Tag: storytelling

Tu B’Av is a time to celebrate love, connection, and the bonds that bring us together. This year, we’re highlighting a Jewish love story from our Federation community—showcasing the ways Judaism continues to shape the lives we build together.

Looking for Community

When Vanessa Sax moved to DC after college, she wasn’t looking for love. She was looking for community.

After settling into her first apartment on her own, she sought out ways to connect with Jewish life in her new city. So, she found and signed up for a DCJCC softball team.

It turned out Vanessa wasn’t the only newcomer.

Among the returning teammates was just one other new player: the man who would later become her husband.

One ‘Shalom’ Changed Everything

Like many great love stories, Vanessa and Kasey’s story didn’t begin with a grand romantic gesture. It began over post-game happy hours, where teammates gathered after each softball game.

During one of those happy hours, the two found themselves deep in conversation about Otter Pops (Freeze Ice if you’re on the east coast) and $1 beers and $2 grilled cheese sandwiches at a bar in Adams Morgan. “We spent the rest of the happy hour talking about many, many different topics,” she recalls.

As he walked her back to her car, a passing cab driver rolled down his window and enthusiastically shouted, “SHALOM!”. The unexpected greeting gave her exactly the opening she needed. Vanessa sent Kasey an email that simply began, “Shalom!” and invited him out to hunt for Otter Pops and for more $1 beers and $2 grilled cheese.

“He claims he was going to ask me out,” she laughs, “but I beat him to it!”.

Twenty-two years later, she says the story proves what they’ve both known all along: she’s the risk-taker in the relationship. That willingness to take chances led to a partnership built on curiosity, encouragement, and a shared commitment to growing together.

Vanessa admires Kasey’s endless desire to learn. Whether he’s mastering a new recipe, tackling a home repair, or teaching himself how to make Rummikub tiles by hand (mahjong tiles are next, she says), he approaches each new challenge with creativity and enthusiasm. “He loves learning and trying new things”.

Building a Jewish Home

That same spirit has shaped the Jewish life they’ve built together.

Today, celebrating Jewish holidays and passing along Jewish traditions to their daughters are at the heart of their family. Like many families, their extended relatives observe Judaism in different ways. Yet together, they have created traditions that belong uniquely to their own household while remaining deeply connected to generations that came before them.

A Chuppah Stitched with Love

One of those traditions quite literally surrounded them on their wedding day.

Instead of purchasing a chuppah, they created one together with the people they loved. Family members and friends each designed a fabric square, while her mother-in-law and sister-in-law lovingly stitched them together into the canopy beneath which they were married.

The chuppah still hangs in their home today.

“I would love for our girls to get married under it if that is their path in the future,” she says.

For Vanessa, sharing a Jewish life with her husband is about more than celebrating holidays or observing traditions. It is about sharing a history, a language of experiences, and a sense of belonging that continues to grow as their family grows.

She grew up in New York. He grew up in Los Angeles. Together, they built a life in DC. Although they came from opposite sides of the country, they quickly discovered that the Jewish community has a way of making the world feel smaller.

Finding Purpose Through Community

Years later, that same sense of belonging inspired Vanessa to make Jewish community-building her career. After working in commercial real estate, she took a leap of faith into Jewish communal life, deciding to join The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington—a move Kasey supported wholeheartedly.

Today, she serves as Federation’s Senior Director for Strategy and Community Building in Northern Virginia, helping others find the same sense of connection that first brought her to a softball field all those years ago. Learn more about Federation’s work in NoVA.

Weaving the Next Generation

“Jewish geography is a wonderful tapestry to be a part of,” she says.

It’s a tapestry she hopes her daughters will continue weaving as they build lives of their own: carrying with them the traditions, relationships, and sense of belonging that began with one decision to join a Jewish softball team.

This Tu B’Av, we celebrate not only the moments that bring people together, but the Jewish communities that help those moments become lifelong stories. Sometimes, finding your place in the Jewish community can lead to finding the person with whom you’ll build a Jewish future. And sometimes, it inspires a career dedicated to helping others find that sense of belonging, too.

Every career has a beginning. Mine might have started before I was born.

When I interviewed at The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, part of the process included a writing exercise. The assignment was straightforward: write a sample fundraising appeal. So I sat down at my desk, opened my laptop, and got to work.

