June 12, 2026

We have spent much of this week doing important work as we engage with our schools. On Monday, we hosted school administrators for a professional development seminar on responding to and preventing antisemitism in schools. On Tuesday and Wednesday, we hosted nearly 50 teachers from across Central Ohio for a professional development seminar in Holocaust education and the impacts of antisemitism. We are so grateful for JewishColumbus’s support in this work. We should be proud of the sacred work we are doing as we help teachers gain the tools and skills needed to support their students.

Last week, I began an email series that will last several weeks and focus on the history of Reform Judaism, with a closer look at the 1885 Pittsburgh Platform. The subsequent platforms unraveled the Pittsburgh doctrine, beginning with the 1937 Platform, which was adopted right here in Columbus, Ohio, at Temple Israel. The rejection of Jewish ritual life and a connection to Jewish peoplehood were completely overturned by the end of the 20th century.

The 1937 Columbus Platform reflected a significant shift happening in America at the time. In 1885, the American Jewish community was largely of German descent. The early 20th century brought waves of Jewish refugees from Eastern Europe, including the former Soviet Union. With this influx of Jewish immigrants came a diversity of Jewish belief and practice, as well as a different financial status. These immigrants had either witnessed pogroms or were descendants of those who did. By the 1930s, significant quotas had limited Jewish immigration, and American Jews began to see the plight of Jews in Europe as the Nazis rose to power.

A key text on Reform Jewish history is Response to Modernity by Michael A. Meyer. Meyer shares that by 1930, when the Reform Movement was creating a new hymnal, “Hatikvah” was included in a section entitled “The Nation.” David Philipson, who had been present at the 1885 gathering of rabbis, declared, “Had anyone told me twenty years ago that nationalism would make such inroads as to succeed in having the Zionist National hymn ‘Hatikvah’ incorporated into the hymnal published by the conference, I would have thought him ready for the lunatic asylum.”

In 1935, Felix Levy, a Zionist, became president of the CCAR, only the second Zionist president to lead the Conference. Meyer writes that Rabbi Edward Israel had circulated a resolution among the CCAR’s 401 members in support of the Palestine Labor Movement. In total, 241 rabbis signed it. With more than half of the Conference made up of Zionist rabbis, the tone in the Conference was shifting. Though in 1935 the CCAR chose to allow its members to take individual stands on the issue of Zionism and would take no official stand, it paved the way for a committee to form to write a new platform.

The drafting of a new platform would not come without disagreement and strife. Samuel Cohon and Samuel Schulman were at odds with one another. Schulman, the retired rabbi of the Classical Reform Temple Emanu-El in New York City, drafted one document, while Cohon, a rabbi who held a deep connection to the Jewish people, drafted another. Other Zionists, including Abba Hillel Silver and Stephen Wise, who were part of the commission, sided with Cohon. When Schulman became ill and could not attend the 1936 convention, CCAR President Felix Levy chose to put forth Cohon’s draft. Any decision was ultimately postponed for a year. As Meyer writes, those in attendance here in Columbus not only had to decide between two platforms but also between two determined and angry personalities. Only eight opposed the new document.

The platform, entitled The Guiding Principles of Reform Judaism, represented a major shift away from its Pittsburgh predecessor. It was not a declaration of specific Reform tenets, but rather a comprehensive and concise liberal interpretation of Judaism. Regarding Israel, the Columbus Platform states, “In all lands where our people live, they assume and seek to share the full duties and responsibilities of citizenship and to create seats of Jewish knowledge and religion. In the rehabilitation of Palestine, the land hallowed by memories and hopes, we behold the promise of renewed life for many of our brethren. We affirm the obligation of all Jewry to aid in its upbuilding as a Jewish homeland by endeavoring to make it not only a haven of refuge for the oppressed but also a center of Jewish culture and spiritual life.”

