Author: The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington

Federation was proud to support Sheba Medical Center through our emergency relief efforts. See what they have accomplished.

For all our attention to babies, we spend remarkably little time talking about mothers.

In recent years, postpartum depression and psychosis have moved from the margins of public conversation into the mainstream. High-profile stories involving women such as Hayden Panettiere and Lindsay Clancy raised a national discussion about maternal mental health.

These two cases are extreme. Postpartum suicide or the unimaginable tragedy of a mother taking the life of her child are rare. They should not define the conversation. What is far more common, and far more often overlooked, is the broader reality of maternal mental health.

One in five women experiences a perinatal mood or anxiety disorder, making these conditions among the most common complications of pregnancy and childbirth. These challenges affect women and families every day, usually far from public view.

Moving these stories into public conversation matters. But the real test is whether that conversation leads us to support women earlier, before distress becomes a crisis.

That broader reality demands a deeper response than headlines alone can provide. Too often, we wait for warning signs to become crises, expecting mothers to recognize their own distress while caring for a newborn, recovering physically, and adjusting to one of life’s most profound transitions.

In a healthcare system increasingly focused on prevention, maternal mental health is still too often addressed too late.

There is a better way.

Since 2007, the Chava Center for Maternal Mental Health at Sheba Medical Center has grown from a program supporting families through stillbirth into what Sheba describes as Israel’s national referral center for perinatal psychiatry, receiving roughly 100 new patient referrals each month.

The center’s premise is straightforward but rarely operationalized elsewhere: maternal mental health is not an adjunct to obstetric care; it is inseparable from it.

That philosophy recently led Sheba to open a dedicated ward for women experiencing severe postpartum psychiatric conditions, including postpartum psychosis. The goal is not simply to treat women after a crisis, but to bring specialized care, early intervention, and family-centered support together when they are needed most.

It reflects a basic but overlooked truth: maternal mental illness is not a personal failing or something to be hidden. It is a medical condition deserving serious, expert, and compassionate care.

The unit was designed deliberately to avoid separating mother from infant during treatment, with rooms built for the mother, a nursery, a therapeutic garden, and dedicated space for group, individual, and family therapy. The design choice reflects a clinical philosophy as much as an architectural one: it is critical to treat the psychiatric crisis without severing the maternal bond.

The importance of this approach extends far beyond any one hospital or healthcare system. A mother’s wellbeing shapes infant development, family stability, workplace participation, and long-term community health. When a woman struggles in silence, the effects ripple through an entire family. When she receives timely support and effective treatment, the benefits ripple outward too.

Measuring health by the mother, too

There is also a broader cultural challenge.

We celebrate motherhood as one of life’s most meaningful roles, but we are far less comfortable acknowledging its difficulties. New mothers are expected to be grateful, resilient, and instinctively capable while recovering physically, sleeping little, managing hormonal changes, and caring for a newborn.

Many hesitate to seek help out of fear, guilt, or the mistaken belief that struggle reflects failure. It does not. The transition to motherhood is profound, and maternal mental health should be treated as a routine and essential part of healthcare, not a response reserved for crisis.

To be sure, healthcare systems differ from country to country. Israel’s universal healthcare system eases continuity of care, allowing providers to follow women through pregnancy, childbirth, and the postpartum period in ways that are harder in America’s more fragmented system.

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But the lesson underneath the Chava Center’s model is not about financing structures. It is about priorities.

Every hospital, clinic, and healthcare provider can do more to screen for maternal mental health challenges, reduce stigma, identify women at risk, and make support available before a crisis emerges. Putting mothers at the center of care is not a principle reserved for one country; it can be embraced wherever women are having babies.

For generations, we have measured success in maternal healthcare largely by the baby’s health.

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That benchmark remains essential, but it is incomplete. A healthy beginning for a child depends heavily on the mother’s health and well-being.

If the growing public conversation about postpartum mental health has taught us anything, it is that silence and stigma carry a tremendous cost. The answer is not simply greater awareness after tragedy strikes. It is building systems, communities, and cultures that recognize mothers, support them, and care for them before crisis arrives.

We know how to do this. We have the medical expertise, the clinical tools, and, increasingly, the models of care. What is needed now is the collective will to make maternal wellbeing as much a priority as infant welfare.

For babies to thrive, mothers must too.

This story originally appeared in The Jerusalem post.

Yesterday, Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA) released new data about the growth of interest in Jewish life that sparked after the October 7 terror attacks. Jewish professionals refer to this phenomenon as “the surge” and responding to it remains a top priority for Jewish institutions, including Federation.

In the weeks and months following October 7, we did not know how it would affect Jewish engagement due to the rise of campus protests and global antisemitism. Would people feel closer to their Jewish identity or increasingly shy away from it?

What we saw, however, was that when it felt difficult to be Jewish—to face the pain of 10/7, to navigate differing perspectives on Israel, to open ourselves up to being seen as different—that Jews stepped in.

