hundreds of Reform rabbis from across North America and beyond for a communal rabbinic experience difficult to replicate anywhere else. In the midst of demanding congregational and organizational lives, CCAR Convention offers CCAR members dedicated time for deep learning, professional development and skill building, and meaningful engagement with the critical questions facing Jewish life today. 

This year at CCAR Convention 2026 in the San Francisco Bay Area, over 400 Reform rabbis gathered for four days of davening, learning, connecting, and showing up for one another. They arrived carrying the weight of this moment: rising antisemitism, the strains on American democracy, and the very real demands of leading Jewish communities through an extraordinarily difficult time. They returned home renewed, reconnected, and ready to lead, with practical tools, fresh perspectives, and new ideas ready to apply in their communities. 

In addition to the programmatic richness of CCAR Convention, CCAR members consistently share that there is profound value of being in community with rabbinic peers who understand the unique challenges, responsibilities, and rewards of rabbinic leadership. As this year’s CCAR Convention reflections attest, CCAR Convention serves as both a professional resource and a source of renewal for Reform rabbis.

Rabbi Erica Asch
“Each year when I attend CCAR Convention, I feel like I get a chance to take a deep breath and reset. It is a time to connect with colleagues, to engage in meaningful learning, to deepen relationships, and to find joy. The skills I learned and the connections I make at Convention help me in my rabbinate throughout the year.”
—Rabbi Erica Asch serves Temple Beth El in Augusta, Maine and is the Immediate Past President of the CCAR


Rabbi Jeff Brown
“My biggest takeaway from Convention is the transformational impact of being in one room with so many cherished friends and colleagues. As we celebrate the rich diversity of rabbinates represented in the CCAR and at Convention, we also acknowledge that Reform rabbis are often the only ones who really ‘get’ the work we’re trying to do in the world—and the toll that it sometimes takes on us. There is so much strength and healing in being together.” —Rabbi Jeff Brown serves Scarsdale Synagogue-Temples Tremont and Emanu-El in New York and is the 2026 CCAR Convention Chair.

Rabbi Jason Fenster
“Alongside the joy of being with friends from around the globe, the camaraderie, and the laughter, is the gift of being a student again, learning with those who share in the complexities, challenges, and sweetness of rabbinic life. We have time for important conversations. Convention refills the tank of rabbinic calling and purpose. I came back this year buzzing with ideas, conversation to have with leaders, and renewed commitments to caring for the Jewish people and the wider community.” —Rabbi Jason Fenster serves Congregation Kol Ami in White Plains, New York.

Rabbi Rick Kellner
“The CCAR continues to be at the cutting edge of rabbinic growth and professional development. From conversations about future thinking, to big questions facing Jewish life, to diving deeper into the concerns we care so deeply about, CCAR Convention provides Reform rabbis opportunities to engage in meaningful conversation and connect to colleagues.” —Rabbi Rick Kellner serves Congregation Beth Tikvah in Worthington, Ohio and is President Elect of the CCAR.

Rabbi Stephanie Kramer
“I brought home so much from Convention—fresh ideas for re‑engaging our teens, new ways to deepen interfaith connections, and real excitement about so many things but especially ways to connect with teens. I’m inspired to build deeper, more meaningful connections with my congregants in times of need.” —Rabbi Stephanie Kramer serves The Temple, Congregation B’nai Jehudah in Overland Park, Kansas and also serves on the CCAR Board.

Rabbi Jacqueline Mates-Muchin
“It is hard to express how meaningful it was to be in a room where I didn’t have to explain the unique challenges of being a rabbi at this moment in history. This year, the CCAR Convention was particularly important for the comfort and support of colleagues.” —Rabbi Jaqueline Mates-Muchin serves Temple Sinai in Oakland, California and also serves on the CCAR Board.

Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg
“It’s easy to lament this moment in time: Our world is crumbling. However, gathering with colleagues at the CCAR Convention and learning from experts in the field, I returned home with hope that we will emerge from this dark period. Our strength and resilience are undefeatable. Reform rabbis are uniquely suited to hear the cries in our midst and march as one towards freedom.” —Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg serves Temple Israel of Ottawa in Ontario, Canada and also serves on the CCAR Board.