Though it does not specifically call for a Jewish state, the call for a Jewish homeland in Palestine reflects the tone of Zionist writers, Ahad Ha’am among them, who saw it as a center for Jewish culture and spiritual life, as well as a refuge to support those in danger.

From a theological perspective, the document turns away from language like “God idea” and toward an understanding of God as the source of creation and the “indwelling Presence of the world.” It introduces the language of social justice, calling for society to eliminate “man-made misery, and suffering, of poverty and degradation, of tyranny and slavery, of social inequality and prejudice, of ill-will and strife.” The Columbus Platform also brings back an emphasis on Jewish ritual life, something that had been completely rejected two generations earlier.

The early 20th century marked a significant shift in Reform Jewish life. The latter half of the 19th century saw a focus on Americanism and the desire to assimilate into the new world in which Jews were living. By contrast, the early 20th century drew on the impact of religion, faith, and Jewish peoplehood as foundational aspects of Jewish life.

As we think about the conversations taking place today, we cannot help but see the parallels in Jewish history. The early 20th century was a time marked by persecution and danger. It was arguably a time with some of the highest incidents of antisemitic undertones in American history. The debate that ensued strikes the same notes we are hearing today: Who are we as a people? What should be the center of our concern? The tension between Judaism’s universalist ideals and its particularist concern for the Jewish people continues today.

As we reflect on this history, we ask what history can teach us. Living in the Diaspora and under the Star-Spangled Banner has afforded us the ability to work toward a balance between the two. How can we continue to nurture that balance today?

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

June 5, 2026

Over the past week, there has been significant debate sparked by a gathering of Reform Jewish leaders in New York City at a conference called Re‑Charging Reform. Hosted by the Stephen S. Wise Free Synagogue, the gathering ignited controversy around the ordination of anti‑Zionist rabbis at Hebrew Union College. Participants adopted a resolution calling on the College not to ordain anti‑Zionist rabbis, while HUC President Andrew Rehfeld defended the institution’s commitment to inquiry, discussion, and engagement with contemporary issues.

In this brief reflection, I will not attempt to offer an opinion on that question. Instead, over the coming weeks, I will explore the history of Reform Judaism, examining the foundational documents that have shaped Reform Jewish thought and values in America over the past 140 years. These documents and platforms can be found on the website of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. Through this exploration, we may better understand the roots of today’s debates and, perhaps, be better equipped to form our own perspectives. We will return to the current question after our dive into history.

Much of the discussion about Zionism in Reform Judaism can be traced back to its earliest platform, adopted in Pittsburgh in November 1885. Known as the Pittsburgh Platform, it sought to articulate guiding principles for an emerging movement in the United States. Regarding Zionism, the document famously states: “We consider ourselves no longer a nation, but a religious community, and therefore expect neither a return to Palestine, nor a sacrificial worship under the sons of Aaron, nor the restoration of any of the laws concerning the Jewish state.” Controversy surrounding this position contributed to the development of the Columbus Platform some fifty years later.

It is important to note that the Pittsburgh Platform was never formally adopted by the Central Conference of American Rabbis, which was established in 1889, four years after the gathering. The document emphasized the ethical foundations of Judaism while rejecting certain ritual practices, such as kashrut and laws of priestly purity and dress. Its call to “participate in the great task of modern times…to solve, on the basis of justice and righteousness, the problems presented by the contrasts and evils of the present organization of society” had a lasting impact on Reform Jewish life.

Questions remain regarding what inspired the Pittsburgh gathering and why the final document was adopted by the rabbis in attendance. Scholars argue that a debate between Rabbi Alexander Kohut, a recent immigrant to the United States and leader of Congregation Ahawath Chesed, and Rabbi Dr. Kaufman Kohler played a role. While this debate focused on the purpose of religious practice—similar to distinctions we might draw today between Reform and Orthodox Judaism—the motivations for the gathering may have been broader. Some suggest that the rise of the Ethical Culture movement, founded by Felix Adler in 1876, influenced the conference, as it appealed to many of the same people drawn to Reform Judaism. Others point to concerns about assimilation and the fear that many Reform Jews might disengage from Jewish life—an ongoing challenge for Diaspora communities.