In 2024, 43% of the American Jewish community wanted or were seeking more engagement in Jewish life. Everyone from young adults to midlife and older adults, to parents of young kids were eager to learn more about Israel and Jewish life, and participate in Jewish programs. Those who were least engaged before 10/7, were particularly eager to find new venues for learning, and above all, connect with others in the Jewish community.

It’s unclear how long the surge will last. But thus far, it seems to be sustained. The latest survey results show that 38% of Jewish Americans are part of the surge, a seven-point increase from last spring and a hint at a new normal.

Evident in the data is a strong desire for social connection. To me, this reinforces the idea that in a topsy-turvy world, the search for belonging will increasingly shape how people live and the choices they make. One number I’m noting: of those who were not previously engaged in the Jewish community, 41% have attended events but are still trying to find the right fit.

As you can imagine, this has important implications for our work at Federation. To help people find what they seek, we must continue investing in diverse programming that gives everyone access to rich and meaningful Jewish experiences and helps them meet, connect, and learn with other people. Shabbat dinners, deep dives, meetups, family-friendly events, all of it matters.

Whatever responses we pursue, they must be part of a community-wide effort to notice when people show up and help them connect and stay connected. We all know what it feels like to take a chance on something, to be the new person in a room. Which means we also know what a difference it makes to chat with friendly people and feel shepherded into the group. That’s a role every one of us can play.

Statistics—and our own human intuition—prove that demand for belonging is up. Our work now is to provide the supply.

One way we can help meet this moment is by supporting the organizations that make Jewish life thrive. Yesterday was DAF Day, a national day of giving through donor advised funds. If you have a DAF, I hope you’ll consider recommending a grant to Federation. And if you don’t yet have one, I invite you to open a DAF and direct a $1,800 gift to an eligible Jewish or Israeli nonprofit of your choice through our Jewish Community Foundation’s Open More Possibilities initiative.

Being part of one people doesn’t mean we all have the same experience, the same politics, or the same response. It does mean we can make room for one another, protect one another, and show up for one another. Three years after October 7, Hen Mazzig speaks with us about the importance of community.

Three years after October 7, we are still trying to figure out how to talk about it. How do we talk about Israel when the conversation can so quickly become political? How do we talk about antisemitism when so many American Jews are encountering it in ways they never expected? How do we talk about Jewish identity when the past three years have changed what it means to feel visibly, publicly Jewish?

And perhaps most difficult of all: How do we talk to one another when we have lived through the same historical moment in such different ways?

Hen Mazzig has spent years having these conversations.

Across Israel, the United States, and Jewish communities around the world, he has listened to people try to make sense of October 7 and everything that has followed. He has heard anger and grief, fear and frustration. He has also heard something he didn’t necessarily expect to encounter so often: exhaustion.

“I hear how hard it is for a lot of people,” Mazzig says. “And that’s really sad.” Three years later, people are looking for a way to understand each other.

What We Misunderstand About Each Other

Part of the challenge, he believes, is that Israelis and diaspora Jews are often looking at one another through the lens of their own experiences.

For Israelis, October 7 was a profound trauma that changed the way many people see their own safety, their country, and the world around them. Mazzig sees that trauma in the defensiveness that can sometimes emerge in conversations about Israel.

But he also wants Israelis to understand what is happening outside of Israel. “American Jews are paying the price,” he points out.

The experience of an American Jew navigating antisemitism is different from that of an Israeli who has experienced October 7 and its aftermath firsthand. American Jews may be dealing with antisemitic incidents in their schools, workplaces, or communities. They may have lost friendships. They may feel increasingly uncertain about how openly to express their Jewish identity.

Meanwhile, Israelis are carrying the experience of a society profoundly shaken by violence and the ongoing consequences of that trauma. The experiences aren’t identical, and they don’t have to be identical for the grief on both sides to be real.

“I just think it’s different sorts of grief,” Mazzig observes, “but it’s grief, and it’s real grief on both parts.”

That, he believes, is something we need to make more room for. Being part of one people doesn’t mean having one experience. We don’t all live in the same place. We don’t have the same politics. We don’t respond to October 7 in the same way.

And we don’t always see what the other person is carrying.

The question, then, isn’t whose grief is more legitimate. It’s whether we can become curious enough about one another to recognize that both are real.

How We Talk to One Another

That curiosity becomes especially important when the conversation gets difficult. Mazzig shares that he is constantly asked for talking points. “I keep getting asked for talking points,” he says. “‘Give us some talking points. What do we say when people say this to us?’”

The question reveals something about where many people are right now. They want to be prepared. They want to have the right facts. They want to know exactly what to say before they enter a conversation they fear they might not be equipped to handle.

But his answer is, in some ways, to stop worrying so much about having the perfect thing to say. “Everyone is an expert in something,” he remarks. “Try and engage in a meaningful way. Remind people that you are a human being.”

