Our Voices

I have a distinct memory of the first time I felt lucky to be Jewish.

I was in elementary school, and I had just learned that only about two percent of all Americans, and less than one-half of one percent of all the people in the world, were Jewish. This came as quite a shock to me. I understood that Jews were not the majority, but we were a significant enough minority in my neighborhood that all my teachers knew not to plan anything important on the High Holy Days. I estimate that about 25-30% of the people I encountered every day were Jewish, and I had thought that the whole world was like that.

Learning just how few Jews there actually were had a profound impact on me. Up to that point, I had always felt unexceptional. I didn’t have any notable artistic or musical talent. I was (to put it mildly) not athletically gifted. I was smart, but by no means brilliant. I considered myself pretty average. Then suddenly, I discovered that I had been born into one of the most exclusive clubs around! I felt like I had won the lottery.

As I’ve matured, I have come to understand that being a member of such a tiny religious minority is a mixed blessing, to say the least. But my sense of good fortune at having been born Jewish has grown and deepened.

I feel lucky to be Jewish when I hear the stories of people raised in other faiths, or with no faith, who were so moved and inspired by their encounters with Judaism that they felt called to embark on the demanding path to become Jews by choice.

I feel lucky to be Jewish when I meet people of mixed heritage who proudly claim “Jewish” as a key part of their identities despite the fact that they often must fight to have that claim accepted, even within the Jewish community.

I feel lucky to be Jewish when I consider the miracle that over thousands of years, while all other ancient civilizations have faded away, Judaism has survived.

I feel lucky because I understand why people are drawn to our tradition and embrace their Jewish identities even when it’s difficult. I understand why our ancestors clung to Judaism through exile and persecution, constantly adapting it to fit the times and places in which they found themselves. The reason is that Judaism is so intrinsically valuable, so rich and beautiful, so filled with wisdom and guidance for living a meaningful life, that it is worth seeking out, holding onto, and fighting for.

Over time, my sense of good fortune at having been born Jewish has yielded another feeling: a sense of responsibility. Knowing that through no effort of my own, I have inherited the precious gift of Judaism, I feel obligated to preserve and protect it for future generations. That is why I have dedicated myself to synagogue leadership.

I believe that synagogues are essential to securing the Jewish future. Other types of Jewish organizations have their place. Social service organizations like Jewish Family and Children’s Services enable us to care for our own. Jewish Community Centers can be outlets for social and cultural expression. Advocacy groups like the Jewish Community Relations Council and the National Council of Jewish Women empower us to claim our place in the broader society and bring our values into the public square. And Jewish federations raise funds to support the rest of the Jewish organizational ecosystem.

But the synagogue is where we live our Jewish lives. It’s where we gather to mark the rhythm of the Jewish year and the milestones of the Jewish lifecycle. It’s where we bring our children to learn about their Jewish heritage and experience Jewish community. It’s where we find an extended family to accompany us through struggle, loss, and celebration. The synagogue is where we create Jewish memories and connect with our Jewish souls.

Over the past two years, it has been my great fortune and privilege to serve as president of Peninsula Temple Sholom. I hope that I have done my part, however small, to celebrate and protect our Jewish tradition and to secure a strong future for our synagogue and our faith.