Questions also remain about whether the principles were widely adopted by American Jews at the time. Historian Jonathan Sarna notes that little documentation of the discussions was preserved, and the “Authentic Report” published afterward did not include dissenting voices. Rabbi Michael Machol of Cleveland remarked in 1890, “I was opposed to some of them, and am still opposed to them.” A century later, Rabbi Walter Jacob described the document as a defining text of the early twentieth century, while also noting that its influence may have been somewhat exaggerated. Some argue that its stance on Zionism led to a reversal in the 1937 Columbus Platform, while others, such as Maxmillian Heller, suggested as early as 1903 that its views were already outdated. Jacob ultimately wrote that the platform “represented a radical reform which was almost immediately modified.”

While its immediate impact may be debated, the Pittsburgh Platform clearly left a lasting mark on Reform Judaism, serving as a point of reference for later developments. It has sometimes been used to suggest anti‑Zionist or non‑Zionist origins within Reform Judaism, though that may not fully reflect the diversity of views at the time. What is clear is that the Platform sought to respond to the pressing concern of assimilation—a question that has shaped Jewish life for centuries and continues to resonate today.

Next week, we will take a closer look at the Columbus Platform of 1937.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 29, 2026

The Hebrew Bible offers two possibilities when translating the word “song” into Hebrew. One option is shira, as in “shiru ladonai shir chadash” – “Sing a new song unto God” (Psalm 95). Another example of this is when the Israelites reached the other side of the parted sea the book of Exodus reads “az yashir moshe uv’nei Yisrael et hashira hazot” – “And Moses and the Israelites sang this song…” (Exodus 15:1).

The second option is zimra as in Psalm 98:5 which reads “zamru l’Adonai b’chinor b’chinor v’kol zimra” – “Sing praise to God with the lyre and melodious song” or “Mizmor shir l’yom hashabbat” – “Sing a song of Shabbat” (Psalm 92:1).

Why would there be two options for a word we express singularly in English? The two options seem to indicate slightly different meanings, though the translations of the verses I cited above make that difficult to recognize. The Hebrew Academy suggests that it is only in modern Hebrew that we realize a distinction between the two. As we can see in Biblical translations, shira and zimra appear to be used interchangeably. In modern Hebrew the word shir or shira might suggest the actual text of a song or poem; whereas zimra, indicates the art or act of singing or playing an instrument. The verses above reveal that shira could accompany an expression of joy upon witnessing something new. Zimra, on the other hand, might suggest a more regular occurrence of singing that includes an expression of gratitude.

Perhaps a modern distinction can help us capture the meaning of tonight’s celebration honoring Julie Sapper’s retirement as our longtime Director of Musical Programming. On countless occasions, Julie brought deeper meaning to the shirim—the songs and sacred texts of our tradition—through zimra, the act of singing, whether through our voices or through instruments. Her love of music harmonized these two biblical expressions, bringing joy to our Shabbat, reflection to the High Holy Days, and her heart and soul to both the music and the people.

Julie has a deep passion for all music, and especially for Jewish music, as well as a profound love of teaching. She began her career as a music teacher long before she ever walked through the doors of Beth Tikvah. When she joined our community 19 years ago, she began as a music teacher in our Religious School. It was years later, through her own vision and creativity, that she envisioned the role she has held for more than a decade. We have all been blessed by her passion, skill, and wisdom. I hope you will join us for Shabbat tonight as we honor Julie for her 19 years of devoted service to Beth Tikvah. Come prepared to sing, whether you call it shira or zimra, our voices will help us celebrate such a special milestone. 

Mazel tov to Julie and her family!

