Author: Nicole Feldman

We’re currently in the Omer period, the time between Passover and Shavuot. Each year, we count 49 days beginning on the second night of Passover, concluding on the eve of Shavuot. Within this sacred time, we observe several modern commemorations: יום השואה (Yom HaShoah/Holocaust Memorial Day), יום הזיכרון (Yom HaZikaron/Israeli Memorial Day), and יום העצמאות (Yom Ha’Atzmaut/Israeli Independence Day). We’ll also mark לג בעומר/Lag B’Omer, which is not exactly modern—but for a people as ancient as ours, even events from the past two thousand years can feel relatively recent.

Since October 7, 2023, much of the Jewish world has found itself engaged in one central, ongoing conversation: Israel. In that time, we have experienced a wide range of emotions—grief, anger, pride, confusion, and hope. Many of us have sought to deepen our understanding of both the State of Israel and the Land of Israel. In doing so, we are reminded of a fundamental truth: Israel is not simply another place on the map. It’s a cornerstone of Jewish identity—the foundation of our peoplehood and the heart of our shared heritage and destiny.
I’ve had the privilege of being in Israel for יום הזיכרון and יום העצמאות, and the experience is unforgettable. These two days, so starkly different in tone, exist side by side. In truth, they form a single, continuous 48-hour observance that tells the story of Israel—and, in many ways, the story of the Jewish people. We begin with mourning: remembering those who were lost, sitting with grief, honoring sacrifice. Then, almost seamlessly, we transition into celebration: marking independence, resilience, and life. Mourning gives way to hope; remembrance transforms into renewal.

This duality is deeply Jewish. To be a Jew is to understand that life is at once difficult and beautiful, heavy with burden and filled with possibility. It’s to live with fear and uncertainty while still holding onto optimism. It’s to feel both at home in the diaspora and, at times, like outsiders. It’s to belong wherever we are, while always carrying a sense of elsewhere.

The past few years have intensified these tensions. They’ve brought moments of deep sorrow and moments of profound pride. We’ve seen hatred and distortion directed at our people, and we rightly grieve a world that can feel unrecognizable. At the same time, we’ve witnessed extraordinary unity within the Jewish community and remarkable strength and courage in Israel’s defense of its people. These, too, are reasons to rejoice.

Each of us carries a responsibility in this moment: to stand with Israel, to support it, and to take pride in our connection to it. To be a Zionist is, at its core, to affirm a simple and enduring truth—that the Jewish people, like all peoples, have the right to live together in their ancestral homeland, the Land of Israel. Efforts to redefine or distort that idea obscure its essential meaning.

As we approach יום הזיכרון and יום העצמאות, we’re invited into that uniquely Jewish rhythm of memory and celebration. We grieve, and we rejoice. We look backward with honor and forward with hope. In doing so, we affirm not only the story of Israel, but the enduring spirit of the Jewish people.

I’ve been listening to a podcast on Jewish History Nerds about Albert Einstein and this got me thinking more about his theory of relativity. To be clear: I 100% do not fully understand any of the physics or the math behind any of it and I’m out of my league here. But I do like one of the hyper simplified explanations saying that everything is relative to the observer. One explanation I read stated “Einstein’s theory of relativity states that space and time are flexible, connected, and change based on how fast you are moving or how close you are to a strong gravity source”. (https://www.nbcnews.com/mach/science/what-relativity-einstein-s-mind-bending-theory-explained-ncna865496).

This understanding helps recognize that we don’t see the same things others see and that perspective is critical in how we see and experience the world. A person who’s color blind will not see the same sunset as a person of normal vision. People with varying levels of hearing will experience concerts differently. Depending on where you’re positioned in any experience, you’ll have one experience while someone else will have a variation of the same encounter. Hence the term “everything is relative”. I offer this explanation in preparing to tell the story of Passover, the story of the Exodus and our having been saved.

The world in which we live is broken. One need not look very far to see that all around us, near and far, people are living lives that don’t live up to their deepest hopes and dreams. All around the world, we see people living in abject poverty and suffering from both natural and man-made catastrophes. One could and should ask what has become of miracles like the 10 plagues, the splitting of the sea and the giving of the Torah.

We tell the story of the Exodus as if to say that “they all lived happily ever after…” In the eyes of the הגדה/Haggadah, it could appear that we left Egypt and became free and thus we were saved. The הגדה has many departures from this way of thinking, but nevertheless it seems puzzling to celebrate our historic redemption in a world that seems so unredeemed.