Rabbi Hernán Rustein
“CCAR Convention challenged us to describe Judaism using a new vocabulary. I am eager to explore how viewing Judaism as a ‘conversation’ can help us understand ourselves and explain our tradition to others—especially in a context where Jewish literacy is limited, and many non-Jews are interested in learning or even joining our community.” —Rabbi Hernán Rustein serves Temple Beth Shalom in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

Rabbi Deena Silverstone
“I loved attending my first CCAR Convention and immediately felt so welcomed! The most impactful part of the experience was the connections I made with new colleagues, as well as the ones I deepened with classmates and friends. It was a gift to be surrounded by such thoughtful colleagues who lead their communities and organizations with wisdom and courage. I was invigorated by the ideas we shared, and I’m excited to stay connected to friends old and new!” —Rabbi Deenna Silverstone serves the Center for Jewish Life in Lower Manhattan.

Rabbi Rachel Van Thyn (RVT)
“I’m bringing home new relationships with colleagues old and new! I also am bringing home learnings from some of Convention’s major programs, like learning about futurism, and thinking about how to apply it to my work. It was so good to pause for high-level creative thinking rather than being caught in the day-to-day of our roles.My biggest takeaway? Not to underestimate the meaning and joyfulness of praying, learning, and spending time with rabbinic colleagues.”—Rabbi Rachel Van Thyn (RVT) is a Clinical Pastoral Educator in New York and serves on the CCAR Board.

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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. 

Continue reading “‘For This Have We Come to the Rabbinate’: CCAR President Rabbi David Lyon’s 2026 CCAR Rabbinic Convention Address”
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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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Rabbinic Innovation Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbinic Innovators: Rabbi Michael Lezak on Living Torah, Serving the Community, and Transforming Lives

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.

How do you describe your rabbinate?
I am the Director of GLIDE’s Center for Social Justice. GLIDE is both a historically Black church—with a forty-member gospel ensemble and a seven-member funk band—and a social justice/service agency located in the Tenderloin neighborhood of San Francisco. GLIDE is on the forefront of addressing some of society’s most pressing issues, including poverty, housing and homelessness, and racial and social justice.

GLIDE is dedicated to fighting systemic injustices, creating pathways out of poverty and crisis, and transforming lives. Through our integrated comprehensive services, advocacy initiatives, and inclusive community, we empower individuals, families and children to achieve stability and thrive.

I create immersive learning experiences for elected officials, corporations, foundations, schools, and groups from all over the world. Be they six-hour engagements in the Tenderloin or five-day justice pilgrimages to Alabama, we help learners of all ages wrestle with systemic racism, economic inequalities and, ultimately, summon individuals and groups to moral strength and responsibility to bring healing, hope, and change.

Brandeis San Francisco (the local Jewish day school) brings their seventh graders to GLIDE eight times during the year to learn Torah, to live Torah, and to rise into responsibility as agents of change in their families and in their community. Before Rosh HaShanah, I brought all fifty seventh graders to the beach below the Golden Gate Bridge to sanctify the beginning of the year and to set the stage for the deep engagement with GLIDE. We will return to Crissy Field at the end of the school year for another immersion to take inventory of their learning and to plot out their future justice engagements.

GLIDE and The Kitchen (my wife, Rabbi Noa Kushner, founded The Kitchen fifteen years ago) have an ever-deepening justice covenant. The Kitchen’s K–12 Freedom School regularly meet at GLIDE learning Torah and living Torah. Kitchen members bake 100+ challot most Friday mornings of the year, perfuming the building with the smells of the best challah in town. They then walk challot throughout the building, delivering hot challah to GLIDE staff, who, amongst innumerable righteous acts, serve upwards of 700,000 hot meals every year. The Kitchen’s One City initiative works with GLIDE’s Walk-In Center to get needed items (furniture, cookware, etc.) to newly housed San Franciscans.

GLIDE and The Kitchen also have a years-long partnership with Ben Gurion University (and many other Israeli organizations). BGU sends over twenty students each year for an immersive week of learning at our institutions. The students spend multiple days at GLIDE, serving meals, waiting in the food line, baking challot, and coming to Sunday Celebration. In between, they spend twenty-five hours of shabbat praying, learning, eating, and recharging at The Kitchen and at our apartment.