You can speak from your own experience. You can listen to someone else’s. You can acknowledge something that is true even when it doesn’t fit neatly into your own worldview. “There’s so many truths to every issue,” Mazzig explains, “and we just need to be able to hold all of them.”

It’s what he describes as a “yes, and” approach. The understanding that recognizing one truth doesn’t require us to erase another.

Yes, this is what I believe, and someone else may experience it differently.

Yes, I can care deeply about Israel, and still have difficult questions.

Yes, I can be hurt by antisemitism, and still recognize that another Jew may be responding to that experience differently than I am.

That doesn’t make the conversation easier, but it can make it more human. He is equally clear about something else: engaging does not have to mean engaging all the time.

After three years of crisis, being part of the conversation does not require constant public engagement. There are moments when showing up means speaking. There are other moments when it means stepping back, protecting your energy, and taking care of yourself.

What Jewish Community Looks Like Now

Perhaps what has surprised Mazzig most over the past three years is not simply how difficult these conversations have become. It’s how tired people are. “To keep hearing it over and over and over again, you know, you’ve been in this work for a long time,” he reflects. “We’re three years past October 7, and yet it’s getting worse, not better.”

But alongside that exhaustion, he has seen something else. People showing up.

He has met “so many Jewish-adjacent” people who, while not Jewish themselves, have shown up for the Jewish community over the last three years. He has watched people build relationships across differences and step toward one another when it would have been easier to retreat.

And when Mazzig talks about what Jewish community means to him, his examples are remarkably ordinary. His husband’s family. People he’s met in Washington, D.C. His spin instructor. Israeli Jews. American Jews. Jews around the world.

The people who become part of your life in unexpected ways.

“What I love most about being Jewish,” he says, “is that no matter where I go, I feel like I have a family and I have a story.”

That may be one of the most tangible expressions of Jewish peoplehood: not that Jews everywhere have the same story, but that wherever you go, you can find people who are part of yours.

Mazzig believes the Jewish community has shown up in extraordinary ways over the past three years. When we’re down, he stresses, “we come and help one another.”

Three Years Later, We Can Still Choose Hope

Three years after October 7, there is no single answer for what Jewish peoplehood should look like. Maybe it doesn’t need one.

Being one people has never meant agreeing on everything. Maybe it has always meant something harder and more meaningful. Making room for one another even when our experiences don’t match. Protecting one another without requiring sameness. Showing up even when we’re tired.

And remembering that we have each other.

“This understanding that, you know, we have each other,” Mazzig notes. It is a simple idea. After three difficult years, it may also be one of the most important. Because the story isn’t finished.

He holds onto that through hope. “I hold on to hope, because that’s all we’ve got.” And then, with the certainty that hope requires: “I have to know that it’s going to get better.”

Not because everything is okay. Not because the grief has ended, the disagreements have been resolved, or the questions have easy answers. But because hope is a commitment to a future we cannot yet see.

And getting there, Mazzig reminds us, is something we don’t have to do alone.

Am Yisrael Chai.

Everything felt so completely new.

When I first landed in Greater Washington ten years ago, that was the only way I could describe it. It was my very first time ever setting foot in the United States, and on a purely physical level, my brain couldn’t process what was happening. I walked out of the airport in August into sweltering heat, looked up, and saw it rain. Coming from Israel, where summer is completely, predictably dry, standing in ninety-degree weather while water poured from the sky felt like stepping onto another planet.

I remember that first Shabbat so clearly. Fresh out of the IDF Education Corps, my uniform barely packed away, I walked into an entirely unfamiliar world of American synagogue life and vibrant liberal Judaism. Everything was culturally complex and utterly fascinating. I came with an educator’s fire, convinced my goal was simple: to evoke emotion around Israel. I was completely okay with anger or frustration, too, as long as there was a heartbeat. What took me by surprise back then was how deeply people wanted to speak Hebrew with me, stumbling over words with a genuine hunger that touched me then, and honestly still touches me today.

Ten years later, I walked off a plane and into this community once again. But the person writing this today feels worlds away from that wide-eyed young woman standing in the August rain.

Ten Years Can Change Everything

A decade carries immense weight. In those ten years, my life changed completely. I got married, became a mom to two incredible kids, and built a home back in Israel. Professionally, I stepped into global Jewish education, as the Educational Director and Manager for the Shlichut program worldwide. Returning now as both a mother and a seasoned professional, I see families, children, and a community I care about deeply through an entirely new lens.

And let’s be honest. The community itself is walking through a very different reality today than in 2016.

Between political polarization, rising antisemitism, and the heavy, lingering trauma of war, we have all been through the wringer. The warm, generous heart of Greater Washington is still here, but the air in the room feels different. Talking about Israel today often feels like handling a hot potato. It’s on everyone’s minds constantly, burning hot, but people are often anxious or hesitant to touch it. In a world dominated by quick soundbites and algorithms, we are constantly surrounded by sharp exclamation points and very few curious question marks.