The desk where I wrote that appeal once belonged to my maternal grandfather, my Opa.

Long before I became a Jewish professional, long before I learned the language of campaigns, community building, stewardship, and philanthropy, my grandfather was doing the same work. From this very desk.

Opa’s story began oceans away from mine. As a young Jewish boy, he escaped the horrors of Europe during World War II, fleeing from country to country, even in Mandatory Palestine before Israel became a state, before eventually building a new life in the Bay Area, California. Along the way, he became a military officer, journalist, a traveler, and a gifted communicator. Fluent in five languages, he spent years telling stories and connecting with people across cultures and borders.

Eventually, those talents led him to a career in Jewish communal service. He became the Western Regional Director of United Jewish Appeal (which later evolved into Jewish Federations of North America), helping raise funds and build support for Jewish communities around the world. His friends were politicians and celebrities. He helped bring some of the earliest Israeli emissaries to the West Coast, a precursor to the shlichim programs that remain such an important part of Jewish communal life today. He founded my home synagogue in Northern California. And he spent the rest of his life helping strengthen Jewish community.

I was far too young when he passed away. I never had the chance to know him as an adult, to ask him about his travels, his work, or what it felt like to dedicate a lifetime to serving the Jewish people.

But somehow, pieces of him found their way to me anyway.

More than a decade ago, I began my own journey as a Jewish professional. Different organizations. Different communities, different coasts. Yet so often, I find myself drawn to the same things that animated his work: relationships, storytelling, connection, and the belief that communities are strongest when people come together in service of something larger than themselves.

Sometimes I wonder what he would think of today’s overall Jewish landscape and its space in our world. The man who embraced technology and innovation would have been fascinated by social media, virtual meetings, and the ability to connect with people across the globe with the click of a button. And I suspect he would have loved the fact that, thanks to a hybrid workplace, I now spend part of every week working from home at the very desk where he once wrote his own appeals.

A desk that has quietly served the Jewish community since the 1950s.

A desk that has witnessed handwritten letters, fundraising plans, newspaper articles, family photographs, and now Zoom calls and digital campaigns.

The wood is older now. So am I. But the work continues, and there is something deeply comforting about that.

In a world that changes so quickly, it feels almost magical to place my hands where his once rested and know that, in some small way, we are connected through a shared purpose.

Perhaps that is what legacy really is – the quiet passing of values from one generation to the next. The belief that community matters. The willingness to serve. The courage to tell stories that inspire people to care.

And sometimes, if you are very lucky, a sturdy wooden desk.

The photograph above is of my Opa and me at that same desk many years ago. Neither of us could have known then that one day it would become mine. Or that decades later, we would still be doing the same work together. Z”l Opa 

There was one moment during the Pozez JCC Pride celebration on June 21 that I haven’t stopped thinking about.

The event was designed to celebrate Pride and provide a window into Israeli culture, art, and community. As the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington’s Community Shlicha (Israeli emissary) in Northern Virginia, I was there to help bring the Israeli perspective into the evening through stories, culture, and personal connection. Guests explored our LGBTQ+ LOVE Archive, a photography exhibition featuring LGBTQ+ couples and families across Israel before settling in for a joyful drag performance by New York performers Matzah Belle Soup and Alvah Klempt.

It also happened to be Father’s Day.

During the performance, one of the performers invited the father of a gay attendee onto the stage, and he completely stole the show. He was hilarious, joyful, and fully embraced the moment.

After the performance, one of the drag queens came up to me and said:

“That dad is exactly like my dad.” She told me she immediately wanted to call him and wish him a Happy Father’s Day, telling him how grateful she was to have him as her father.

It was a small exchange, but it captured something much larger about the evening: community, connection, and the powerful impact of making people feel loved and supported for who they are.

Acceptance has a ripple effect. A supportive parent doesn’t only change the life of their own child. It shows others what love and belonging can look like. As she spoke about her father, I couldn’t help but think of my own, and of standing beside him at the Tel Aviv Pride Parade.

Where My Connection to Pride Began

My connection to Pride is deeply personal. Some of my earliest memories are of attending the Tel Aviv Pride Parade with my father. I remember the colors, the music, the joy, and the sense that everyone belonged. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the political or social significance of those moments, but I understood what it felt like to be surrounded by people who were free to be themselves.

Years later, I met my wife, Hila, and together we built our life within a community that made space for us. As an Israeli, Pride reminds me that progress is possible and that the freedoms many of us experience today were built by people who came before us and fought for them.

And as one of Federation’s Shlichim, Pride is an opportunity to create spaces where people feel seen, welcomed, and connected—to each other, to their community, and to Israel.

How Shlichim Bring Israeli Stories to Community Life

As a Shlicha, my role is to share Israel through lived experience: through memory, through culture, through complexity, and through real people.

For me, Israel education is ultimately about people and stories.

This event was intentionally designed to create a joyful and welcoming space during a particularly complicated and emotionally heavy time. Guests walked through a photography exhibition featuring LGBTQ+ couples from across Israel while enjoying Israeli-inspired cocktails. We then welcomed two Jewish drag performers from New York who brought humor, creativity, and joy to the stage.

What I loved about this format was that people were learning about Israel without feeling like they were sitting in a lecture. They were experiencing Israeli culture, stories, and exploring questions of identity, family, and belonging in a natural and personal way.

Seeing Ourselves in the Story

One photograph in the exhibition held special meaning for me.

It was a picture of my wife, Hila, and me under our wedding chuppah.

I included it intentionally. Rather than seeing LGBTQ+ Israelis as distant figures, participants were seeing someone they already knew through community connection. They know our story, our relationship. And suddenly, Israel was not just a place being described. It was a place being lived by people in their own community. Most importantly, I wanted people to see LGBTQ+ Israelis not as statistics or symbols, but as human beings with stories that many of us can relate to.

In many ways, our photo served as a reminder that the stories being told throughout the exhibit are not just Israeli stories. They are the stories of real people, families, and communities.

Israel Is Not One Narrative

LGBTQ+ life in Israel, like Israel itself, is complex and multifaceted. What I hoped participants would take away is that LGBTQ+ life in Israel is not one story. It is many.

There are moments of progress and celebration. There are ongoing challenges. There are vibrant communities and everyday lives that continue to evolve.

But most importantly, there are people—real people—whose lives are shaped by the same things that shape all of ours: family, love, belonging, and the search for community.

Why Storytelling Builds Connection to Israel

People often encounter Israel through headlines. But headlines rarely leave room for nuance, humanity, or complexity.

Stories do.

When we engage with LGBTQ+ Israelis, or any Israelis, we are engaging with questions that are deeply familiar: Who are we? Where do we belong? How do we build families and communities? How do we create spaces where people feel seen?

These are universal questions. And that is why storytelling matters so deeply in Jewish communal life.

What Shlichim Make Possible

This is where Shlichim play a unique role, and where Federation’s investment in this work becomes so meaningful. Shlichim help transform Israel from something distant into something immediate and relatable.

We don’t only bring information. We bring ourselves—our memories, our cultures, our families, our contradictions, and our hopes. Through that, we create a bridge between Israel and the Greater Washington Jewish community. Federation’s support makes it possible for those bridges to exist. It allows Israeli voices to be present in community life in an ongoing, sustained way, as relationships. These relationships build strong Jewish identities for now and for the future.

This Gives Me Hope

What gives me hope is not just that people came to this event. It’s that they stayed.

In fact, they stayed long after the program officially ended. They stayed across generations, across identities, across perspectives.

They stayed for conversations. They came to celebrate Pride, but they also came to learn, to listen, and to connect—to each other, and to Israel.

In a time that often feels fragmented, that matters more than ever. Because community is not built through a single moment. It is built through repeated acts of showing up for one another.

And often, it begins with something very simple: creating a space where people feel welcome.

A couple weeks ago, my wife and I set off on a drive up to Boston to see our daughter graduate from college and then a few days later over to Pittsburgh to see our son graduate with a Master’s degree. It won’t surprise you to hear that witnessing these two milestones got me thinking about life’s transitions and the swirl of excitement, loss, and uncertainty that frequently come with them.