How has your rabbinate evolved throughout your career?
I was a congregational rabbi for eighteen years. I loved that life. And, having two rabbis in two separate congregations proved unsustainable. In my most recent congregation, I brought my congregants into jails and prisons around the Bay Area, doing restorative justice work, celebrating Shabbat and holidays with incarcerated men, counseling them, and, with the head of the Chevra Kadisha I built in Marin, we taught the men who run the Prison Hospice in Vacaville about taharah and sh’mirah. It was one of the holiest days of my rabbinate.

What is your rabbinic motto that guides your rabbinate?

Psalm 145:14–19: GOD supports all who stumble,
  and makes all who are bent stand straight.
The eyes of all look to You expectantly,
  and You give them their food when it is due.
You give it openhandedly,
  feeding every creature to its heart’s content.
GOD is beneficent in all ways
  and faithful in all works.
GOD is near to all who call,
  to all who call with sincerity.
Fulfilling the wishes of those who show reverence,
  [God] hears their cry and delivers them.

סוֹמֵךְ יְיָ לְכָל־הַנֹּפְלִים וְזוֹקֵף לְכָל־הַכְּפוּפִים

עֵינֵי־כֹל אֵלֶיךָ יְשַׂבֵּרוּ וְאַתָּה נוֹתֵן־לָהֶם אֶת־אָכְלָם בְּעִתּוֹ

פּוֹתֵחַ אֶת־יָדֶךָ וּמַשְׂבִּיעַ לְכָל־חַי רָצוֹן

צַדִּיק יְיָ בְּכָל־דְּרָכָיו וְחָסִיד בְּכָל־מַעֲשָׂיו

קָרוֹב יְיָ לְכָל־קֹרְאָיו לְכֹל אֲשֶׁר יִקְרָאֻהוּ בֶאֱמֶת

רְצוֹן־יְרֵאָיו יַעֲשֶׂה וְאֶת־שַׁוְעָתָם יִשְׁמַע וְיוֹשִׁיעֵם

What is the most rewarding aspect of your rabbinate?
Building sacred connections across lines that we don’t usually cross in America: race, religion, class, education, and zip code.

What excites you or makes you feel the most hopeful about the future of the rabbinate?
I feel fully in my sh’lichut, being a rabbi at GLIDE six days a week and bringing in Shabbat at The Kitchen every week. It feels like a remarkably sacred balance. I couldn’t do my work at GLIDE without Shabbat at The Kitchen. Plus, my GLIDE colleagues and our clients inspire me to no end.

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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 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.

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inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Forcing the Door Open: Rabbi Don Goor’s Pride Month Rabbinic Reflections

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 was ordained in 1987, all I could see in my future were closed doors. When I applied to Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, I hid the fact that I was gay, for fear of discovery which would bar any opportunity to be ordained, let alone find a position upon ordination.

When Evan and I first met, we hid our relationship. Instead of speaking at school, we left messages on each other’s voicemail, so that we could meet clandestinely, away from eyes that might lead to the door of ordination being shut in our faces.

I went into placement confident that only as a closeted “single” man could I find a synagogue position. When I did accept a job in the New York area, the senior rabbi asked if I was gay. With a quivering voice I answered, “Yes!” He then told me he couldn’t have me on his staff. The door slammed shut. In follow-up interviews, I was careful to avoid the question of sexual orientation. As an act of self-preservation, I was complicit in keeping that door tightly closed.

At Temple Judea in Tarzana, California, I spent many years as a rabbi, sharing a home with Evan—my “roommate!” We were careful to build an impermeable barrier between our professional and personal lives. When the senior rabbi position at Temple Judea became available, I knew it was up to me to open the door so I could serve with wholeness and integrity. I met with leaders of the congregation to share my story and come out to them. None of them were surprised. All were supportive. Doors began to open.

At the time it seemed that I was the first openly gay rabbi to be appointed senior rabbi at a mainstream congregation, a story interesting enough for The New York Times. While the synagogue celebrated, protestors attended my installation, and a famous radio personality spoke about me for an entire week as an abomination. I’m forever grateful to my teachers and mentors, Rabbi David Ellenson, z”l, and Rabbi Richard Levy, z”l, for supporting me publicly. Eventually, despite facing hurdles, I was welcomed for twenty-six years as rabbi, not as gay rabbi.