Yet, wrestling with complexity is in our DNA as Jews. It’s who we are. And when the noise of the world tries to force us into rigid boxes, authentic, human connection becomes our sanctuary.

Living Bridges in a Fragmented World

Since October 7, that truth has hit me on a deeply personal level. Shlichut (emissary work) was never meant to be a lecture or a series of polished talking points. It is a living, breathing, two-way street. In the darkest days after the attack, I watched our emissaries across the globe stand as human bridges. They were carrying unbearable heartbreak, some grieving murdered friends, others waiting on agonizing news of hostage family members, one young woman who was supposed to be at the Nova music festival and had only flown out the day before. Yet, they showed up every single day to share their raw, vulnerable truths. In return, this community wrapped them in love, holding space for their broken hearts. That mutual embrace proved to me why we do this: news headlines don’t heal people, but real relationships do.

Stepping into leadership as the head of Greater Washington’s mishlachat (delegation) program, right as it hits its own 10-year milestone, feels like coming full circle in a way that gives me goosebumps. I keep returning to the cantor’s prayer from the High Holidays: Hineni he’ani mima’as (Here I stand, impoverished in deeds). It is that quiet, overwhelming feeling of asking yourself, Who am I to carry this weight? Yet, I step into it with immense devotion, reverence, and gratitude for the trust you’ve placed in me.

My goal for our team of shlichim is to unlock the door for real, honest conversation. My role is to be a problem solver and a catalyst, helping our partner organizations thrive, guiding our shlichim to succeed, and advancing Federation’s mission on the ground. I hope people leave our conversations feeling energized, knowing that whatever challenge or vision they bring to the table, we can tackle it together, not just in words, but through meaningful action.

Anchored in Hope

At my core, as an educator and a mother, I am stubborn about hope.

Hope isn’t a passive wish. Instead, it’s the active belief that a better tomorrow is worth fighting for. I see it in my children every morning, I see it in the Mishlachat delegation serving this community, and I see it in the way people here continue to show up for one another.

Ultimately, my hope is anchored in the conviction that October 7 does not define us. It is an immense tragedy, one that we must study, learn from, and forever remember, but the Jewish people, the State of Israel, and Zionism hold a history, memory, and purpose that existed long before us and will endure long after us.

We are defined by our enduring strength, our continuity, and the way our communities show up for one another, not by the catastrophes along the way. In that shared resilience, hope isn’t just an idea, it is a lived reality.

As our Mishlachat program marks its 10-year milestone, we are already looking ahead, envisioning what our presence will mean as we approach Israel’s 80th anniversary in two years, its 90th in a decade, and far into the future. We cannot predict every curve in the road, but we can decide how we walk it together.

My door is wide open. Let’s dream big, ask the hard questions, and build this next chapter together.

Your support helps ensure our community can continue building meaningful relationships with Israel through authentic experiences, personal connections, and lifelong learning.

This time last year, we were holding our breath as an agreement came together to free the last living hostages in Gaza. Over the course of two long years, our community in Greater Washington served as an epicenter of advocacy. People in official and unofficial capacities across our region met with delegations, built relationships, acted as hosts and liaisons, and did everything they could to keep the hostages top of mind so that a deal would be made.

This year, however, it is less clear how to channel our grief and passion. We are continuing to support long-term recovery efforts in Israel. But how do we greet this tender anniversary now that there is no immediate action to be taken?

It turns out that Rav Joseph Soloveitchik may have an answer. Recently, I read Kol Dodi Dofek (Listen, My Beloved Knocks), Soloveitchik’s famous 1956 theological address and saw how aptly his framework applies to our times.

Soloveitchik argues that the Jewish people must exist in two mindsets: encampment and congregation, “An encampment is created out of a desire for self-defense and thrives on fear. A congregation is fashioned out of longing for the realization of an exalted moral idea and thrives on love.”

In a world full of real threats, we need to think defensively, understanding that there are forces outside of our control shaping our reality. At the same time, we must move beyond the realm of fate into the realm of destiny, rising above our historical circumstances to pursue a larger moral idea on our own terms.

Navigating the tension between fear and love is the modern Jewish project. And I think the anniversary of October 7 can hold a piece of both. We can use the occasion to remember, grieve, and renew our vigilance, and channel the emotion of the day into building a future worthy of those we’ve lost.

I wish I could write solely in defense of the congregation side of things. That I could implore all of us to go ahead and trade in our fear for aspiration. But that’s not the reality we’re living in. We must continue finding the balance between self-protection and self-actualization. We must become adept at hunkering down and reaching outward, at flowing in and out of a dichotomy of postures according to what history and our moment demand.

Three years on, sitting with what happened on October 7 still makes me physically ill. I can only hope this dark fixture in the Jewish calendar becomes something we can use to strengthen our people and build this world from love.

Shabbat Shalom and may the memory of all the innocent lives lost on October 7, 2023, and the many days since be for a blessing,

This past July, the swimming pool at Kibbutz Nir Oz was open. For a little while, volunteers from Greater Washington swam, talked, and laughed.

