November 13, 2026

On a cold grey morning in Cambridge, United Kingdom, six Columbus rabbis walked into the main library at Cambridge University. This is an institution dedicated to academic inquiry and the pursuit of higher education, where the top 1% of British students enroll to gain knowledge, critical thinking, and mentorship. Cambridge is an institution that has been in operation since the middle of the 14th century; it houses a collection of the most ancient and important Jewish texts that affirm our history, spirituality, and scholarship throughout the centuries. That collection is called the Cairo Geniza.

At the top of the women’s section of the Ben Ezra Synagogue in Cairo, built in the 11th century, there is a window leading to a two-story room that was one-quarter the size of our Beth Tikvah library. This is where people would place the sacred and not-so-sacred texts that were no longer considered useful. Centuries later, like an ancient, buried treasure, these texts were brought to Cambridge by Rabbi Solomon Schechter, who traveled to Cairo to acquire them. He was told to take whatever looked interesting to him; he took it all.

On a table inside a secure room, we examined texts that were carefully selected for our group: a folio from a 7th-century Torah manuscript, pages of Talmud, responsa from Maimonides (Moshe ben Maimon, the Rambam), texts containing his unique signature, drafts of his Mishneh Torah in which you could see him cross out and rename a section title. The collection includes “meaningless” texts too: a child’s lesson learning to write the alef-bet, a Shavuot food shopping list, a letter from the head of a school to parents about their misbehaving child. Looking at these texts, we were in awe of the history, its preservation, and the threads connecting moments of our past across generations.

We then strolled to an unguarded center for Jewish life, walked right in, and ate with Jewish students from the University. In a building smaller than our entire social hall, a Shabbat dinner set for 120 occurs each week, prepared by Noah, a first-year student we met during lunch. Their Shabbat dinner follows traditional and egalitarian minyanim. The students shared stories that sounded similar to the ones shared by our young people who have gone off to college. They shared with us stories of antisemitism, perseverance, and commitment to Jewish life. They talked about their passion for learning and love of mathematics, philosophy, medicine, and Jewish studies. They were an impressive young group.

Our day concluded back in London at JW3, London’s version of New York’s 92 Street Y. JW3 is a hub of Jewish arts and culture that screens the world’s greatest Jewish films (four screenings a day), as well as plays written and produced in-house, museum exhibits, the country’s leading Krav Maga education program, dance classes, and an early childhood center. When you ask Jewish leaders what gives British Jewry a sense of vibrancy, they point to JW3, a place celebrating its Bar Mitzvah anniversary. They also point to Limmud, a weeklong interdenominational experience using learning, music, art, and culture to draw in Jews from around the world each year.

What a blessing it was to travel with my colleagues, Rabbi Elka Abrahamson (Wexner Foundation), Rabbi Benjy Bar-Lev (Temple Beth Shalom), Rabbi Avi Goldstein (Beth Jacob), Rabbi Hillel Skolnik (Tifereth Israel), and Rabbi Josh Warshawsky (Agudas Achim), to learn and envision what we might do collaboratively back in Columbus. How does one create a vibrant, living Judaism? Reflecting on this experience, I found the answer in the convergence of three things: our texts, the people who bring them to life, and the culture we continue to create.

The texts we analyzed, read, and held matter because we are still reading their words and learning their lessons 1,300 years after they were written. The students we met bring those texts to life when they study, gather, and build Jewish community together. At JW3, we saw another expression of that same story through film, music, art, food, and culture. What recipes were made from that ancient Shavuot shopping list? We may never know, but every generation in every corner of the world has created their own recipes, traditions, and expressions of Jewish life.

The Torah scroll we examined came from the end of the Book of Genesis, Parashat Vayechi, when Jacob blesses his sons. Those words contain an enduring lesson I am taking with me from this trip. To bless the next generation is to transmit wisdom from one generation to the next. The wisdom contained in those ancient texts has been taught and passed on for thousands of years. Each generation has endured hardships and still found a way to teach Torah. The students we met in Cambridge are the latest generation to inherit that wisdom, and now it is theirs to give it life.

That is our work too. We do not need to live exactly as the generations before us did (if you read the letter from the school to the parent, you would agree), but we do need to take what we have inherited and make it come alive in a way that speaks to our generation. We do that through learning, through Jewish culture and the arts, through spirituality, and through the communities we create together. The texts connect us to where we have been; what we do with them helps shape where Jewish life goes next.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

November 6, 2026

Earthquakes happen when tectonic plates move together, causing pressure that makes the Earth feel like it’s moving. Metaphorical earthquakes happen when a single human being has such an impact on the world that it literally shifts beneath your feet. This week, Professor Sara Lee passed away. There are not enough words that begin to describe the impact that she had on the world of Jewish education. Sara was the longtime Director of the Rhea Hirsch School of Jewish Education (RHSOE) at HUC’s Los Angeles campus. It was a position she held for over 30 years, during which she trained countless educators and professionalized the field of Jewish education. In 2005, she earned the Pras HaNasi, the Israeli President’s Prize for influence in the field of Jewish Education in the Diaspora. That honor fractionally describes the influence she had on the field of Jewish education. Sara Lee caused an earthquake in the world of Jewish education, shifting it in indescribable ways.

Both Debra and I are alumni of the RHSOE and call Sara our mentor. After her retirement, she returned to Boston, where she spent the remaining years of her life near her children and near her birth home. When we moved Zoe into school in August, I asked Debra if we should reach out to Sara to try to visit with her; unfortunately, time did not allow for that.

I remember the first time I met Sara. It was 1999. I was visiting HUC’s Los Angeles campus as a prospective student. My mentor, Rabbi Matt Cutler, said that I had to meet Sara, and if I was going to go to HUC, I should really consider adding an extra year to earn a master’s degree in Jewish education. I sat on Sara’s infamous yellow couch, which would trap you if you sat all the way back. As someone who was earning an undergraduate degree in education, Sara informed me that if I were to come to HUC, I would also enroll in the School of Jewish Education. For Sara, it wasn’t a choice. She was as prophetic as she was wise.

After spending the first three years as a rabbinic student, the time came for me to enroll in the School of Jewish Education. Sara taught us organizational development, reminding us about the four frames in which nonprofit organizations functioned. Her goal was to make us better educators, but she really inspired an entire generation of students to become educational leaders who would not just think about the classroom but also about how the entire organization could grow and improve. As Sara raised more disciples, she transformed the field, professionalizing it and helping her graduates impact countless students, teachers, and Jewish institutions. If you were one of Sara’s students, you could call on her for life. She helped us navigate career searches long after graduation, and we could call on her whenever we needed her. As I think about my time since HUC, the RHSOE faculty were the teachers I called on more than others.

Perhaps it is fitting that she took her last breath during the week in which we read from Parashat Chayei Sarah—the life of Sarah. In the opening verses, we learn that Sarah died at the age of 127. Midrash (Gen. Rabbah 58:2) teaches us that when the sun rises, the sun also sets, referencing Ecclesiastes 1:5. Rabbi Aba bar Kahana asks the obvious question, saying, “Don’t we know this?” But the midrash then comes to explain that before the Holy One, Blessed be God, causes the sun of a righteous person to set, God causes the sun of that person’s righteous counterpart to rise. While we cannot know who the righteous person is who has arisen prior to Sara Lee’s death, perhaps there might never arise a person who will reach her stature in the field of Jewish education. If that is indeed the case, we might think about all her students, who collectively have brought her influence to countless Jewish organizations around the world. Sara Lee was a teacher who helped me to become the rabbi and educator I am today. She helped Debra become the educator she is today. May her memory be for a blessing.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 30, 2026

A vote is an expression of the world we hope to create. Election results are a snapshot of the world in which we are living at a given moment. How might we think about building such a world? For the Diaspora Jewish community, we have an interest and concern in the outcome of that election, but most of us cannot vote. Here in the U.S., our voice is our vote, and yet our vote cannot be all that we do to build the world we want to create.