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

May 22, 2026

Earlier this week, there was an attack on a mosque in San Diego in which several individuals were murdered. Our sympathies extend to the entire Muslim community. No one should ever be murdered in their house of worship. We in the Jewish community know this pain, suffering, and fear all too well.

Each year at this time, I take a moment to recognize that many in our community are celebrating graduations. So many of our young people have walked—or will walk—with their classes in the coming days. This year, I have the honor of being the parent of one of these graduates. On Sunday morning, Zoe will put on her cap and gown and receive her high school diploma from Worthington Kilbourne High School. To say we are proud and excited is an understatement. The little girl who used to run to the bimah after services to be held by her dad has worked so hard to earn this moment.

While no one gives me a microphone to address our graduates, if I did, here are three lessons I would offer them.

Show Up

There is a beautiful teaching I learned from Rabbi Sharon Brous’ brilliant book, The Amen Effect. In ancient times, when people ascended the steps of the Temple in Jerusalem, they would enter, turn to the right, walk counterclockwise, and exit near where they had entered. However, someone who was suffering—one who was grieving a loved one, someone who was lonely, or someone who was ill—would enter with the crowd, turn left, and walk clockwise, moving in the opposite direction from everyone else. The entire community would know that this person was in pain. Those walking to the right would see them and say, “May God comfort you. May you be wrapped in community” (The Amen Effect, p. 3). To live in community, we must see those who are suffering and not just see them but be present for them. To walk through the world alone, bereft in grief or living with pain, reminds us that life is filled with mountains to climb. Seeing pain is not enough. Reaching out and showing up in a moment of need is an act that will be remembered forever. When your friend is in need, show up. Be there for them.

Open Yourself to Learning and Personal Growth

When we graduate, our hearts are filled with pride. We know so much because we have learned so much. But we cannot let our learning stop. Life brings profound experiences that offer moments for growth and reflection. You who are graduating are amazing people, but as you enter the world, work, and continue learning in college or graduate school, 10 years from now and 20 years from now, you will be different people. Life will come your way. Reflect on what happens and learn how those moments influence you to do differently and to do better.

In Pirkei Avot, the ancient collection of ethical teachings—which I jokingly tell our B’nai Mitzvah students should be titled “The Rabbi’s Greatest Hits”—the sage Yose ben Yoezer teaches: “Let your house be a meeting place for the Sages; sit in the dust of their feet, and drink in their words with thirst.” Make your home a place of learning and a gathering place for the wise. Sit at their feet and learn with thirst. That thirst reminds us that learning must never stop learning. Every person and every moment offer an opportunity to learn, we just need to remain open to it.

Kindness Matters

As I concluded the counting of the Omer on Wednesday evening, I read Rabbi Karyn Kedar’s words in Omer: A Counting, CCAR Press: “And know, of all the words I have found, kindness is the most powerful. It can transform the world. At the end of my days, the only thing I will regret in my life are times when I was unkind.” Psalm 89 reminds us that the world was built on a foundation of kindness. As builders, we lay the bricks of that foundation. Though it lies beneath the surface, it provides the strength and support we need to withstand life’s storms. Those storms have the potential to shape us or to harden our hearts. Kindness brings warmth from the depths of our souls. Let it burst forth and remember that kindness has a lasting impact.

There is one more bonus message I want to offer. Our young people are entering a world where too many harbor ill will toward Jews and toward Israel. Sadly, many of you have already encountered such hatred during your youngest years. Your Judaism lives within your heart and soul. It provides a pulse and rhythm by which your life beats. There are those who will try to take that from you. Don’t let them.

You know who you are. Beth Tikvah has planted sacred seeds of Jewish tradition and Jewish values within you. Water those seeds with every mitzvah you perform and every Jewish moment you celebrate. The Jewish people need you. Remember: kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—all Israel is responsible for one another. The Jewish people will support you, and you, in turn, will support the Jewish community.

Mazel tov to all our graduates.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Rick Kellner