As Bruce Feiler points out in his book, Life Is in the Transitions: Mastering Change at Any Age, we spend more of our lives in flux than we realize. Life events can be good or bad. They can be determined by a decision that we make on our own or something that happens to us. Major life events also typically last about five years, and much of our adult lives are spent in unsettled states. This isn’t necessarily a negative thing—change can indicate growth and evolution—but it is the reality of most of our lives.

This sense of unsettledness is pervasive for many of us today. The world is changing faster than any of us could have imagined. Deep assumptions about our security, identity, friends, work, etc. are being challenged. And that is beyond changes that may be happening in our personal lives. All of this can get to be overwhelming. But that sense of instability is lessened and, in some ways, even reversed when we find community.

Feiler argues that a well-constructed life is one guided by the ABC’s—agency, belonging, and cause. To thrive, we need to feel like we can impact the world around us; that we have people to lean on; and have a way to serve something greater than ourselves. These three factors keep us grounded through life’s twists and turns, and they are all on offer in our community.

That’s what I hope people who engage with Federation and our partners come to feel, that Jewish Greater Washington is a place where they can commune with the ABC’s, across every life stage and within the ongoing story of Jewish peoplehood.

Our work as a Federation, therefore, is to ensure our community remains host to a grand Jewish playground, where people can come learn about themselves and find people with whom to climb through good times and bad no matter what’s going on in their lives.

That’s what I see as the beauty of community building. In choosing to join forces on our quest for meaning, we vastly improve each other’s odds of success. By engaging in Jewish discovery and expression together, we multiply each other’s agency, deepen each other’s sense of belonging, and further each other’s ability to pursue what matters to us most.

P.S. happy to recommend Bruce Feiler’s thoughtful guest essay in today’s New York Times.

Since October 7, Jewish teens around the world have been navigating a complex mix of emotions: grief, fear, pride, resilience. And increasingly, they’re not just processing these feelings quietly. They’re turning them into action.

A recent report from the Jewish Agency for Israel (JAFI) found that 74% of young Jews believe they can positively shape the future, a striking reflection of growing optimism and stronger connection to Jewish life.

In Greater Washington, a group of teens is doing exactly that.

Turning Emotion Into Expression

Through Our Eyes, an original art exhibit created by local teens Emma Libowitz, Ayelet Magder, Ofek Bar-Ori, Sophie Moyal, and Aviela Dennen, brings together the voices and experiences of Jewish teens in this moment. Through paintings, poetry, and mixed media, the exhibit offers a deeply personal look at what it means to be Jewish today, grounded not in headlines or politics, but in lived experience.

“At a time when antisemitism is often discussed in abstract or political terms, this exhibit restores humanity to the conversation,” said Ofek. “It allows [people] to see Jewish teens not as representatives of conflict, but as individuals with complex emotions, identities, and stories.”

For many of the teens, the exhibit is both a creative outlet and a communal space. “It acts as a space for teens to lean into their Jewish identities and express their thoughts and emotions, where they might not have otherwise had a place to do so,” Ayelet shared.

That sense of belonging, expression, and connection doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

Each of these teens is involved in Jewish life across the region: whether through the Bender JCC, camps like Ramah and Capital Camps, or other youth experiences that have helped shape their identities over time. These are the environments where Jewish teens build confidence, explore their values, and form the relationships that allow them to show up fully as themselves.

Investing in the Ecosystem

Federation plays a critical role in making those environments possible, supporting both teens and the professionals who guide and work alongside them.

By supporting camps, youth groups, JCCs, and other teen programming across Greater Washington, Federation invests in the spaces where identity is formed and strengthened. These investments don’t just power programs, they power identity, helping to cultivate a generation of young people who feel connected, confident, and empowered to express what being Jewish means to them.

As the exhibit travels to JCCs, synagogues, and schools across the region, it is creating new opportunities for connection, not just between teens, but across the broader community. “We hope the exhibit will help teens know that you’re not alone,” said Aviela. “That there are other teens going through the same things.”

And that expression matters now more than ever. “There has been a variety of reactions to October 7 within the Jewish community,” Emma shared. “Our experience as Jewish teens isn’t a monolith. Right now, we need the support and encouragement of adults to speak openly, voice our concerns, and reaffirm our communal values.”

The Through Our Eyes exhibit is modeling something powerful: that in the face of challenge, Jewish identity is not only something to hold onto. It’s something to build, express, and share.