While the journey to full acceptance and welcome within the community wasn’t an easy one, I never imagined as a student at HUC-JIR, hidden deep within the closet, that my career would be so fulfilling and meaningful. I’m pleased and proud that over the years more and more doors swung open. The seminary that wouldn’t ordain me had I been out invited me to teach and mentor students. The world of synagogue life that was closed to me, in the end embraced me and Evan, and opened doors—and hearts—so that I could serve as their rabbi with complete openness and integrity. I feel privileged to have shared my professional journey with a loving partner, caring friends and family, and a supportive community.

Together we forced open the doors so that future generations of rabbis could walk through them with their heads held high.

Rabbi Donald Goor was ordained in 1987 at Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion in New York. In 1996, Rabbi Goor was appointed the first out, gay rabbi to serve a mainstream congregation. Rabbi Goor served on the faculty of HUC-JIR in Los Angeles for many years and is rabbi emeritus at Temple Judea in Tarzana, CA. He made aliyah in 2013 and now serves as the rabbinic liaison at J2 Adventures—planning trips to Israel for rabbis and synagogues—and on the boards of the Israel Religious Action Center, Shutaf—a program for special needs kids—and the David Forman Foundation. Rabbi Goor is married to Cantor Evan Kent, his life partner of over thirty-seven years. 

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inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Rabbi Reuben Zellman’s Pride Month Reflections: Let Us Stand Up Now and Bear This Together

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.

Fifteen years ago, a couple of months before my ordination, I quietly walked into the carpeted back entrance of a hotel ballroom where I was due to lead a session at a professional conference. The speaker before me, a nationally known radio host, was telling a story he meant to be funny. After a few minutes the tale wound up to its punchline: the protagonist was androgynous! Their gender was totally unclear! They looked so weird that hilarity ensued! Apparently, the expected audience did not include the trans person now standing in the back entrance.

As the laughter floated by, I had three minutes to decide. I could turn around and leave, just disappear into the streets of the city and forfeit this piece of my future. Or I could take the podium and give everyone a piece of my mind: how many public events I had led while people pointed and laughed; how many times I was turned away from a job, an education, a public building; how many young transgender and intersex people I had already buried; how many more would die if society continued to treat us so cruelly.

I walked to the front and stepped up to the podium. And I slowly looked around at the couple of hundred assembled people, and waited a long, long moment. No one seemed to have noticed anything, cheerfully chatting and waving to each other. At first I thought someone would meet my eye, shake their head, let me know I was not entirely alone. Or perhaps afterwards, someone would acknowledge what we’d all just seen? Surely someone would want to affirm it together, just for a moment: this may be who we are, but it is not who we should be.

But there was nothing. Not in that ballroom, nor after that session, and not after that day was done, and not in the fifteen years since.

I don’t know what I should have done. What I did do, after a very long silence, is I adjusted my tallit and began the Maariv prayers for the 2010 Convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. V’hu rachum y’chapeir avon, “God is merciful to forgive our mistakes.” And I asked you to bless with me the One who should be blessed.

And then, finally, you did respond, in a roar of voices: Baruch Adonai hamvorach l’olam vaed.

Colleagues, there is no time left now to speak only the words we have already memorized. Our society is in danger; some of us are under grave threat. Will we be disturbed enough to risk words that don’t feel familiar, people who don’t feel familiar? Will we be moved enough to name what we see, even if we don’t yet know its full name? Let us stand up, friends, and bear this together—not when we are comfortable, but when we are needed, which is now.

Rabbi Reuben Zellman (he/they) is a member of the CCAR, an activist, educator, musician, and leader of the Welcome Home Project at Sha’ar Zahav in San Francisco. Watch his May 2025 Transgender Courage Shabbat drash at Sherith Israel in San Francisco.

Categories
inclusivity LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

Y’all Means All: Being Queer in Texas: Rabbi Annie Villarreal-Belford’s Pride Month Reflection

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 next room, I can hear my wife Joy, who works for Keshet as the Southwest Education and Training Manager, planning Pride events from the small Texas towns of Round Rock to Richardson, and the larger towns of San Antonio and Houston. Outside, we have a rainbow flag that says “Y’all Means All,” a counterpoint to my neighbors’ signs that say things like “Pray for America” and “Pray for Trump.” Marjory, my next door neighbor, waves to me, and we chat as we grab our mail. My kids bound into the house with backpacks and paper flying, having emptied their lockers for the end of school. It is June, the month of Pride, and we live in the decidedly unwelcoming state of Texas.

