Category: Israel & Global Jewish Life

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.

Advertisement

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.

Advertisement

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.

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.

It’s natural to look backward.

To remember where we were when the terrible news began to come in from Israel on October 7, 2023. To think of the lives lost and the lives forever changed by that day. To feel again the uncertainty of those first hours, when no one knew what would happen next.

But three years later, it’s also worth looking forward.

What does it mean to keep showing up after the first shock has passed? What does support look like when an emergency becomes a long-term reality? And what will it take for communities, families and individuals to begin rebuilding, not simply what was lost, but what comes next?

Those questions have shaped The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington’s response ever since.

Because while October 7 was one day, its impact didn’t end that night, the next day, or the next week. The war and fighting that followed created new and evolving needs across Israel. Three years later, families are still displaced. Communities face prolonged uncertainty. Trauma continues as new waves of violence reopen old wounds. Businesses and local economies need help recovering. And new needs emerge as the crisis continues.

Over the past three years, Federation has responded not with a single effort, but with an evolving commitment to the people and communities of Israel. Through 14 rounds of funding, more than 60 grants and $15.4 million provided in crisis relief, Federation has supported 42 organizations across the country, adapting its response as needs changed.

That commitment comes from something deeper than crisis response. It comes from the belief that Jewish communities around the world are connected, and when one part of our community is hurting, we have a responsibility to stand with one another.

This is what Jewish peoplehood means at Federation. It means standing with Israel, being present in moments of profound need, and taking pride in the strength and resilience of the Jewish people. Even though we are thousands of miles apart, we are bound by a shared sense of belonging and care for one another.

Showing up means asking, again and again, what people need now. That question has never been only, How do we respond to this crisis? It has also been, How do we help people continue living?

Helping People Through the Immediate Crisis

In the days after October 7, moving forward meant something very simple. Getting through the day. People needed medical care. Families who had been forced from their homes needed somewhere to turn. Federation directed funding where the needs were most urgent, including $1.2 million for emergency medical care, supporting efforts such as Sheba Medical Center’s rapid mobilization of medical teams and preparation for mass casualties, along with $500,000 for victims of terror and their families, and $550,000 to support evacuees and displaced families.

For people living through an unfolding emergency, this kind of support can mean something as fundamental as knowing that someone is there. As the weeks turned into months, what people needed changed, and the need for support continued to grow.

Helping People Cope

Some of the most lasting effects of October 7 were not immediately visible. For families who lost loved ones, there was grief. For survivors of the attack, there was trauma. For children and parents whose lives had been uprooted, there was the challenge of finding some sense of normalcy again. And there is no single path to healing.

Federation allocated $3.7 million to trauma response, supporting 13 organizations with different approaches to reaching survivors, reservists, young people and families. Some trained mental health professionals to respond to widespread trauma, while others provided direct therapeutic care to those who needed it.

Helping People Rebuild

In northern Israel, communities have faced prolonged uncertainty and disruption amid fighting along Israel’s northern border. Families are still displaced. Daily life was put on hold. The question of when it would be possible to return, and what returning would look like, became part of everyday life. To support these communities, Federation allocated $4.3 million in aid to northern Israel, the largest share of its crisis funding.

People needed to work, businesses needed to recover, and communities needed to regain their footing. That included communities like Kibbutz Re’im, near the Gaza border, where Federation first invested $250,000 to address immediate security needs and later committed another $500,000 as part of a longer-term partnership supporting the community’s recovery and future. Federation also directed $2.5 million toward economic development, supporting efforts such as the Jewish Federations of North America’s (JFNA’s) Israel Emergency Loan Fund, which helps small businesses keep their doors open, employees paid, and communities stable during uncertain times.

But rebuilding is not a single grant or moment in time. Through our partnerships with Kibbutz Re’im and the Kinneret Valley Cluster in northern Israel, Federation is staying alongside communities that will be rebuilding for years to come.

These investments represent different answers to the same question: What does someone need in order to take the next step?

The answers are deeply personal, often complicated, and constantly changing. Our role is to keep listening and respond to what people need now.

Three Years Later, There is Still a Next Step

Fourteen rounds of funding tell a story of response becoming recovery. But behind those numbers are people. A family trying to rebuild a routine. A community waiting to feel settled again. A business owner trying to reopen. A child working through something no child should have to experience. A person learning how to live with loss.

And, alongside them, organizations working every day to help.

Three years after October 7, remembering remains essential, but so does looking forward. Rebuilding after a crisis does not happen in a single moment, but through thousands of acts of care, support and persistence, often long after the world has moved on to the next headline.

For our Federation, the work of responding to October 7 has meant being there for the immediate emergency, committing to communities for the long term, and continuing to ask what people and communities will need for the road ahead.