Then they dried off and walked toward what remained of the homes destroyed on October 7.

The contrast was jarring. So was the message. Nir Oz is not simply a place where something terrible happened. It’s a community working, piece by piece, to thrive again.

For more than 25 members of Greater Washington’s Jewish community, that contrast became one of the defining moments of an eight-day volunteer mission to Israel this summer. They came to contribute where they could, meet Israelis, show solidarity, and deepen a connection to Nir Oz that already felt personal.

A Relationship Born After October 7

In the days after the October 7 attacks, Salo Zelermyer and Amit Natanzon found themselves thinking about Nir Oz for a deeply personal reason. Their close friend and Hebrew University classmate, Abbey Greenberg Onn, had two relatives murdered there on that horrible day. Three others were taken hostage and held captive in Gaza. Like so many American Jews in those first weeks, they felt an urgent need to do something.

But they began to realize that a donation, even a significant one, couldn’t fully address what Nir Oz was facing.

“We recognized the scale of devastation and trauma experienced by communities like Nir Oz would necessitate support and connection beyond just financial contributions,” Salo said.

So they began building something different. Members of Beth El, Ohr Kodesh, and B’nai Israel congregations came together with Nir Oz to create Kesher Nir Oz, a partnership designed to last beyond the immediate aftermath of October 7.

The idea was simple but ambitious: make Nir Oz’s recovery personal to the Greater Washington community for years to come. That meant more than sending support. It meant visiting, listening, building friendships, finding ways to be useful, and staying connected as the community rebuilds. The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington joined the effort, helping sustain and amplify the partnership.

This summer, together with Federation, American Friends of Nir Oz, Taglit-Birthright Israel, and Israel Outdoors, more than 25 members of the Greater Washington community traveled to Israel to deepen these connections even further.

More Than Tourists

“This mission was the first program we’ve implemented as part of our new Local Israel Engagement strategy,” said Udi Eitan, Federation’s Director of Integrated Israel Strategy. “A central focus of that strategy is building meaningful, personal connections between Israelis and members of our local Jewish community.”

The itinerary reflected that philosophy, with hands-on volunteer work, visits with Federation partners at Kibbutz Re’im and Nir Oz, and encounters designed to expose participants to the complexity and diversity of Israeli society.

For participant Yaffa Rubenstein, the experience held two emotions at once. “One eye is crying over the devastation and the horror of October 7, while the other is filled with joy at the heartwarming sight of people’s deep desire to keep living and supporting one another.”

That contradiction followed the group throughout the trip. They saw places where the wounds of October 7 were unmistakable, and places where people were living life, going to work, filling cafés, shopping in markets, raising children, and rebuilding communities.

At Nir Oz, they saw both: the life that was lost and the life being rebuilt.

The Life That Was Lost. And the Life Being Rebuilt

Todd Miller remembers the visit to Nir Oz as one of the most meaningful parts of the mission. “It was very moving to have the opportunity to talk to members and heartbreaking to tour remnants of homes destroyed on October 7,” he said. “Nir Oz is slowly rebuilding the life that was so vibrant on the kibbutz.”

“He was so inspiring and full of life,” Todd said. “Meeting Gadi and other members who are so dedicated inspired all of us to contribute to the effort.”

A Garden in Haifa

In an Arab-Israeli neighborhood in Haifa, participants spent more than two hours volunteering at a community center, cleaning up landscaping and planting. Then they spent time with local children, roughly ages 8 to 13, playing games, making art, and sharing snacks.

Most of the children didn’t speak English. Instead, they spoke primarily Arabic and Hebrew, but it didn’t matter. “The language barrier didn’t get in the way of our interaction,” Todd shared. For him, it was a small but meaningful glimpse into a part of Israeli life he might otherwise never have encountered.

The trip also widened the lens beyond Nir Oz. In the north, the group visited a Druze village. In Tel Aviv, they walked through Carmel Market. Across the country, they sat in cafés and watched restaurants filled with Israelis going about their lives.

Some of the trip was difficult to absorb. Visits to kibbutzim (communal villages) in the Gaza border region and the Nova site (where 378 Israelis were killed at a local music festival) brought participants face-to-face with the scale of what happened.

And then there were ordinary moments. Todd remembers seeing Israelis “embracing their lives despite the many difficulties of daily life.” That, too, was part of the education.

The Point Was Never Just the Trip

For Federation, the mission extended work that had already been taking root in Greater Washington. As Udi explained: “Having dozens of community members volunteer across Israel, spend meaningful time with members of Kibbutz Nir Oz as part of a growing relationship between our communities, and then bring those experiences back and share them with others in Greater Washington―that’s exactly what we had in mind when we started this journey.”

The mission simply gave those connections a place to grow. For Salo, that is the part that matters most.

“The relationships people in our community have formed with the Nir Oz community are by far our proudest achievement,” he said.