If elections are a snapshot of a society at a given moment, what can we learn about Israeli society? There are real concerns about key issues: accountability for October 7th, conscription of Haredi Jews to serve in the IDF, judicial reform, the lack of a conclusion to the multi-front war, and Jewish violence in Judea and Samaria/the West Bank. For Arab citizens of Israel, there was an entirely different set of concerns, which included rising crime in their neighborhoods and profound frustration with the ultra-nationalist policies of Itamar Ben-Gvir in Judea and Samaria/the West Bank that impact their family members.

What we have learned is that Israeli society is an incredibly diverse place. Arab citizens of Israel voted in numbers that have never been seen before and, according to early election results, have won as many as 19 seats in the Knesset. We have learned that there is a strong group that wants change and a different way forward. We have also learned that there are many in Israel who are still concerned about their security and believe that the war against Hamas was not a total failure.

When Israelis entered the voting booth and put the slip of paper representing the political party of their choice into the ballot box, they voted with a vision of what they hoped to create. The only way forward in forming a government is for some parties to go back on campaign promises (i.e., forming a coalition with Netanyahu) and form a unity government representing the center. If they fail to do that, we will see another round of elections in the spring. (To learn more, see The Times of Israel, The Jerusalem Post, Haaretz, or podcasts from Ark Media or Ask Haviv Anything with Haviv Rettig Gur.)

Looking here, our concerns are diverse: rising gas prices and other related costs, immigration policy, the wealth gap, the economy, and the ongoing war with Iran. In the Jewish community, we are also concerned about Jewish safety and the rising wave of antisemitism, whether that is based in classic antisemitic tropes or the new wave of anti-Israel sentiment. What is the snapshot of our country we will see on Tuesday evening as our votes are counted?

If our vote is our expression of the vision of the world we want to create, then the work is not only about voting. It is about how we live our lives in the days between elections. While we cannot control things like fuel prices or current policy decisions, we can be on the ground doing the sacred work to care for people in our own communities. On Wednesday morning, people will still wake up in our community facing hunger; we will still ensure that there is a security presence keeping us safe in our community; we will still do the work we do to support vulnerable neighbors; and we will continue to ensure that we feel a profound sense of Jewish pride and that we know our Jewish story.

As I was listening to analysis of the Israeli elections earlier this week, I was struck by Yossi Klein Halevi’s response and insight. Yossi is a scholar at the Hartman Institute in Jerusalem and co-hosts a podcast with Rabbi Donniel Hartman. Yossi is among the camp that wanted to bring about profound change in Israel. He is a voice of the center in Israel. When he faced his disappointment with the elections, he said, “People who voted differently than I did love this country as much as I do.” That is profound wisdom. If we can sit back and reflect on people who cast their votes differently than we do, and we can remember that they love Israel or the U.S. as much as we do, what might that say about how we can do the sacred work to build the vision of the country we hope to create?

Perhaps we can be guided by our tradition, in which we learn from the Talmud in tractate Sanhedrin (17b) that a Torah scholar is not permitted to live in a community unless it has ten things: a court, a charity fund, a synagogue, a bathhouse, a public bathroom, a doctor, a scribe, an artisan, a cook, and a teacher of young children. These categories reflect a community that wishes to have a sense of order that abides by law, that takes care of its most vulnerable, that is concerned about health, and that cares about learning, beauty, and recording our collective stories. As we enter Shabbat, may we do the sacred work that builds a community with those same shared concerns held by our ancestors.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner

October 23, 2026

I was not among the early watchers of “Nobody Wants This” on Netflix, though I did love the first season of the show. In my opinion, the second season left something to be desired. For those unfamiliar, the hit Netflix show features Rabbi Noah Roklov, a single rabbi living in Los Angeles, who meets and falls in love with Joanne Williams, a podcaster who focuses on edgy topics dealing with relationships. Joanne is not Jewish, and we see how Rabbi Roklov navigates this relationship on both a personal and professional situation. The show also stars Jackie Tohn, a wonderful Jewish comedian whom I first met in preschool and went to high school with. Season 3 was released on Netflix earlier this week, and I don’t know that I can bring myself to watch.

Adam Brody, the actor who plays Rabbi Roklov, was recently asked by GQ about the conflict between Israel and Hamas. He said, “Put me down as thinking it’s a genocide.” I am wrestling with watching because when I turn to entertainment, I want to be able to escape and enjoy it. Watching every episode, knowing he has shared these words publicly, would bring the tensions I live with every day right in front of my face.

In all the time since October 7, I am not sure I have written about these fabricated charges against Israel. Genocide is a legal term that only came into existence following the Holocaust. It was created by Polish-Jewish lawyer Raphael Lemkin to describe the Nazi policies that sought to exterminate the Jewish people from the face of the earth. The term itself is now a legal term that requires the intent to destroy an entire people. Charges of genocide against Israel fit classical forms of antisemitism such as the blood libel or charging Jews with the worst evils a society can commit. In the 13 century, a Christian baby was found dead around Passover. Jews were blamed for his death and charged with using his blood to make matzah. Such charges continued throughout the centuries and led to pogroms and other violence against Jews. There was never any evidence to prove these false charges in what has come to be known as blood libel. The charges of genocide have led to violence against Jews today. We have seen this in attacks on synagogues as well as against individuals.

So many of us hear these claims and we might not have information at our disposal to respond. As I have shared numerous times, the loss of innocent life is deeply tragic, and we continue to be saddened by any innocent lives lost throughout the history of this ongoing conflict. To call this a genocide, however, is to put Israel in the same light as the Nazis, the Turks who perpetrated the Armenian genocide, and the Hutu extremists who perpetrated the Rwandan genocide against the Tutsis in which 800,000 Tutsis were killed in three months. It also takes away our status as victims of a genocide and denies us our own story, calling us perpetrators of such evil as well. The facts just don’t add up. As we look at the facts, no genocidal group would give polio vaccines to a group it was trying to annihilate; over a million were administered by Israel during the war. No genocidal group would drop fliers or make phone calls trying to protect innocent civilians from military operations; Israel did that repeatedly. No genocidal group would bring in over two million tons of aid.

Prior to October 2023, there were no Israeli military forces in the Gaza Strip. Israel did, and still does, maintain a military presence in the West Bank, but there have been no attempts to commit mass murder there. Earlier this week, Micha Danzig offered a close analysis in The Jerusalem Post of the number of deaths in Gaza. When you read this data, a genocide just doesn’t add up.

Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib, a Palestinian, former Gaza resident, and author of the book Hamas and Its Two Million Hostages, recently told Haaretz, “Genocide doesn’t happen because everyone says it was a genocide. Who even cares what Amnesty or Human Rights Watch say? They’re not genocide researchers. True, there are genocide historians like Omer Bartov who argue that there was a genocide, but they’re also not legal experts, and it’s the job of legal experts to decide whether it’s genocide or not. There are those who openly want to expand the definition of genocide so that what happened in Gaza fits this definition. The international courts in The Hague have not yet found conclusive proof or ruled that there was genocide.” The claims of genocide began before the IDF entered Gaza and there were even claims of genocide before Hamas attacked Israel on October 7.

So many people have come to believe this fabricated claim to be true because of what psychologists refer to as the Illusory Truth Effect. Dara Horn writes about this in her newest book. This effect was first established in 1977 after a series of psychological studies. It reflects the notion that an idea becomes a truth, whether it is plausible or not, whether it is true or not, after it is repeated frequently. According to Psychology Today, cognitive linguist George Lakoff suggests that the way to counter the Illusory Truth Effect is through what is known as a truth sandwich. You begin by mentioning the truth, briefly mentioning the falsehood, and then describe the correct information.

We have an incredible uphill battle to undo this falsehood. It has been repeated countless times, including in what many deem to be trustworthy sources.

Whether I can move past my own concerns about actors who feel they have to weigh in on issues they do not fully understand or have expertise in remains to be seen. I should add, I am not a legal scholar in this area either, but the historical claims of blood libel mirror what we are seeing today too closely. It is my hope that those who have wondered how they might counter these false claims now have a few pieces of information to do so.

As we think about Israel this week, we know Israelis will go to the polls this Tuesday. As they envision the future of the Jewish homeland, may they work towards a vision that helps build Israel as a Jewish and democratic state while upholding its founding vision as a beacon of peace and a light unto the nations.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rick Kellner