Today, as we commemorate three years since the horrific attacks that shook our world, the question is no longer only what happened on October 7.

It is what happens next.

And how, together, we can help communities in Israel move forward with hope.

Your support helps Federation keep showing up for people and communities in Israel, today and for the long road ahead.

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.

There’s nothing quite like hearing others wrestle with questions that have been rolling around in my head. It’s a welcome reminder that we have so much to learn from one another if we keep our eyes and ears open. So it was with Danny Gordis’s latest podcast interview with Rabbi David Stav, a widely respected Israeli Orthodox rabbi and religious thinker.

The particular topic of discussion: what are the core Jewish values that Jews of all stripes would want to make central to their lives?

Rabbi Stav says yes. He ventures that there are two principles that we can all agree upon: first, we cannot allow immoral behavior to take place; and second, we are loyal to our family, community, nation, and people. While we may not always agree on the definition of each nor on the balance and tradeoffs that may exist between the two, we are committed to these core ideas and the need to constantly struggle with what they mean in our individual and collective lives.

I love this framework. My former boss said that Genesis 18:19 is the mission statement for the Jewish people, “For I have singled him (Abraham) out, that he may instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of God by doing what is just and right.” I cannot fathom Jewish identity without the drive to stand for what is right. But neither can I imagine Judaism without a commitment to kinship, that conviction that all of Israel are responsible for one another. Just as we care for our family and friends so do we as Jews for the greater Jewish people.

That’s where I see us playing an important role as a Federation. We want to be part of exploring and reconciling core Jewish values. We are committed to supporting our community in discussing, debating, and building the relationships it will take to grapple with our biggest questions and move forward together.

That’s why, if I were to add a third principle to Rabbi Stav’s list, it would be that we are humble enough to know our ideas might be wrong. Our views have and will continue to change over time, individually and collectively. What seems obvious to us today may appear more complex or even wrong to us in the future, and vice versa.

Pursuing both justice and peoplehood is therefore about staying in conversation. It is recognizing that through a commitment to these two core values, we can build a vibrant collective future locally and with Jews around the world. While different people will live out their Jewish values in different ways, I have faith in our communal venture, too. As we head into a new year, I am eager to see how we might articulate our beliefs for a new era of Jewish life.

P.S. I want to acknowledge that today marks the 25th anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks. We are holding the memory of all those we lost, and their loved ones, in our hearts.

As an Israeli currently living in the United States, I spend a lot of time thinking about the space between Israel and American Jewish communities. It is a space I came as a Shlicha (Israeli emissary) to help bridge. But right now, that bridge can feel complicated and ever widening.

For many, Israel has become a topic that comes with strong feelings, important questions, and a desire to better understand. After years of war, loss, political upheaval, and uncertainty, people are asking questions about what is happening in Israel, how Israelis are experiencing this moment, and what October 7 has changed. Some are thinking more deeply about the decisions being made by Israel’s leaders, while others are trying to navigate what it means to love Israel while also holding questions or concerns.

And sometimes, people simply don’t know who they can ask.

That is what made a recent conversation at Washington Hebrew Congregation feel so important.

An Invitation to Ask Anything

The idea started with coffee. I sat down with the Rabbi and the leader of the young professionals group at Washington Hebrew Congregation, and we talked about something they were hearing more and more from young adults. They wanted a real conversation about Israel. Not another presentation telling them what to think.

So on August 1, I joined the 2239 young adult group for an “Ask Me Anything” gathering about Israel. We brought bagels (because, let’s be honest, no Jewish gathering is complete without them) and sat around a table.

There were hard questions. Different opinions. Questions I didn’t always have a perfect answer for. And that was the point. I wasn’t there simply to answer questions as an Israeli. I wanted to hear their perspectives, too.

What does Israel mean to you?

What has changed in the way you think about Israel?

What questions have you been afraid to ask?

What does it feel like to be a young American Jew trying to make sense of Israel right now?

The conversation moved in both directions. We talked about Israel, but we also talked about the American Jewish experience. We talked about the distance between what Israelis experience and what American Jews see and hear from thousands of miles away.

And slowly, something happened. The conversation became less about finding the “right” answer and more about understanding one another.

One participant told me, “Dialogue makes me feel less alone in my experience.”

Another said, “I was surprised to learn that Israelis genuinely thought that October 7 was going to be the end of Israel. I am thankful to Hila for acknowledging based on her experience as a Shlicha that it’s not useful to disregard American Jews when it comes to Israel, because what happens in Israeli politics affects the Diaspora.”

And perhaps my favorite thing I heard was: “I have more questions than answers, but I’m more hopeful about the future.”