Recovery from what happened in Nir Oz will take years. The needs will change. The ways people can help will change. But the relationship can remain. “We cannot lose sight of the passion and the connection we all felt in the months that followed,” Salo said. “That is what Kesher Nir Oz is all about.”

Bringing Israel Back Home

There is an easy way to think about a volunteer trip. You go somewhere, help, and come home. This was something else. Participants came home with a deeper understanding of Israel, knowing people in Nir Oz, having worked alongside Israelis, and having seen parts of the country that do not fit neatly into a news story.

Yaffa put it simply. “You can never truly understand, appreciate, or judge Israelis unless you go there, spend some time there, and see it with your own eyes.”

That is the real power of partnership. It is not only what one community can do for another, but what happens when people begin to know one another well enough that the distance between them starts to shrink.

And they intend to keep showing up. “Our hope is that the connection between our community and Kibbutz Nir Oz will continue to grow in the years ahead,” Salo said, “through continued visits from members of our community to Israel, volunteer missions, and in the one-to-one relationships that this program has helped to form.”

Learn more about Federation’s work to build lasting connections between our community and Israel here.

Growing up, I never thought I’d work for a Jewish Federation. As a teen and young adult, I was heavily involved in Jewish life and in Zionist youth groups, but the Federation system hadn’t factored into my career plans. I surprised my younger self therefore when after some time in academia, I applied for a job at the Jewish Federation of Cleveland in 2002.

The person interviewing me asked why it was I had chosen to take this step. I replied that if you want to create change, you must go to an organization that has the capacity to create change.

A couple decades later, I believe this more than ever. A Jewish Federation’s capacity to spur impact for and on behalf of a Jewish community is unparalleled. This is because the Federation structure allows us to operate on three levels at once: engaging individuals, partnering with organizations, and sparking community-wide action.

It’s for this reason (among many others) that whenever someone suggests a century-old system couldn’t possibly serve the needs of the future, I always push back. Federation is a legacy institution precisely because of our ability to evolve to meet the shifting challenges and opportunities we face. As Shira Hutt and Mimi Kravetz of the Jewish Federations of North America wrote last week, the Federation model isn’t static and never has been.

Of course, having the capacity to effect change doesn’t mean anything unless we put it to work. At Federation, we get to inspire, engage, and mobilize people to generate the resources and ideas that will help sustain Jewish life. Many organizations can raise funds, but only Federation can bring significant resources, a network of partnerships, talented staff and lay leadership, and the broader community together to tackle shared goals. We get to ask hard questions. Try new things. And work on the frontier of what’s next.

That’s another thing I love about the role of Federation—we are relied upon to serve as both leader and supporter. We have a clear vision for the future of Jewish life and take seriously our work to use our bully pulpit and to represent the needs and interests of Jewish Greater Washington. But it means just as much to us to operate in the spaces where we don’t have all the answers. Elevating important issues and bringing people together to have important conversations and express and exchange ideas is also a critical part of our work.

I was an enthusiastic job candidate back in the day, and my enthusiasm for what our community can accomplish has only grown. Especially now, as historic challenges mount, we must leverage the full extent of our capacity to create change. We have so much going for us as a community. It’s our job to convert that potential into forward motion for the sake of today and tomorrow.

Across the Greater Washington area, Jewish children are going back to school with stories of new friends, color wars, camp musicals and the little moments that made their summers memorable. For many Jewish children, sleepaway camp is a beloved part of growing up, a place to build friendships, discover new interests, celebrate Jewish life, and come back with stories that get retold for years.

But for children with complex pediatric health diagnoses, summer camp isn’t always a given.

Going away to camp can mean leaving behind familiar routines and the people who know how to care for them. Parents may wonder whether a new environment can accommodate their child’s health needs, whether staff will know how to respond to challenges, and whether their child will be able to participate fully in the experience.

imadi works to answer those questions before a child ever arrives.

A proud partner of The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, imadi (“with me” in Hebrew) creates a network of support for families facing complex pediatric health diagnoses. Through concierge case management, patient advocacy, and therapeutic programming, imadi helps families navigate the medical, emotional, and logistical challenges that come with a complex diagnosis. All services are provided at no cost to families, thanks to support from organizations like Federation.

For some families, that support can open the door to experiences that once felt out of reach.

For Roey, it opened the door to Eagle Point, imadi’s Jewish summer camp.

Personal Support for Every Child

At eight years old, Roey had never been to sleepaway camp. Then one afternoon, the director of Eagle Point came to Roey’s home.

Sitting together in the living room, the camp director told him about all the fun adventures waiting for him at camp.

For his parents, Carrie and Greg, there were practical questions to work through and very real concerns about how he would manage a new environment, unfamiliar routines and activities designed for a wide range of campers.

imadi was there to help answer those questions. Before Roey ever arrived at Eagle Point, the organization worked with his family and the camp team to understand what he would need and build the support around him.

As his parents put it, “imadi met him where he was, and brought him along to maximize all of the fun at his pace.”

