Rabbi's Log Israel: Day 6

There is something wonderfully quiet and cozy about a rainy Shabbat in Jerusalem. After days of full schedules, early mornings, long bus rides, and emotionally powerful encounters, the gray skies and steady rain seemed to give us permission to slow down, catch our breath, and simply take it all in.

We spent our final Shabbat in Israel in a variety of ways. Some of us took full advantage of the opportunity to sleep in (12 hours!!), while others enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at the hotel. Some ventured to the Israel Museum to stand before the extraordinary Dead Sea Scrolls, connecting with Jewish history in a way that is difficult to put into words. Others made their way to the Old City for a walking tour, wandering through its ancient streets and familiar, yet always remarkable, corners. Different experiences, but all of them offering one more opportunity to soak up the feeling of being in Jerusalem.

As we boarded our bus and headed to Kiryat Moshe for our final dinner together, we took some time to reflect on what we would carry home from this trip. What moments had imprinted themselves most deeply? What would we remember long after the suitcases were unpacked and we were back in Nashville?

The answers were as varied as the people on the bus, but certain moments came up again and again. Hearing Koby share his experiences from the Gaza envelope. Spending time with the soldiers at the Erez crossing base, sharing pizza and salad, asking questions, laughing, and getting to know the young men and women who carry such enormous responsibility. Seeing the breathtaking beauty of this country, while also beginning to appreciate its extraordinary complexity. The conversations, the landscapes, the history, the food, the unexpected moments, and the relationships that developed along the way.

And perhaps most importantly, there was a growing sense that Israel belongs to each of us. Not just as a place we visit, or a country we read about, or an idea we debate from thousands of miles away, but as a place with which we have a personal connection. We have walked its streets, listened to its people, encountered its challenges, celebrated its beauty, and made memories here. We leave with a deeper sense of ownership, responsibility, and connection to this complicated, extraordinary Jewish homeland.

We also found ourselves talking about the next time. Because that's what happens when you come to Israel. You start thinking about when you can return, what you still want to see, whom you want to visit, and what new experiences await. Israel has a way of getting under your skin. You leave, but a part of you stays here, and another part of you is already planning your return.

As we bring this trip to a close, I am struck by how special it has been to experience Israel together. For the second time, Congregation Micah and Sherith Israel have partnered to bring Nashville Jews to Israel, led by Rabbi Saul Strosberg and me. There is something particularly meaningful about sharing this journey across congregations, building friendships, learning together, and creating a community of people who will return home with a shared set of memories and experiences.

We came to Israel as a group of travelers. We leave as something more: people connected by the places we visited, the stories we heard, the people we met, and the emotions we shared. We have laughed together, learned together, worried together, celebrated together, and, at times, simply sat quietly and absorbed the magnitude of where we were.

Late tonight, we board our flights back to Nashville and return to the rhythms of our everyday lives. There will be work emails, meetings, laundry, grocery shopping, and all the familiar responsibilities waiting for us. But I hope we return a little different than when we left. I hope we return with a greater appreciation for Israel and the Jewish people, a deeper understanding of the stories that shape this place, a renewed sense of our own connection to our Jewish identity, and a commitment to remain engaged with all that happens here.

Most of all, I hope we remember that the relationship we have with Israel doesn't end when the plane takes off. In many ways, it is only the beginning.

Thank you to everyone who joined us on this journey, to Rabbi Saul, my awesome colleague, to our incredible guide, Avi Solomon, and to the many Israelis who welcomed us, shared their stories, and reminded us why this place matters so much.

L'hitraot, Israel. Until we meet again. ❤️

Rabbi's Log Israel: Day 5

Today began with one of my favorite ways to experience a city: on foot. I headed out for a beautiful morning run along the Rakevet Trail, which follows the historic 1892 Jaffa–Jerusalem railway line through several Jerusalem neighborhoods, including the German Colony, Baka, Katamon, Pat, Mekor Chaim, and Beit Safafa. Mostly flat, paved, and wonderfully free of traffic, it offers a different perspective on the city, passing through neighborhoods that each have their own personality and character. It was a perfect way to begin what would be a very full day in Jerusalem.

After another epic Israeli hotel breakfast (seriously, this is one meal you never want to miss when traveling in Israel!), we made our way to Mount Herzl, Israel's national cemetery and the final resting place of many of the country's most important leaders and heroes. We began at the Herzl Museum, an immersive experience that tells the story of Theodor Herzl, the father of modern political Zionism. Through film, multimedia presentations, and reconstructed scenes from his life, we followed Herzl's journey from a Jewish journalist in Europe, deeply troubled by the antisemitism he witnessed, to the visionary who imagined a Jewish homeland at a time when that dream seemed almost impossible. He died in 1904, just 44 years old, never living to see the State of Israel established in 1948. And yet, without his extraordinary vision, it is difficult to imagine the Israel we know today. There is something powerful about standing in the place that honors a man whose ideas helped change the course of Jewish history.