I say it is decidedly unwelcome, and in many ways that is an understatement. This legislative session, a record number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills were introduced, and two bills targeting transgender Texans are making their way through the legislature.[1] In our last legislative session, dozens of anti-LGBTQIA+ bills were pursued and many were passed—including bans on puberty blockers and hormone therapy for children.[2] When these bans passed, a friend whose daughter is transgender moved out of state to ensure ongoing and appropriate medical care. I know another person who makes a monthly drive to a more open state with her trans daughter, where they lie to the doctor and say they are residents to ensure ongoing hormonal treatment. These choices—the regular pain inflicted on members of Texas’s queer and trans community—are heartbreaking and unjust. In truth, if I think too much about these forced choices, I am overwhelmed with pain, sadness, and an ongoing feeling of disbelief that these kinds of actions are not only the law of my home state but are spreading to more states. How can we sanction hate this way?

And yet… and yet. Cameron Samuels, a young person from the congregation I served in west Houston, has started an organization called SEAT, which advocates for students to have a seat at the table in educational policymaking. Their motto is “Nothing about us, without us.” The origins of SEAT lie in the choice of Katy Independent School District (ISD) to remove books about queer folks from their school libraries and to block access to life-saving websites like It Gets Better and The Trevor Project. Cameron started speaking out at Katy School Board meetings against this policy and began collecting and delivering queer-themed books to classmates who desperately needed them. Cameron and other young people all over the state are doing incredible and life-changing work like this.

In the last month, both Katy ISD and the nearby Fort Bend ISD both had major shifts on their school boards, ousting anti-LGBTQ+ and pro-book-banning members in favor of more moderate and open candidates who have affirmed their desire to create safe, inclusive schools in their districts.[3] The Houston suburb of Deer Park—where my wife grew up­—just hired a new superintendent who happens to be a lesbian. She faced a local pastor’s anti-gay smear campaign, and was hired anyway.[4] (In fact, Houston was the first major city in the entire country to be led by a mayor who is lesbian—Anisse Parker![5])

My wife has a collection of Pride tee shirts, and whenever she wears the one that says “Protect Trans Kids,” she is approached by people who say, “I love your shirt.” It surprises me every time.

Indeed, Pride will be celebrated all over Texas—not only in the perennially weird Austin and other major cities like Houston and Dallas, but in small suburbs and rural towns like Denton (where my eldest attends college), Round Rock, Marble Falls, and Rowlett.[6] There may be only one rainbow flag waving on our street, but during Pride rainbow flags will wave throughout Texas—sometimes even at city halls.

In other words, there is reason to hope and believe that being queer and trans in Texas will become easier.

I was born in Texas, but to tell you the truth, I left Texas at eighteen and never wanted to return. I did not apply to a single in-state college. But we all know the saying—humans plan, God laughs. When the 2008 recession hit, I had two children younger than two and needed a new job, so I looked at places closer to home where it would be easier for family to offer their support. At the time, I was married to a man (whom I affectionately call my “wasband”), and we found a lovely community in the suburbs of Houston that was a phenomenal fit. So we returned to Texas, much to my ongoing chagrin. Despite this, my family is deeply happy here. My kids—one in a Texas state university, one in high school, and one in middle school—are thriving. My in-laws live nearby, and my wife has deep roots in Houston’s queer community. My father moved to Houston to be closer to us. Our lives are not perfect, but they are good. I recognize that we are privileged and do not face the hardship my friends with trans kids face, or that my best friend who is trans faces whenever she visits family in Texas. But despite my constant chafing against, despair about, and anger toward the Texas legislature, Texas has again become home.

I think all the time about permanently putting Texas in my rearview mirror, but part of me suspects I am here for good. And that means I will work to make life good for all people who live in Texas—especially my queer and trans friends, neighbors, and community members. From this Texan’s heart to yours, Happy Pride! And remember—Y’all means ALL!

