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December 19, 2025

How One Word in ‘Singing in the Rain’ Changed Everything

I didn’t expect to receive a lesson in dignity when my friend and I began watching “Singing in the Rain” the other night. Lately, we’ve been enjoying old movies for their innocence. We’re tired of hip, cool and snarky. Just give us honest entertainment, hold the sarcasm.

That’s what I was expecting—pure, honest entertainment, and I got plenty of it.

But I got a little more when the star of the film, Gene Kelly, uttered an unexpected word that stuck with me: Dignity.

Kelly was playing the role of Don Lockwood, a silent film star who opens the film at one of those glamorous Hollywood premieres from the early days of cinema. With an adoring crowd and press cameras facing him, an interviewer catches him off guard and asks about his upbringing.

The problem is that Lockwood wasn’t too proud of his humble roots as a hoofer, vaudeville performer and stuntman. So he improvises a whole other story as someone who was highly educated and studied at the finest arts and music academies.

He sets up this faux bio with: “I’ve had one motto that I’ve always lived by: Dignity. Always dignity. This was instilled by my mom and dad from the very beginning.”

Because Lockwood saw little “dignity” in the lowbrow vaudeville world his parents immersed him in, he couldn’t bear to reveal that past and felt he had to make up a new one. Lockwood connected dignity to his acts, assuming that compared to finer arts like ballet and classical music, his vaudeville acts had to be devoid of any dignity.

Ironically, his own film proved otherwise.

We can see in the film that those old vaudeville acts that embarrassed Lockwood were performed honestly and were full of life. It wasn’t Beethoven at Carnegie Hall, but it was a gutsy entertainer born on the wrong side of the tracks doing everything he could to make it in the big city.

Lockwood could have kept his same answer—dignity— without hiding his background. That’s because there is dignity in an honest struggle, even if it means performing in a seedy dance hall in a red light district.

Indeed, the whole film embodies a certain kind of dignity from the simple fact that the filmmakers have no other agenda than to provide the audience with good, honest entertainment.

Dignity comes not from our status in life or the education we receive but from our characters.

If we live our lives honestly and express that honesty in our art and professions, whether we’re a vaudeville performer, a classical musician, a filmmaker, an electrician or a columnist, that is dignity.

Shabbat shalom.

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Why I Threw a Public Hanukkah Party Right After Bondi

It was the morning of Monday, December 15. Just one day earlier, Jews had been massacred at a public Hanukkah celebration at Bondi Beach in Australia. Like every Jew, I was heartbroken. And I was scared.

I was planning a Hanukkah party to take place the next night at Robertson Rec Center in Pico-Robertson, in collaboration with CD-5 – Councilmember Katy Yaroslavsky’s office, the Jewish Federation, and Chabad of Beverlywood. The goal of the event was to spread joy on Hanukkah and introduce the community to the Pico Robertson Business Association, which I had formed with my husband Daniel, the help of CD-5, and local business owners.

As I coordinated the details for the party, I thought, “Is it irresponsible to hold a public Hanukkah party after Bondi?”

The same message poured in from possible attendees: “Will there be security at the event?”

I reassured them that there would be. Thankfully, CD-5 coordinated with the LAPD and made sure that multiple officers would come.

At the same time, in the middle of all the planning, I texted Dovid Lieder, the owner of Lieder’s on Pico, and a member of the PRBA, knowing that he’s from Australia and he is part of Chabad. I asked him if everyone in Australia was OK, expecting him to say, “Yes, thank God.”

That was not the message I received. His cousin, Rabbi Eli Schlanger, a 41-year-old Chabad emissary as well as a father of five, had been murdered. His niece, Chaya, a 14-year-old, had been shot in the leg after jumping on children to protect them; she saved their lives and was undergoing surgery.

Dovid spoke publicly about how he didn’t want to go to a menorah lighting after hearing the devastating news, but he pushed himself to.

I knew that my party had to go on. If Dovid and other Jews in mourning were still going out, refusing to hide, I knew I couldn’t either. It reaffirmed for me just why I converted and joined the Jewish people: We are so strong. We are so resilient. We never back down.

Our event – which featured delicious latkes from Lieder’s and yummy donuts from Bibi’s, a holiday market with local vendors, a DJ, and a gelt drop from the Los Angeles Fire Department – was a huge success. Around 200 people showed up, including reporters from CBS-LA and KTLA, to document it. Everyone was all smiles.

Dovid suggested we make a poster for the Jewish community of Australia, which he would deliver in person. People wrote messages of love and support. Children drew hearts. We encouraged them to stay strong.

Looking around and seeing happy children, men, and women celebrating together, I was so glad I didn’t let fear win.

The initial reaction to tragedy is to hide and retreat from the world. But we must do the exact opposite.

I urge you: Now is the time to connect to God and to be proud of your Judaism. When bad things happen, lean into both even more.

I know it’s hard, but it has what kept the Jewish people going for so long. We are resilient, and we will prevail.

Keep spreading your bright, beautiful light.


Kylie Ora Lobell is the author of the forthcoming Jewish conversion memoir, “Choosing to Be Chosen,” (Wicked Son), available for pre-order on Amazon. 

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A Moment in Time: “Chanukah: One Light Connecting the Entire World”

Dear all,

Did you know the Talmud tells a story about a baby born with two heads?

When King Solomon was asked if the child deserved two inheritances or one, he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he poured warm water on one head. Both heads cried at the same time.

Solomon said: “This is one person.”

Chanukah teaches the same truth.

We may live on opposite sides of the world, but we are one people. When Jews in Australia are threatened, mourn, or feel afraid, Jews everywhere feel it too — in Israel, in Europe, here at home.

That’s what it means to be connected. One body. One soul. One light.

On Chanukah, we don’t light candles alone. We add light together — reminding ourselves that Jewish pain is shared, and so is Jewish resilience.

In this moment in time, may we stand with one another, across oceans and time, and keep the lights burning.

With love and Shalom,

Rabbi Zachary R. Shapiro

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A Bisl Torah — Choice within Fear

Eli Sharabi recently visited Sinai Temple. He explained that when he and Almog Sarusi were forced to go down into the tunnels, Eli resisted, at first refusing to go underground. Hamas terrorists put a gun to his head. Eli realized that even through this horrific moment, he had a choice. Live or die.

His message reverberated throughout the congregation. In a season in which many feel afraid, fearful for their lives because we are Jewish, Sharabi gives us agency. We always have a choice. To practice our faith. To experience joy. To learn. To grow. To live. Or not. Even though fear exists, our mental and spiritual decisions determine our way forward.

The tradition is to only recite the Shehehiyanu the first night of Hannukah. We decided to add Shehehiyanu on the fourth night, as Eli stood on the bimah and joined the community in our first public Hannukiah lighting of the week. One recites Shehehiyanu if they have not seen a friend in a very long time. It felt more than appropriate, seeing Eli as a freed Jew and lighting the Hannukiah to thank God for reaching this moment.

May we always remember that we can choose. To choose faith. To choose gratitude. To choose life.

 

Happy Hannukah and Shabbat Shalom


Rabbi Nicole Guzik is senior rabbi at Sinai Temple. She can be reached at her Facebook page at Rabbi Nicole Guzik or on Instagram @rabbiguzik. For more writings, visit Rabbi Guzik’s blog section from Sinai Temple’s website.

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