In addition to meeting with the camp director, they also met with the head counselor and nurse, talked through the challenges Roey might face and heard how the team would respond. They connected with other parents who had sent their children to camp before. For a family sending their child away for the first time, those details mattered.

Roey was also excited about the idea of hanging out with his “big buddy” (his one-on-one counselor). He had met them before camp at a “meet and greet,” where, his parents recalled, the two “ran around playing like they’d been buddies for years.”

“imadi really thought of everything,” Carrie and Greg added, making it easier for them to send Roey “out into the world to experience something we wouldn’t really think possible for him.”

The Summer Roey Became a Camper

Then the day finally came. Roey went to camp.

And he had a lot of fun! He rode in a boat, crafted his own mezuzah cover at a blacksmithing workshop, went on a safari, and took golf cart rides. “Oh the giggles,” his parents exclaimed. He sang songs at bedtime, celebrated Shabbat, and cheered on other campers.

While Roey was making memories, his parents were kept fully in the loop. “During camp we received joyful photos and regular communication so we knew what was going on each day,” they shared. “We feel so lucky to have been a part of Eagle Point.”

Reflecting on the experience, Roey’s parents said: “imadi’s program is astonishing. The one-on-one care, the attention to detail, the incredible imagination that went into having an accessible and manageable jam packed day full of incredible, unique programming experiences. Roey was cared for with such a level of kindness and thoughtfulness that I hope every kid can experience.”

Roey is one of 30 campers who joined Eagle Point this summer. With 40 counselors and staff, imadi ensured every child had the support they needed to experience camp fully.

Jewish Values in Action

The experience left an impression on the counselors, too.

“As a counselor you learn to dedicate yourself completely to another person,” said Navah Gris, an Eagle Point counselor. “You see in real time the impact you as an individual can have which can serve as inspiration way beyond camp.”

For Navah, that sense of connection extended to the Jewish experience at Eagle Point. “A huge pillar of Judaism is chesed (loving kindness) and for me personally doing this work as a camp counselor is when I feel most connected to my Judaism.”

One Friday night, Navah and another counselor stood outside with several campers and sang Kabbalat Shabbat together as they looked out over the lake.

“It was such a holy, joyous, and spiritual moment that we got to share with our campers,” she said. “It’s a moment I’ll never forget.”

By the time the ten days at camp were over, Roey had discovered that he could do something he had never done before. He came home more willing to try unfamiliar things and more independent in everyday activities. He also brought home his mezuzah cover, which he treasures.

And somewhere in those stories, he discovered a new sentence he could say about himself:

“I did this at camp.”

Federation is proud to support imadi and partners across our community creating opportunities for more people to experience Jewish life, connection and belonging. Your support helps make experiences like Roey’s possible.

Who are we responsible for and how do we best serve our community in this moment? These are key questions we are always asking ourselves at Federation but especially now as our world shifts.

However you describe this time we are living in, it’s clear to me that we are entering a new chapter of Jewish life. Whereas the last couple decades were about modernizing Jewish engagement, this new era must also focus on staying connected across lines of difference and working together toward a common future.

As I shared last week, I believe there are core values that have the power to bind us through any kind of tumult, namely the pursuit of justice and love for Jewish peoplehood. We may not always agree on the definition of each, but we can be in conversation about what they mean and what role they play in our lives.

In addition, I also believe there are first principles that must guide our work at Federation to strengthen Jewish life in Greater Washington.

The first is that we are here to serve all 400,000 people who live in Jewish households across the Greater Washington region. While we also have an important role to play beyond this, we do have a unique responsibility in this region for these people. We are committed to reaching people wherever they are in their Jewish journey, from the deeply engaged to those who have not yet found their connection. We are here for young adults, young families, seniors, and every other subset of our population. Our constituency spans the full breadth of the Jewish DMV.

This doesn’t mean that we don’t prioritize certain goals. Every organization must prioritize if they want to have an impact. We are proud of our work to ramp up engagement efforts in Northern Virginia and our partnerships with organizations serving young adults across the region, for example—but approaching our work with the knowledge that we are responsible for the entirety of our community is central to our theory of change.

The next principle is that we seek to create a community that expects and supports disagreement. There are boundaries to the Jewish people, but within those borders is a whole medley of individual and collective viewpoints that are constantly evolving. At Federation, we see how important it is to honor this. We want to see our community growing, learning, and building their ties to Jewish peoplehood and Israel. It follows then that we must make space for different views and experiences, so that we might stay in conversation and help each other forge and strengthen our Jewish connections over time.

The real work, however, is not in laying out these principles but abiding by their implications. How do we reach people who don’t know what’s on offer? How do we make decisions about where communal funds should go? How do we make room for people to grapple with questions about Israel or other elements of Jewish life even when it makes others uncomfortable?

None of these things have easy answers, but that’s what makes our work as a community so worthwhile. Our relationship with time is communal. We have always faced history together and have managed time and again to change it. As we stand together as a people on Yom Kippur, with all our great differences, asking for forgiveness, so must we stand together building our collective future.