The Power of Talking to an Israeli

I had just returned from a trip home to Israel when we gathered that Shabbat. My trip made me reflect on the distance between these two communities in a new way.

In Israel, the war and its consequences are part of everyday life. Here, American Jews are experiencing Israel through their own communities, relationships, values, questions and concerns.

We need spaces where these two different experiences can meet. That is what I believe the role of a Shlicha (Federation’s Israeli emissary program) can be at its best. A Shlicha can bring something that is difficult to get from a headline, a social media post or a political debate. Someone who can say, “This is what I experienced in Israel.” And then listen when someone here says, “This is what Israel feels like to me.”

That exchange matters. The relationship between Israel and American Jewry isn’t guaranteed by geography, history, or even shared identity. It has to be built. And especially in these complicated years, it is worth building.

There is a temptation, when a subject feels as emotionally charged as Israel does right now, to avoid the conversation altogether. But silence doesn’t make the questions disappear. If anything, it makes the distance between us greater.

Creating More Places to Connect

This is where The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington plays such an important role. Through the Shlichim program, Federation creates opportunities for Israelis and American Jews to build relationships that go beyond a single event or a single conversation. And those connections can look different everywhere. We might join a young adult group for an “Ask Me Anything” over bagels. We might speak with teens, visit a classroom, work with a religious school, join an Israel committee or help a synagogue explore Israeli culture and society.

As a new year of programming begins, I hope more schools, synagogues, youth groups, religious schools, Israel committees and community organizations will consider inviting a Shlicha into the conversation. Because right now, when Israel can feel like one of the hardest things to talk about, we need more spaces where we can talk honestly, listen deeply, and stay connected. If you or your organization is interested, you can see our programming offerings here.

I left that gathering reminded of how little it can take to begin something meaningful. A room. Some bagels. An open heart. And a willingness to ask one another, “What do you really think?”.

In the August heat, winter feels worlds away.

But think back to the coldest day of last winter in Greater Washington: the biting wind, the layers of clothing, the rush to get back indoors. Now imagine facing those temperatures while worrying whether you’d have reliable heat at all.

That was the challenge confronting 79-year-old Bella in Odesa, Ukraine, who spent last winter doing everything she could to stay warm.

She turned on her electric heater, but only in the room where she slept. She watched it carefully, knowing every extra minute of warmth came with a cost, as electricity prices have soared since the outbreak of the war in 2022. When the cold became too much, she filled bottles with boiling water and placed them in her bed, letting them provide a little warmth through the night.

But she could not stay in bed all day.

“It gets terribly cold here,” Bella says. “One winter it was only [43 degrees Farenheit]… inside.”

Bella has lived her entire life in the same century-old building, a home that has witnessed decades of history and family memories.

But in recent years, the sounds outside her window have changed.

The war has brought a new reality to Odesa’s elderly Jewish community. Air raid sirens. Attacks on critical infrastructure. Power outages that leave homes dark and cold for hours, sometimes days.

For Bella, who lives alone and depends on a small pension, every disruption creates another worry. Will she be able to afford her medicine? Will she have enough food? Will she be able to stay warm?

But even in the darkness, Bella is reminded of something important. She is not alone.

A Lifeline Across the Ocean

Thousands of miles away, members of The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington community are helping ensure that elderly Jews like Bella are cared for. Thanks to support from Federation’s unrestricted Annual Campaign and grants from its Jewish Community Foundation, the American Joint Distribution Committee (JDC) can provide Bella with essential winter assistance, food, and medication.

Last winter, the help allowed Bella to use her limited income for heating and other necessities, but the impact went far beyond what arrived at her door. It told her that someone remembered her. That someone cared. That she remained part of a Jewish community, even across continents. This month, Odesa has faced waves of horrible attacks. An overnight Russian missile and drone strike earlier this month damaged residential buildings and other infrastructure, leaving people injured and disrupting power and water in parts of the city.

More Than a Number

Bella is one of thousands. In 2025, Federation helped JDC provide lifesaving support to 5,077 elderly Jews throughout the Odesa region, including 847 Holocaust survivors.

Numbers help us understand the scale of a crisis. But they cannot tell us what it feels like to sit alone in a cold apartment, or what it means when someone knocks on your door to help.

Behind every number is a story. There is also Lyudmila, 79, who lives alone and relies on support to afford her medications, food, and utilities. With a monthly pension of only $104, Lyudmila knows exactly how quickly costs can add up.

“I use my JDC bank card to buy my medications,” she says. “Then I can purchase food and pay for utilities from my pension. Without the bank card, I wouldn’t be able to afford the treatment I need to survive.”

Warmth That Goes Beyond the Heater

In Odesa, warmth comes in many forms. Sometimes it is a package delivered to someone’s door. Sometimes it is medicine that makes an impossible choice a little easier.

And sometimes, it is simply a visit.

JDC’s homecare workers provide practical support to frail and homebound seniors, helping with cooking, laundry, errands, and personal care. But their presence offers something equally important: companionship.

A conversation. A familiar face. The reassurance that someone is still looking out for you. This is what Jewish responsibility looks like in action. Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—all of Israel is responsible for one another.

Keeping Jewish Life Alive

Even after years of crisis, Odesa’s Jewish community continues to find moments of joy. Last year, as Rosh Hashanah approached, seniors gathered with younger generations through Kesher Dorot, a program designed to connect older adults with children and families.

Together, they painted pomegranate paintings by the sea, creating something beautiful while celebrating the traditions that have carried Jewish communities through generations.

For a moment, the war was not the center of the room. Community was.

Because survival is about more than having enough food, medicine, or heat.

It is about knowing you have a family.

They Are Counting on Us

Just this weekend, Odesa faced another wave of horrible attacks. An overnight Russian missile and drone strike damaged residential buildings and other infrastructure, leaving people injured and disrupting power and water in parts of the city.

For people like Bella and Lyudmila, the war is not something they read about in the news. It is the sound of explosions outside their windows. The overwhelming fear that at any minute it may be their home blasted into ruins. It is a dark, freezing apartment when the power goes out, and the rising cost of the food and medicine they need to stay alive.

And it is why our support matters now more than ever.

Through The Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, you can help JDC continue to save lives in Ukraine, providing food, medicine, winter assistance, homecare, and the human connection that reminds people like Bella and Lyudmila that they have not been forgotten.

There are thousands more stories like theirs. And when you give to Federation, you help make sure we can be there for them.

Earlier this month I traveled to Ukraine, Georgia, and Poland with a group of Federation executives to see firsthand the work our community makes possible through our partnership with JDC, The American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, one of the leading Jewish humanitarian organizations. I am still reflecting on our time but wanted to share three things I learned:

There was a strong sense of optimism among the Ukrainians we met.

Although we only ventured as far as western Ukraine, which is quieter than other parts, the effects of the war were ever-present. We spoke with several families who had been uprooted several times in the last 15 years as the conflict has expanded, and others in the midst of rebuilding their lives.

And still, I was struck by how optimistic the community was about the future. Displaced or not, they had each other. The relationships they formed gave them a sense of purpose and a community to both sustain and rely upon.

The Jewish community in Georgia is an ancient Diaspora community, dating back 2,600 years to the Babylonian exile.

In Ukraine, I was inspired by people rebuilding Jewish life after displacement. In Georgia, I was equally inspired by a community that has preserved Jewish life for more than two millennia.

Though histories vary across countries, the story of Eastern European Jewry is one of extraordinary resilience alongside extraordinary tragedy. Through World War I, the Holocaust, decades of Soviet repression—when Jews were not allowed to practice openly—and countless other hurdles, these communities have had to swim against the current of history to hold onto their traditions, their identity, and one another. This has not been easy, and many Jewish communities in the region are much smaller than they once were. But there are signs of renewal, thanks to the efforts of young leaders on the ground, dedicated organizations like JDC, and communities like ours who care about investing in global Jewry.

JDC has been doing amazing work for a long time—thanks to partners like Federation.

I saw photos from 1919 of JDC feeding war refugees in Poland. And some from 1940 showing JDC workers providing basic goods and clothing to the Warsaw Ghetto (the organization even helped fund the 1943 Warsaw Ghetto Uprising). For over a century now the Jewish people have come together to care for the vulnerable, in response to and despite immense global challenges.

This work is still being done today while evolving to meet emerging needs. For instance, we visited one of JDC’s Hesed welfare centers in Ukraine, established after the fall of the Soviet Union to care for elderly and vulnerable Jews. There, we heard about how the local Jewish community is serving those in need while also expanding their mental health offerings, refugee services, early childhood programs, and more.

I am deeply grateful to all the JDC team members who welcomed us and to everyone who shared their stories. I also want to extend a heartfelt thank you to everyone who helps make the amazing work underway happen through their support of Federation.

We talk all the time about investing in Jewish life and making good on the belief that we are all responsible for one another. This trip allowed me to see this promise in action. My time confirmed that one of the Jewish people’s greatest strengths is our willingness to show up for each other—a tradition as vital today as it has ever been.

P.S. I only scratched the surface here. If you’d like to hear more about the remarkable people I met and see additional photos from the trip, I hope you’ll watch the recording of our webinar. And if these stories remind you, as they did me, of what’s possible when we show up for one another, I invite you to support Federation’s Annual Campaign. Your generosity helps make partnerships like this a reality.