Another podcast I listened to this week was Ta Shma from Hadar, and in it Rabbi Shai Held spoke at length about this very subject. He referred to “the double edge of memory in תנ”ך/TaNaKh” in that “faith is damaged, or even dies, in the wake of experiences that seem to contradict it”. He was talking about how memory can serve as an inspiration, or as a mournful reminder. We can be inspired by the hope of what was, or pained by the reality of what is not any longer. I encourage you to listen to his talk at hadar.org/torah-tefillah/resources/why-doesnt-god-redeem-us-again-living-and-without-exodus#videos. When I listened, I was struck by how our world today is so broken and yet we still have hope. I was struck by how people can attend the same סדר/Seder and have totally different experiences (it’s all relative). One person can sit and tell and learn the story of our redemption and leave with hope in a future filled with redemption from all that ills us. Another person could leave feeling filled with sadness that our own world is not redeemable as it was in the past.

In many ways, this is something incredible about our סדר experience every year. We have the ability to be uplifted or the ability to be brought down and the choice will be ours. We can choose, as free people, to be filled with hope because of what once happened, or we can be filled with grief that the world is not yet redeemed. To know that we have choices, that we have free will, is something that liberates us rather than enslaves us. Choosing how to encounter our experience forces us to be active in our observance and religion rather than passive and unable to have a role. While our world feels so damaged, perhaps we can change to a perspective that is inspired by the possibility of redemption even in our own day. Perhaps we can have a perspective that celebrates that which was and that which CAN be. To live in a world of possibilities is to live in a world of freedom. We all have choices as to how we see our memories and how we will live our lives. Join me in choosing to live in a world that can be redeemed and inspired by the memory of the redemption of the past.

“Didn’t we just tell this story last year?” These words, or some like them, have probably been said by or to you about the holiday of פסח/Pesach/Passover and its beginning celebration – the סדר/Seder. Over generations, the Jewish people have successfully preserved this meaningful and beautiful ritual through the hard work of personalizing and innovating it. The words of the הגדה/Haggadah are very clear about the obligation to do this:

בְּכָל־דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת־עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם.

“In each and every generation a person is required to see himself as if he went out from Egypt.” This text is from the משנה/Mishnah which was codified in the year 200CE. In fact, the basic skeleton of the סדר is written in the 10^th chapter of the section of the משנה about פסח. It’s common text many of us are familiar with and it’s shared in both Ashkenazi and Sephardi הגדהות/Haggadot/Haggadah. Rabbi Marc Angel’s, A Sephardic Passover Haggadah, uses this text. But there’s another tradition that’s observed in many Sephardi הגדהות as seen in the next text:

בְּכָל-דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לְהַרְאוֹת אֶת-עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם.

“In each and every generation a person is required to show himself as if he went out from Egypt”. One little letter, in one of the words, changes the entire message from seeing oneself to showing oneself. The implication is we’re commanded to show other people and teach other people that we were slaves. This text presses us to lean into the importance of educating other people around us and not to just teach ourselves. This variant of the text comes from the רמב”ם/Rambam’s work. In theמשנה תורה/Mishneh Torah, he stated the following:

בְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לְהַרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא בְּעַצְמוֹ יָצָא עַתָּה מִשִּׁעְבּוּד מִצְרַיִם (משנה תורה הלכות חמץ ומצה ז:ו)

“In each and every generation a person is required to show himself as if he, himself, went out now from the enslavement of Egypt.”

His words are much more in depth than either of the other texts and are more instructive. We’re required to show others that the story continues even now and that we’re all still leaving the Egyptian enslavement in our own time. To understand we’re each still leaving enslavement forces us to be more active in the liberation of ourselves and those around us.

The difference between seeing ourselves as slaves, and showing others we’re slaves, tells us two very different essential messages to be conveyed during the holiday. We’re required to experience the liberation ourselves, and we’re required to see that we’re a part of the continuing story. At the same time, it will never be enough for the Jewish people to see themselves, individually, as having lived this story… we must help others find their part of this story and teach them they’re also a continuing link in this generational chain.