Thirty years ago, my husband, David, and I hosted a party to celebrate our upcoming birthdays. The theme was the 70s, so we dressed up like hippies, brought in a live band, and filled the room with our closest friends (including several future Federation presidents like Robin Weinberg, Mark Levitt, Gary Berman, Liza Levy, and Stuart Kurlander). But as much as we loved celebrating, material gifts weren’t what mattered to us. In the middle of the music and dancing, we hit pause, took the microphone from the band, and talked to our friends about the importance of community and caring for something bigger than yourself. We told everyone: “We don’t want gifts. If you want to celebrate us, make a donation to our new fund.”

We called it the Hopes and Dreams Fund, designated to support informal Jewish education, summer camps, youth groups, and Israel experiences. It was our way of setting the pace for our lives early on, using a joyful milestone to lead with philanthropy and show our peers that you don’t have to wait to make a real impact. That mindset didn’t start with a large bank account or a fancy background. I didn’t grow up wealthy. But I distinctly remember going to synagogue as a child and seeing my parents’ names at the top of the campaign donor lists. They walked the walk. They taught me by doing.

So when my tax advisor sat us down in our 30s and suggested we open a Donor Advised Fund (DAF), I knew there was no place I’d rather establish it than within the Jewish community. I wanted my giving to count toward our collective Jewish reputation for generosity, and I wanted to be a role model for my peers.

I could never have imagined that that early decision would eventually lead to me co-chairing the Jewish Community Foundation of The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington’s Open More Possibilities initiative today.

Open More Possibilities

Looking back, what made all the difference for us was simply having the door opened and being invited in. The Foundation intrinsically understands that same need today—to create space for the next generation of donors to step into their own philanthropic power.

That is why this initiative is so close to my heart. To welcome 100 new fundholders into our Foundation family, the Foundation is making an $1,800 gift to an eligible Jewish or Israeli nonprofit of the donor’s choosing. It’s a true partnership, making it easier than ever for young donors and families to begin their own journey of giving. And once you begin, the impact ripples outward in ways you can’t even predict.

Passing the Torch

Everything you do sets the tone for the next generation. As people who care deeply about our community, we can’t leave those lessons to chance. We have to be intentional about creating a culture of generosity in our families.

Philanthropy is one of the most powerful ways we put our Jewish values into action. Our values tell us to care for one another, to strengthen our communities, and to take responsibility for the world we hope to build. Giving transforms those values from ideas into action. It offers the next generation a tangible way to understand that their Jewish identity is not just something they inherit. It is something they actively must carry forward.

When my son, Evan, reached a milestone birthday, we told him we’d match him dollar-for-dollar if he opened his own DAF. He did. Helping him enter his own philanthropic journey was one of my proudest moments as a mother. Now, as a grandmother, I’m already thinking about my grandchildren. I plan to open Donor Advised Funds for them through Open More Possibilities because I want philanthropy to become part of their story, too. My wish for them is to grow up seeing generosity as a lifelong expression of their Jewish identity.

Bringing Light to the World

There is also a powerful statement made when you give through a Jewish foundation. Over the years, I’ve had non-Jewish charities call to thank me for a grant and mention, “We saw the check came from the Jewish Community Foundation.” Raising that visibility, showing the world how Jewish givers support the broader community, is more vital now than ever.

Since October 7, saying the world has felt heavy is an understatement. But we don’t have to dwell in the dark. The simple act of giving gives us the strength to say: We will persevere. We will not just survive; we will thrive. Giving fills you from the inside out. It offers energy, hope, and purpose. For me, philanthropy is a spiritual experience. It bubbles up in my throat. The more I give, the more I receive.

Becoming one of the 100 new DAF holders opened through this campaign means taking a step as a leader. Deciding to take your hard-earned resources and invest them in the future shows the world, and your family, exactly who you are.

I once read a quote that said you make a living by what you get, but you make a life by what you give. Looking back over my life, I know that to be true in my bones. I can’t imagine a world where I didn’t want to leave things better than I found them.

Building the Future by Investing in Philanthropy

I know opening a Donor Advised Fund is an important decision that requires a meaningful commitment. That’s why Open More Possibilities matters so much to me. By making an additional $1,800 gift, the Foundation is recognizing the importance of that investment and taking the first step alongside every person who decides to open their first DAF. It’s a way of showing that our community is with you from the very beginning.

I hope these first 100 fundholders won’t be the end of the story. I hope they’ll become mentors, role models, and teachers. I hope they’ll inspire their children and someday their grandchildren to carry these values forward. That’s how we strengthen Jewish life, not only for today, but for generations to come.

I invite you to join us. Make an investment in philanthropy, in our community, and in the future we will build together. Let’s Open More Possibilities—for ourselves, for the next generation, and for the Jewish people.

This reflection was originally posted by Jewish Community Foundation of The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington.