
A Different Kind of Tower
The Tower of Babel reminds us how easily language can divide us. Our shared history reminds us of what becomes possible when we find ways to understand one another.

The Tower of Babel reminds us how easily language can divide us. Our shared history reminds us of what becomes possible when we find ways to understand one another.

Even as we mourn everything we’ve lost, let us also remember the moments of hope and healing — moments that restore our faith in humanity’s promise.

Sukkot asks us to receive the harvest that has actually come in—not the one we imagined or wished for.

Our shared stories of hatred, humiliation, oppression and slavery obligate us to show up for one another.

In the book of Isaiah, God calls the prophet to comfort the Jewish people. But we know this is really something we must do for one another.

In this moment of rising antisemitism, I’ve noticed that the way I remember, and retell, my own childhood has changed too.

The work, the ancient, urgent, irreplaceable work of Jewish community, is the answer. Not as retreat. Not as consolation. But as the most powerful response available to us.

There is something in this people, covenanted to justice, to memory, to one another, that is impossible to extinguish.

When we fall short — as individuals, as a people, whether everyday Jews or the Prime Minister himself — we must have the courage to face it honestly, call it what it is, and do better.

From Auschwitz to a Rebbe’s yahrzeit. From a child’s hometown to his grandfather’s grave. From mourning to memory to hope. The journey I did not plan turned out to be the one I needed most.