In the הגדה we use, A Different Night by the Shalom Hartmann Institute, this page is illustrated by showing the generations of oppression to which our people have been subjected to over history. Last week we were reminded that oppression is not history but still a current event. The violent terrorist attack on Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan, was a stark reminder that we’re in this together and no matter where or when a Jew is found, they must see themselves as being part of our people and our history. We continue to look forward to the light of a world without hatred and animosity. Waiting will take longer than any of us expected to, but we know that someday it will come. On that day, we might be able to change the text again to reflect that slavery is something to be seen only as ancient history.

This Shabbat, we’ll conclude the book of Shmot (Exodus) as we read the last double-parsha “Vayakhel-Pikudei”. This Shabbat is also called Shabbat Hahodesh – the Shabbat where we announce the upcoming new month – Rosh Hodesh Nissan – which will be on Thursday. This means Spring is near, and Passover is coming!

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asked, “What is the difference between a free human being and a slave? We tend to think it has to do with labor, toil, and effort. A slave works hard. A free person doesn’t. But in reality, some free people work very hard indeed, especially those who enjoy their work. The real difference lies in who has control over time. A free person works long hours, because at some stage, he or she has chosen to. A slave has no choice, no control over time. That’s why fixing a calendar was the first command given to the Israelites [Ex. 12:1-2]. It was as if God was saying to them: ‘if you are to be free, the first thing you must learn to master is time’”.

We take control and responsibility for our own time through Jewish communal memory and ritual. We always look back to our story of Exodus – every day, every Shabbat and every holiday. This Shabbat, we’re called to look closer at the narrative of our own identity, to the origin story of our people. We were slaves in Egypt, we were freed, brought to Mt. Sinai, given the Torah, and instructed to build up this world so God can be a part of our lives. This summary of the Book of Exodus paints freedom in a new light. Freedom begins with the memory of not being free and includes the physical emancipation where we are free from our oppressors. Had Exodus ended here, we would have been free from Egypt (Dayeinu!), but we would not know what to do with our freedom.

The Jewish concept of freedom goes further. The Torah claims that one can only be free within the confines of civilized law – within a society and a world governed by justice, righteousness, truth, accountability and responsibility. The receiving of the Torah at Mount Sinai is part of our journey of freedom, the part that tells us what to do with our freedom and newfound privilege. The book of Exodus doesn’t end until the Israelites complete the building of the Mishkan, the tabernacle – an elaborate physical tent-like structure which is meant to be the ‘house’ of God in this physical world.

May we all be blessed to take part in building holy projects. May we succeed in our shared endeavors of making and engaging with communal physical spaces in our lives that promote the presence of God and the values by which we live.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. (A Tale of Two Cities) These words that open one of the greatest books ever written, paint the portrait of a world that is two things at one time. It paints a world where, depending on one’s perspective, everything was the best or the worst.

These words also invite us, the readers, to embrace a world that can be two things at once. As Jews today, we’re abundantly aware that we’re living in the best and the worst of times. We live in a time when we know Jewish sovereignty renewed. We live in a time when we can defend ourselves and not rely on other people to help us. We live in a time where all that we prayed for over the millennia has been realized. And yet we live in a time where we are not free from hate. We live in a time where we are not free from terror. We live in a time where we are forced to hide and forced to wonder if this will all be okay in the end. That is what it means to be Jewish in 2026.

We’ve overcome the Inquisition and the expulsions and the Holocaust only to live in the world of October 7^th. We’ve overcome all of that only to be subjected to the vicious threats and real terror by a regime hellbent on our destruction. To be Jewish today is to recognize that two truths live side by side; sometimes antagonizing one another, sometimes at peace and sometimes in a cold peace. Take war for instance: war is not good and it’s not happy, but it can be and is necessary at times, “A time for loving and a time for hating. A time for war and a time for peace”. (Ecclesiastes 3:8 /קהלת ג:ח) That’s where we find ourselves now. Nobody should be happy we’re at war, but we can and do recognize we need to be at war. Nobody should rejoice at the downfall of our enemy, “If your enemies fall, do not exult” (Proverbs 24:17 / משלי כד:יז), but we can and should breathe a sigh of relief that we don’t need to worry about their hatred or violence as much as we did. The Jewish people are a people of peace, but we’re also a people who are committed to live and to assure our continued living into the future. We’ll work for peace while assuring our own longevity. That’s the dichotomy of this war and of all wars we fight. We didn’t choose to start this war. It was forced onto us by Iran and its proxies, so we continue to fight this war.

This week we’ll learn of other dichotomies when we read פרשת כי תשא/Parshat Ki Tisa. It will also be שבת פרה/Shabbat Parah. In כי תשא we learn about the עגל הזהב/Egel HaZahav/The Golden Calf. This act of betrayal is something our people have lived with through the ages. We see the gold and the cow as being something of a legacy. An example of this is that on ראש השנה/Rosh Hashana we’re forbidden to use the horn from a bull because it would remind God of this sin. In (Numbers 19 / במדבר יט) we learn about the פרה אדמה/Parah Adooma/Red Heifer and how it was to be used to cleanse a כהן/Kohen who was made impure by having come in contact with death. The cow of the עגל הזהב and the cow of the פרה אדמה are both cows with very different affects and effects on and for the Jewish people. One recalls a sin and one provides a path to becoming pure again. One took away and one brought back. Both are cows and yet they’re each distinct for how they’re seen and what they did.

We live in the worst of times and the best of times. There’s no way to not feel the weight of that statement right now. The trick is for us to reread this statement with a bit of a twist. It’s the best of times in spite of being the worst of times. We live in times that are tough and we’re surrounded by so much hardship and adversity, yet we have many blessings and the power to shape our own future and our own world view. It’s the best of times no matter how bad today might be.

In the year 586 BCE, the First Temple was destroyed, and the Israelites were put into their first exile. While Jews remained behind in the Land of Israel without the Temple, a large number found themselves in Babylon (modern day Iraq) and other places. It was at this time the Jewish people began to undergo many changes, including adopting Aramaic as our spoken language. In ancient times, wars were the norm and lands changed hands on a regular basis so it should not be amazing or odd that in 539 BCE the Babylonians were defeated by another empire, the Persians, and all of their lands and peoples became subjects of the expanded Persian Empire. This is how the Jewish people became subjects of the Persian King. This is the background to our story of פורים/Purim.

When the Jewish people first found themselves “under new management”, the person in charge became Cyrus the Great. His vision of his conquered people was autonomy and preservation of their practices. When he found himself in charge of the exiled Jewish community, along with the community that had remained behind in Israel, he liberated them and gave them permission to rebuild and restart their lives. While many Jews returned to Israel, many did not and that meant the Diaspora community began to grow and became an established community side by side with the Land of Israel. It was then we developed into two communities, which still exist today.

It’s not a secret that the nation of Iran is the descendent of the ancient Persian Empire. The language spoken there is Farsi (Persian) and their ethnic/cultural identity is called Persian as well. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say the story of פורים began then and continues even today. The Persian Jews enjoyed safety and security and were loyal to their nation for numerous generations, and many in exile today still long to return to their land in the future. That would have been the time of Cyrus, but it was also the time of Haman, that’s the other side of this complicated relationship. The greatest threat posed to Jews today stems from Iran and their many proxies. The מגילה/Megillah says it best in a few places:

“But he disdained to lay hands on Mordecai alone; having been told who Mordecai’s people were, Haman plotted to do away with all the Jews, Mordecai’s people, throughout the kingdom of Ahasuerus.

Haman then said to King Ahasuerus, ‘There is a certain people, scattered and dispersed among the other peoples in all the provinces of your realm, whose laws are different from those of any other people and who do not obey the king’s laws; and it is not in Your Majesty’s interest to tolerate them.  If it please Your Majesty, let an edict be drawn for their destruction, and I will pay ten thousand talents of silver to the stewards for deposit in the royal treasury’”. (3:6, 8-9)

That day, Haman went out happy and lighthearted. But when Haman saw Mordecai in the palace gate, and Mordecai did not rise or even stir on his account, Haman was filled with rage at him.  Nevertheless, Haman controlled himself and went home. He sent for his friends and his wife Zeresh, and Haman told them about his great wealth and his many sons, and all about how the king had promoted him and advanced him above the officials and the king’s courtiers.  “What is more,” said Haman, “Queen Esther gave a feast, and besides the king she did not have anyone but me. And tomorrow too I am invited by her along with the king.  Yet all this means nothing to me every time I see that Jew Mordecai sitting in the palace gate.” Then his wife Zeresh and all his friends said to him, “Let a stake be put up, fifty cubits high, and in the morning ask the king to have Mordecai impaled on it. Then you can go gaily with the king to the feast.” The proposal pleased Haman, and he had the stake put up. (5:9 – 14)

These two sections identify in clear language the continued obsession Haman had then, and the Mullahs of Iran have today. We are different… we do not bend to their will… We refuse to be defeated… We stand up for ourselves… Brokenness in them drives them to hate and seek to destroy. They cannot be built up from within and so they turn their lacking to destroy others.