Because when young people are given the tools, the space, and the support to explore who they are, they don’t just respond to the moment—they help shape what comes next.

On Friday, February 27, just before Shabbat, Inbal called her family in Israel with a question that had become all too familiar: Are you prepared for every possible scenario?

They told her they had already been ready for weeks. In many ways, everyone felt that something was coming. And yet, as she would soon learn, nothing can truly prepare you for war.

Inbal is part of the Community Shlichim program, a partnership between The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, The Jewish Agency for Israel (JAFI), local synagogues, and other partner organizations which brings Israeli emissaries to our region to deepen connection and bring Israeli life and perspective into our community. Originally from a small town in northern Israel, Inbal now finds herself navigating the distance between two realities—supporting the Greater Washington community while her own family lives through the unfolding crisis at home.

Here is her story:

When Sirens Began

The night of February 27 on the East Coast, Saturday morning in Israel, I received a news alert: sirens were sounding across Israel. I immediately called my father, sensing that this might be the beginning of a war with Iran. He told me that he was already on his way to his military base to report for reserve duty.

My thoughts then turned to my grandfather, who goes to synagogue early every Shabbat morning. That day, we could not reach him. He only realized what had begun when he returned home from prayer. Our whole family was tense, worried a siren might go off while he was still outside and unprepared.

That was Shabbat morning in Israel.

Between Fear and Joy

The war began during the holiday of Purim. Purim is meant to be one of the happiest holidays, a time to dress up, celebrate, laugh, and be together, filled with joy and light. And yet, in Israel, the transition between sadness and joy is something we know all too well, and sometimes the distance between them is only a matter of hours. In a strange and almost ironic way, 2,500 years after the story of Purim, it can feel as though we are witnessing another Purim story unfolding, another moment in which the Jewish people are called upon to stand strong.

Holding Two Realities

Since that morning, I have spoken with my family almost every day. My grandfather continues to go to synagogue, still without taking his phone. When sirens sound, he says they simply continue praying, even though the stress is very real. He maintains his routine because, as he explained to me, staying at home for so long is not healthy, neither mentally nor physically.

Many of my family members and friends have also been called for reserve duty, some for the seventh time since October 7. They are exhausted, and yet they tell me that they understand the importance of this moment. They hold on to the hope that after this round, there will finally be a few years of quiet.

Meanwhile, being here in Washington as an Israeli shlicha during a time like this is deeply complex. On the one hand, I feel a strong responsibility to be present with the community, to continue showing up, and to create connection and meaning around what is happening. On the other hand, there is a constant feeling of distance, and with it, the fear of being disconnected from everything unfolding back home.

A Community to be Proud Of

Nevertheless, I feel incredibly fortunate to be part of the Greater Washington Jewish community, a community that truly cares. Every day, people ask me how my family is doing. They check in. They engage in conversations about what is happening. This support helps me stay connected and grounded, while also allowing me to find a sense of balance.

Perhaps most unexpectedly, it is the young children in the community who help me the most in these moments. They bring me into their world of imagination, stories, and innocence, and for brief moments, they allow me to breathe.

Through this experience, I have come to understand that the message I bring here is my sense of responsibility. If the people in Israel can continue to demonstrate resilience, courage, and strength every single day, then I must carry and reflect that same resilience here as well. After all, the story of the Jewish people has always been one of resilience, of facing darkness and still choosing light.

With Hope for Spring

As the war enters its fifth week, we now find ourselves approaching Passover, the holiday of freedom and spring. Passover tells the story of leaving Egypt, of moving from slavery to freedom, and of becoming who we are meant to be. In this moment, I find myself hoping that this Passover will bring a sense of freedom for all of us—the freedom to live openly as who we are, proud of our Israeli and Jewish identities; to walk with our flag and our Star of David without fear; and to live without the routine of war, without constantly seeking the nearest shelter.

Passover also marks the arrival of spring, a season of renewal, when everything begins to grow again after the storms. There is something deeply powerful in that connection: just as strong trees withstand the storm, we see resilience, and like flowers that bloom in the fields, we see new beginnings. Perhaps that is the Jewish people’s story—to hold both, and to remember that if we want to see the rainbow, we must first be willing to stand in the rain.

Learn more about our Community Shlichim program.

My siblings and I held our Passover menu planning Zoom call earlier this week. I’m in charge of the brisket, among other things, and I’ll be making my mom’s recipe. No secret ingredients, no innovative twists. Just a tried-and true and beloved rendition. That, I suppose, is the unofficial theme of our Seder this year (though I may experiment with a new vegetarian soup).

Indeed, given all the volatility in the world, the thing I’m craving most from Passover is its sense of routine. For those of us who grew up with the holiday, the Passover Seder is, above all, familiar. How the Seder unfolds may vary from year to year, but the story, the food, the songs, and the traditions always combine to create a uniquely consistent touchpoint with family, Jewish identity, and peoplehood.

Passover also has a way of using the past to evoke new feelings of possibility. While the Haggadah stays consistent, the moment in which we live is continuously changing. In recounting our story, we may focus on new sections or have different reactions to readings or songs. We may uncover fresh sources of energy, clarity, and ingenuity, which we will need on the road ahead.

We have important work in front of us: to engage and connect with members of the Jewish community who are struggling right now, to be a steady partner for Israeli communities, to build strong, substantive, and joyful Jewish life, and to care for the people around us. And the first step to making it all happen starts by remembering who we are and the role we’re meant to play in the world.

I encourage you to gather some friends, invite someone new to the table, and connect once again to our story. In true Jewish fashion, it’s in connecting to our tradition and to each other that we’ll prepare ourselves to move forward.

Our thoughts are with West Bloomfield’s Temple Israel community after yesterday’s attack. We are breathing a sigh of relief that everyone remained safe, including students and staff at the temple’s preschool. We are immensely grateful to the security guards, police officers, and firefighters who put themselves in harm’s way and responded to the situation swiftly and effectively.  

The incident is a sad reminder of how important robust security measures are today. Through JShield, The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington’s community security initiative, we are continuing to work closely with law enforcement and Jewish institutions across our region to keep our community safe.

I noticed recently that AI was incorporated into a software I use to log my expenses…and it was pretty great. The program automatically filled in blanks, predicted categories, and made the whole upload process easier. I also used it to analyze quantitative and qualitative data, and it brought out ideas and themes that I had not noticed before. I can see why these tools are catching on. And yet, the rise of AI is not affecting our strategy here at Federation.

Even at the dawn of this radical new leap, we believe the future is human. In fact, at a time when AI is transforming everything from our emails to our state policies, I can’t help but notice it’s our humanness that’s gaining cachet.

Perhaps that’s why some banks are now advertising “human help” to attract new customers. Why Hermès commissioned hand-drawn graphics for their website. Or why Apple hired artists to create their new logo out of glass and colored lights. There’s something beautiful and inherently valuable about knowing a real person was involved in the work.

Of course, as Jews, we have always been wonderfully human. For sure, we know how to gather and find purpose and meaning with and among each other. We also learn by relishing in each other’s individual and sometimes unpredictable perspectives. Our texts are contradictory, our debates unique and far reaching. Though the bots may soon be able to mimic our thought patterns, it will be our organic curiosity, creativity, and empathy that will keep us whole.

As Robert Putnam writes in Bowling Alone (not the first time I’ve mentioned this work and not the last), “The single most common finding from a half century’s research on the correlates of life satisfaction, not only in the United States but around the world, is that happiness is best predicted by the breadth and depth of one’s social connections.”

We must continue coming together, in-person, to learn, celebrate, discuss, mourn, serve, or simply be. Doing so will have the dual effect of benefiting us individually and strengthening our entire community. It’s also how we grow. Community manages to both support and sustain us while also putting us in contact with the people who can challenge our assumptions and push us beyond our would-be bubbles. Shabbat dinners, text studies, trips, lectures and so on, will be that much more important in an age of online silos.

To that end, I want to hear from you: where and how do you seek human connection? What are the elements in your life keeping you grounded and engaged with others?

I’m all for innovation. The Jewish community must embrace and leverage cutting edge tools to our advantage. But it’s not lost on me that the more advanced our world becomes, the more we hunger for ancient wisdom. What a phenomenal opportunity we have to subvert the forces that automate and isolate and instead foster the connection humanity craves.