_____

Rabbi Annie Villarreal-Belford’s rabbinic journey has taken her from Pennsylvania to India, Virginia, and Missouri, before she made her home in Houston, Texas. She served as the rabbi of Temple Sinai in West Houston for thirteen years and was proud to be the first full-time solo female rabbi in the city. Today, she serves as the editor at CCAR Press. Rabbi Annie holds a BA in Creative Writing, rabbinic ordination from Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion (NY, 2004), and a doctorate in psychology with an emphasis on Victor Frankl’s logotherapy. When she’s not immersed in text or community, she can be found art journaling, reading, or exploring national and state parks. She treasures time with her wife and their three wonderful children.

[1] Equality Texas notes record number of anti-LGBTQ bills introduced in 2025 Legislature – Dallas Voice

[2] Texas bills affecting LGBTQ people: Here’s what you need to know | The Texas Tribune

[3] Katy ISD community wants book bans, transgender policies repealed; Fort Bend ISD trustee election won by candidates who opposed controversial book and gender policies – Houston Public Media

[4] Tiffany Regan named new superintendent in Deer Park ISD

[5] Annise Parker

[6] Texas town still celebrating Pride ‘against the odds’ after losing city support – lonestarlive.com

Categories
Inclusion LGBT Rabbinic Reflections

In Every Generation, We Are Called: Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg Reflects on Pride Month and his Rabbinic Journey in the Reform Rabbinate

Pride month is upon us, but our spirits are not consistent with the typical celebratory tone associated with June. Yes, it is the ten-year anniversary of the Supreme Court ruling enshrining marriage equality in law in the United States, and July marks the 20th anniversary for the Canadians amongst us. But at present, members of the LGBTQ+ community feel under siege as federal and state leaders craft legislation targeting trans and nonbinary individuals as well as the broader LGBTQ+ community. Many of the important steps towards inclusion are now under threat. It is from this place of challenge that we have the opportunity to reflect on our journey as Reform Jews in embracing queer rights; we can use these formative memories to mobilize for the fights ahead. Just as we did during the Passover season, we look to the Talmudic words: “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see oneself as if he/she/they left Egypt.” Today we hold close the legacy of the LGBTQ+ pioneers who marched before us and we accept the responsibility to continue to demand better.

This past March, a key component of the CCAR Convention was the program marking the 35th anniversary of the CCAR Report on Homosexuality in the Rabbinate. CCAR President Rabbi David Lyon used the opportunity to offer words of t’shuvah to our LGBTQ+ friends who suffered in their rabbinate due to the obstacles and biases that they encountered. Of note, this was one of Rabbi Lyon’s first acts as president, and it was approached with great care and sensitivity. We then had the opportunity to witness stories from our LGBTQ+ rabbinic peers that were collected in advance. They each spoke to the raw and challenging encounters of the past three generations of queer rabbis. The CCAR conference attendees heard the pain of senior leadership telling gay and lesbian colleagues they had no place in the rabbinate. We heard of the rabbinic placement searches gone wrong as hurtful comments were directed at queer candidates. We were awed by the strength of friends and colleagues who hid their identities, fearful that they would be discovered and have their careers destroyed.

In the coming weeks a selection of these memories will be published here on CCAR’s RavBlog so that we can spread these important words farther and remember these stories so as to continue to improve our efforts towards inclusion moving forward.

On a personal note, I remember my early rabbinic days. In my naiveté, I thought I would be the only queer student in 2003—I found a community of queer rabbinic candidates in my class and in the rabbinate as a whole. It was during these years that I learned of the important work of the vatikim and vatikot who fought bravely for the diversity of the Reform rabbinate. I feel privileged to now be in a place to continue to champion inclusion in the synagogue and community at large—we have work to do to ensure that our trans and nonbinary peers are accepted and honored.

On a positive note, in recent days I have learned from my newer rabbinic colleagues about Hebrew language innovations that ensure that all queer identities can be authentic within our holy language.

We cannot let our fear and sadness overwhelm us. We can use this month in this precarious time as an opportunity to honor our stories, to make our voices heard in the present, and to embark on a better tomorrow. Let us remember that in every generation, each of us is called to listen, to bear witness, and to trailblaze.

Find out more about Reform Judaism’s Pride Month celebration, and get more Jewish LGBTQIA+ study resources here.

Rabbi Daniel Mikelberg is the senior rabbi of Temple Israel Ottawa and serves on the CCAR Board.