I just returned from an incredible AIPAC conference in Washington DC. For three days I was able to learn about Israel and the Jewish world. For three days I was able to advocate for our people and our nation state. While we were there, it was impossible to ignore the current geopolitical realities of Iran and its stated goal of destroying Israel and wiping the Jewish people off the map. The war that began on October 7^th should not be understood as the battle between Israel and Hamas or Gaza, but as the Iran Israel War. Every part of this war has been caused by the Mullahs in Iran and their inability to accept us. Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, Assaad’s regime, the Shia militias in Iraq, Iran… all of it stems from Iran.

When we met with our representatives and our senators, we brought with us a request: stand with the Iranian people who are hungry to rid themselves of this oppressive regime and stand with us as we continue to fight against that regime hellbent on our destruction. Any negotiation must include zero nuclear program with no sunset clause. Any negotiation must end all Iranian support for their proxies around the world. Any negotiation must end any Iranian ballistic missile program. Any deal that does not address these three fundamentals must be rejected. As we learn from the פורים story, we will still be here after this is over. The Jewish People are eternal and are on the right side of history. As we learn from the פורים story, those who seek destruction will not succeed because the world will always recognize we’re here to build and create and not to tear the world apart.

חג שמח/Chag Sameach/Happy Purim

I am providing you with three videos from the conference to see. The first one is Yuval Raphael, Israel’s contestant for Eurovision, singing her song from this year’s contest. Yuval was a survivor of the Nova Festival, and she had never sung in public before auditioning. Her performance was stunning and pierced the heart.

https://youtu.be/8FvhOr5W1pE

The next two videos go together. Alon Ohel was abducted from the Nova Festival and was held for over two years before he was released on October 13. It was well known that he was an incredible piano player and his mother, Idit, placed a yellow piano in Hostage Square to build awareness of his plight hoping that he would one day play it. She was unrelenting in her advocacy for her son and all the hostages. She had an old picture of Alon dressed as superman and as such she connected with John Ondrasik, Five For Fighting, and got him to use his voice to advocate for Alon and all the hostages. One of Five For Fighting’s best-known songs is Superman. In these videos, you’ll see Idit, John and Alon and the power of the human spirit.

https://youtu.be/8Hd2AqFsTYI

https://youtu.be/-LiDPFuNUcc

I look forward to talking more with you about the importance of staying engaged in advocacy through organizations like AIPAC.

I had a great opportunity this week to visit Ayelet at school and learn with her. Once a week, students in high school at AJA have the opportunity to learn Jewish text for an extra hour in their “night seder” and this one week of the year parents were invited to participate. We sat together in the בית מדרש/Beit Midrash/Study Hall and learned sources in relation to the holiday of פורים/Purim. One of the sources forced us to examine the מגילה/Megillah with new eyes in a way I hadn’t thought of in the past.

וְכׇל־עַבְדֵ֨י הַמֶּ֜לֶךְ אֲשֶׁר־בְּשַׁ֣עַר הַמֶּ֗לֶךְ כֹּרְעִ֤ים וּמִֽשְׁתַּחֲוִים֙ לְהָמָ֔ן כִּי־כֵ֖ן צִוָּה־ל֣וֹ הַמֶּ֑לֶךְ וּמׇ֨רְדֳּכַ֔י לֹ֥א יִכְרַ֖ע וְלֹ֥א יִֽשְׁתַּחֲוֶֽה׃

“All the king’s courtiers in the palace gate knelt and bowed low to Haman, for such was the king’s order concerning him; but Mordecai would not kneel or bow low. (אסתר ג:ב)”

These words have always been read as heroic. מרדכי/Mordecai was standing up (literally) for our people and not willing to bend (again literally) to the will of any person. But the text doesn’t need to be read as מרדכי’s heroism. One can ask the question of what good he did by his refusal? המן/Haman was evil and maniacal and yet his demand of obedience did not “need” to be refused. מרדכי had a choice to bow or not bow. His argument was given two verses later in response to the other people asking why he wouldn’t bow:

וַיְהִ֗י (באמרם) [כְּאׇמְרָ֤ם] אֵלָיו֙ י֣וֹם וָי֔וֹם וְלֹ֥א שָׁמַ֖ע אֲלֵיהֶ֑ם וַיַּגִּ֣ידוּ לְהָמָ֗ן לִרְאוֹת֙ הֲיַֽעַמְדוּ֙ דִּבְרֵ֣י מׇרְדֳּכַ֔י כִּֽי־הִגִּ֥יד לָהֶ֖ם אֲשֶׁר־ה֥וּא יְהוּדִֽי׃

“When they spoke to him day after day and he would not listen to them, they told Haman, in order to see whether Mordecai’s resolve would prevail; for he had explained to them that he was a Jew.” (אסתר ג:ד)

It is understood that מרדכי knew that המן was an Aggagite and thus a descendent of the evil Amalek with whom we were engaged in an eternal war and as thus he could not bow to him. There is another reason given by the rabbis in the מדרש/Midrash that we’re more aware of. המן had embroidered a pagan god’s image on his clothing and thus מרדכי could not bow because that would mean bowing to a false god. (אסתר רבה ז:ה) This understanding is implied but not stated because God is not explicitly found in the מגילה but is implicitly present through parts like this. מרדכי’s refusal was linked to his faith in God and not in disobedience to המן and the kingdom.

This line of thinking is how we’ve always seen מרדכי – the hero standing up for the Jewish people.  Now, for a moment, let us flip this upside down and ask the question; did מרדכי need to do what he did? His actions led to the attempted annihilation of the Jewish people of the world. His inability to recognize the petty and narcissistic eccentricities of המן didn’t need to be elevated and made into a confrontation that led him to create a conflict where one did not exist. His prominence in Shushan and role in the Jewish community meant that he was responsible for his actions, not just to himself, but to all of us as well. The greater folly was not that he didn’t bow but that he explained his refusal by hanging it on the Jewish people and Jewish tradition and our way of life.

I don’t actually agree with this new way of seeing מרדכי because the punishment was unimaginable and didn’t fit the crime, or perceived crime. I don’t subscribe to this view because מרדכי was declaring himself unified with the Jewish people even when it was hardest. In fact, what’s even more incredible is that because of מרדכי’s independent act of defiance, the entirety of the Jewish people were lumped together and condemned to death.

The Jewish people have always been a distinct group in the world that’s seen as “other” by the non-Jewish world. This antisemitic trope is ancient and can be traced back to this story, and the one of the Exodus as well, and we still experience this today. It doesn’t matter that we see ourselves as being diverse and that Jews are a collection of many different people, the world has always seen us as one singular people. We need to work hard to see ourselves the way others do… as a united singular people. Our actions have an impact on all of us. Our strengths belong to all of us, as do our weaknesses. When Jews do great things for the world, we should rejoice because those are our collective accomplishments. The opposite is also true when Jews do shameful things. We need to see that those actions have soiled the name of our people, because in good and bad we are one people. Our unity needs to be a cause we all fight for. We need to be a Jewish people that sees our people as one giant, albeit at times dysfunctional, family that sees the world differently but is nevertheless unified.

I’m honored to be writing to you as the new Executive Director of Congregation Or VeShalom. My hope is to serve this holy community with warmth, clarity, and care, and to help strengthen the beauty that already lives here. As we move toward Purim, I wanted to share a short reflection that has been on my heart.

  

Not the Title, Not the Costume: Remembering the Real Self

We are surrounded by the world of externals, the physical, the noise. The world constantly tells us: be the brand, wear the right thing, curate the image, earn the title, hold the position. But we are not what we wear. We are not our clothes, our labels, our “brand positioning”, or even our titles.

Yes, I hold the title of Executive Director. But I don’t see it as mine. I see it as coming from Hashem, as a responsibility, a placement, a piece of holy work. God gives each of us a purpose, and places us exactly where we are meant to be, where He knows we can use what He gave us to light up a corner of the world that only we can light, in the specific way God wants to work through us.

Purpose isn’t one big moment. It’s a way of moving through the world so that whatever you touch leaves a little more light than it found. It isn’t only what you do – It’s who you choose to become, again and again, with God at the center.

We often believe we are in control of our lives, our spouses, our careers, even who we “choose” to marry. But what God has shown me over the past 30 years is that He is in control. And honestly… I love that. Because then our job becomes simpler: get a little quiet, soften the grip, and listen for His voice leading us where we need to go.

And here is what I learned: I’ve tried searching “out there”, but the real work is always inward, removing what covers our light, our true essence and returning to God. Not becoming someone else but remembering who we already are. And this is exactly why Purim preparation begins before Purim.

As Jews, we don’t wait for the moment to arrive. The fast of Esther is the spiritual doorway into Purim. Before the costumes, we remove a layer. Esther asked the Jews to fast and pray before she entered the palace because the salvation wasn’t going to come from human effort alone. It would come when we turned back to Hashem. For a few hours we step back from the external world and let our heart speak, so Purim can meet us more deeply.

On Purim, we dress up to reveal who we really are.  When a child wakes up on Purim morning, the excitement is contagious. A crown is placed just right. A cape is tied. A wand is proudly held in one hand and a bag of treats in the other. But of course, it’s still the same child. Same eyes. Same soul. Same essence, just covered in costume.

That’s the secret Purim comes to teach us. The costume is a gentle, playful way to teach a very serious truth: you are not what you wear, what you do, or what people expect of you. You are your Neshama/Soul, the Divine spark within. Purim makes external vs. internal impossible to ignore. When you see someone dressed as a king, you instantly know that crown isn’t the person. Purim uses that same clarity to remind us that our roles and titles are also outer garments. Beneath them is the real you.

And this mirrors the Megillah itself. God’s Name isn’t openly written, yet His Presence is everywhere, hidden and still guiding. In the same way, our true self can be covered by personality and habit, but it remains there beneath it all, quietly yearning to return.

So as we move toward Purim, let’s prepare in a meaningful way. Choose one small practice that helps the soul lead: one bracha/blessing with intention, one act of quiet tzedakah/charity, one extra moment of tefillah/prayer, and even one honest conversation with Hashem in your own words, exactly as you are. Tell Him what you’re carrying. Ask for help. Say Thank You. These are the steps that help the mask fall away.

May we merit to enter Purim with open hearts, clear eyes, and the joy that comes from closeness to God.

Mia Rose Goldglanz
Executive Director

We’re officially a month past the secular New Year—January 1^st – a time when so many people feel the urge to start over.

New year, new me. New goals. New habits. A fresh page.

And yet… by early February, the energy fades. Life returns. The momentum slips.

Judaism, in its wisdom, seems to say:

One new year isn’t enough.

In fact, the Mishnah teaches something surprising:

“There are four new years’…” (Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1:1)

Not one. Not even two. FOUR.

Why?

Because Judaism understands something deeply human: We don’t only need one moment a year to reset. We need multiple chances to begin again.

1. Rosh Hashanah – The New Year of the Soul:

Reflection, accountability, and renewal. It’s the moment we ask: Who am I becoming? What kind of person do I want to be?

2. Nisan – The New Year of Freedom:

The month of Passover, the Torah calls Nisan the first month, not Tishrei (the month of Rosh Hashana). Because Jewish time does NOT begin with creation. But with liberation. Passover reminds us: We can break out of what confines us, more than once.

3. Tu B’Shvat – The Birthday of Trees, the New Year of Growth:

Mid-winter, the peak time of dormancy, Judaism celebrates growth happening underground. Tu B’Shvat teaches, just because we cannot see the change yet, doesn’t mean it is not happening.

4. Elul – The New Year of Small Steps

Finally, the New Year for animals, a reminder of daily counting and gradual progress. Not every new year comes with fireworks. Some beginnings are quiet. Some renewals happen through small, consistent steps. It’s the new year of the ordinary.

 

The message; WE ARE NEVER TOO LATE! Judaism provides us with four new beginnings set in the calendar, but even then, every Shabbat, every new month, every morning is our chance to begin again. We are not defined by the version of ourselves from last year, last month, last week, or yesterday. We are not stuck in the story we’ve been living in.

In Hebrew, the word for repentance is teshuvah – which doesn’t mean guilt. It means return.

Return to ourselves.

Return to our purpose.

Return to God.

So, if the secular New Year has already passed. If your resolutions have already slipped. Judaism smiles and speaks

“The calendar will hand you another beginning soon.”

And again. And again. And again.

Because in Jewish time, fresh starts are not once a year. They are built into the rhythm of life.

That being said;

Shabbat Shalom, and Shana Tova.

The Jewish world has been frozen in time since October 7, 2023. We’ve been reliving the trauma and pain inflicted on our people and our homeland that day ever since. This constant sense of being stuck has been amplified by the rapid growth of antisemitism, by the deafening silence of those we thought were our friends, and by the blaming of the victims for all that happened. We’ve been stuck on October 7, 2023 because we couldn’t move forward without ending what happened on that disastrous day. When the war began, there were two goals: ending the reign of terror by Hamas, and bringing home all the hostages, both alive and dead. To leave even a single person in Gaza would be to fail as a nation, a people, and a family.

Over the time that’s elapsed since October 7, 2023, we’ve cried tears of joy when we witnessed hostages being reunited with their loved ones and cried tears of grief when we watched as loved ones received the remains of their loved ones who had been murdered by Hamas. We, in the Diaspora, cannot begin to imagine the pain and hurt that was forced on our brothers and sisters in Israel. Likewise, we cannot fully appreciate the joy they felt every time a hostage came home alive. Finally, we cannot fully understand the feeling of closure felt by families and by the State of Israel each time a casket was brought back from Gaza. Those caskets ended hopes for a miracle and ended the unbearable pain of not fully knowing what happened to their loved ones.

To bring back our loved ones is a sacred Jewish task and value. When we talk about hostages, we talk about the concept of פדיון שבויים/Pidiyon Shevu’im/Returning of Hostages. This value and sacred trust is a core Jewish way of seeing the world. We will not allow our loved ones to be left in dungeons and be deprived of their freedom. We fight for all Jews to live freely and to be surrounded by those they love. This is a sacred bond that ties all Jewish people of the world together. It is also our sacred obligation that no loved ones be left in limbo. We must do all we can to bring all our loved ones home to be buried with honor. This burial allows the living to gain some sense of closure, and to begin the process of grieving.

We’ve now arrived at our symbolic October 8, 2023 and we’re able to move forward in our collective trauma and grief. This week, the IDF found the remains of the final hostage, Ran Gvilli, in Gaza and brought him home to Israel and to his family to allow them to bury and mourn him. Ran was a hero, a member of the police force that ran into the danger zone. After saving the lives of partygoers fleeing the Nova music festival in Re’im, and defending Kibbutz Alumim from Hamas terrorists, he was killed saving countless other lives. May his memory be for a blessing.

This week, we read פרשת בשלח/Parshat Beshalach and learn of the final moments in Egypt and our departure. There is one sentence that jumps out at me every time I read it:

וַיִּקַּ֥ח מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־עַצְמ֥וֹת יוֹסֵ֖ף עִמּ֑וֹ כִּי֩ הַשְׁבֵּ֨עַ הִשְׁבִּ֜יעַ אֶת־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר פָּקֹ֨ד יִפְקֹ֤ד אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶתְכֶ֔ם וְהַעֲלִיתֶ֧ם אֶת־עַצְמֹתַ֛י מִזֶּ֖ה אִתְּכֶֽם׃

And Moses took with him the bones of Joseph, who had exacted an oath from the children of Israel, saying, “God will be sure to take notice of you: then you shall carry up my bones from here with you.” (שמות יג:יט)

There are many מדרשים/Midrashim told about this in both the collections of מדרש and the תלמוד/Talmud. The essence of all these explanations is that on the chaotic night we were leaving, משה/Moshe/Moses set out to find the bones/remains of יוסף/Yosef/Joseph. He struggled and finally declared we could not leave before we fulfilled our sacred obligation to יוסף to bring him with us to the promised land. It was at that moment יוסף’s casket exposed itself to משה and he was able to bring him out. The fact that our leader, משה, spent this last night occupied with this sacred work is no accident. We cannot move forward when the past is left unresolved. We cannot leave our people in chains and expect to be fully free. We cannot have our martyrs left in unmarked graves and properly honor our dead. We must make things right. We must bring them home. In fact, it’s safe to say we couldn’t have left Egypt without the bones of יוסף… it was only after we brought him out with us that we were truly able to move forward into the process of becoming a free people and working our way to the Promised Land.

This week, we finally reached October 8. This week we’re started the process of moving forward and beginning to grieve and thus beginning to heal.