From the museum, we visited the graves of some of Israel's most consequential leaders, including Yitzhak and Leah Rabin. Standing at Yitzhak Rabin's grave is always a particularly emotional experience. A decorated military leader who became one of Israel's most important advocates for peace, Rabin was assassinated in 1995 by a fellow Jew who opposed his efforts to reach an agreement with the Palestinians. He died because he dared to imagine a different future for Israel, one in which security and peace might coexist. His assassination did more than take the life of a prime minister; it exposed a deep and painful divide within Israeli society, one that has never fully healed. The arguments over Israel's identity, its democracy, its relationship with the Palestinians, and the direction of its future that were so violently on display then continue to shape the country today. Standing at his grave, one is reminded that the threats to Israel's future have not always come from beyond its borders. Sometimes the greatest challenges have come from within.

​We also visited the memorial dedicated to Israelis who have been murdered in terrorist attacks, dating back to 1919. It is a sobering place, a reminder of the generations of Israelis who have lived with the reality of terrorism and the devastating human cost of that violence. Most recently, the memorial has been expanded with hundreds of ceramic poppies honoring those murdered on October 7. The poppies add a striking visual tribute, each one representing a life lost and a family forever changed. And then we made our way to the military cemetery, where we saw the graves of those killed in the war in Gaza since October 7. Too many. Too young. Too tragic. Row after row of young lives, interrupted far too soon. There really are no words that adequately capture what it feels like to stand in a place like that. The names and dates make the enormous human cost of this war painfully personal. These are not statistics or headlines. They are sons and daughters, husbands and wives, friends and neighbors.

From the weight of Mount Herzl, we headed to the wonderful chaos of Machane Yehuda, Jerusalem's famous shuk. If you have never experienced the market on a Friday afternoon, you are missing something special. The place is absolutely buzzing as Jerusalem prepares for Shabbat. The smells of fresh falafel and shawarma fill the air, alongside stalls piled high with halva, spices, olives, fresh produce, pastries, and just about anything else you might want to eat. Vendors call out to customers, people squeeze through the narrow walkways with their shopping bags, and everyone seems to be moving with a little more urgency as the clock ticks toward Shabbat. In many ways, Machane Yehuda is the heartbeat of Jerusalem. And on a Friday afternoon, you can feel the city preparing to exhale. There is an unmistakable energy, a sense that something sacred and familiar is just around the corner.

After a restful afternoon, some of us decided to make the journey on foot from our hotel into the Old City to welcome Shabbat at the Kotel. There are few experiences in Jerusalem quite like this one. As we approached, hundreds of men and women were already gathered, singing, dancing, praying, and celebrating the arrival of Shabbat. The joy was palpable. People who had never met one another were dancing together, singing familiar melodies, and greeting Shabbat with an enthusiasm that is difficult to describe unless you have experienced it yourself.

I know that the Kotel remains a place of ongoing debate and painful disagreement over access, prayer, and the role of women in this sacred space. Those conversations matter, and they are far from resolved. But I have always found something extraordinary about this place. It is one of the wonders of the world, not simply because of its ancient stones, but because of what it represents to the Jewish people across generations, continents, and circumstances. To stand there as Shabbat begins, surrounded by Jews singing the same prayers and celebrating the same sacred moment, is an experience like no other. For all of our differences, there is something that binds us together in that moment.

And so, after a day spent remembering the people who imagined Israel, those who shaped its history, and those who gave their lives for its future, we welcomed Shabbat in the heart of Jerusalem. It felt as though a calm had finally settled over the city. We returned to the hotel for Shabbat dinner and, eventually, a well-deserved rest.

Another remarkable day in Israel, with stomachs and hearts both very full.

Rabbi's Log Israel: Day 4

On my morning run along the coastline from Tel Aviv to Netanya, I passed a sign that felt especially poignant in the wake of our recent Israeli and American elections:​

V’ahavta… “And you shall love.” Those words, written in Hebrew, are followed by the symbols for right and left—a visual play on the yin and yang of our differences.

It struck me as a beautiful and timely reminder: Whatever side of the political, ideological, or cultural divide we find ourselves on, the mandate to love must transcend all of it. Right and left are not meant to be forces that cancel one another out, but perspectives that can coexist, balance, and even complement one another. Our differences need not divide us or distance us from each other. Above all else, we are commanded to love.

As we make our way out of Tel Aviv, we pass the ancient port city of Jaffa, a place with a very different feel from its bustling neighbor. Historically home to a predominantly Arab population, Jaffa has increasingly become an enclave for artists, galleries, cafés, and new development. That transformation has brought a wave of gentrification, not without tension or frustration among longtime residents who have watched their neighborhood change around them.

And then, almost as a visual punctuation mark, we catch a glimpse of Tel Aviv’s new light rail system—a sleek, modern addition moving through a city whose streets still pulse with the energy, history, and beautiful chaos of everyday life. It is a fitting image of Israel itself: old and new, tradition and innovation, all sharing the same landscape.

​​There is something wonderfully Israeli about leaving Tel Aviv before 9:00 in the morning and heading to a winery for a wine tasting. After all, why wait until the afternoon? Our destination is the Raviv Winery in Nes Harim, and the journey south offers a fascinating glimpse of the many layers of this country.

Nes Harim itself has a wonderful history. It was established in 1950 by immigrants who came to Israel from Kurdistan, building an agricultural community rooted in the land. In those early years, the residents made their living primarily by growing fruit trees and raising chickens. Today, the community reflects a broad spectrum of religious observance, another reminder of the diversity that exists within Israeli society.

Our visit to the Raviv Winery introduces us to a newer chapter in the area's agricultural story. The vineyard was planted in 2010, with varieties including Syrah (Shiraz), Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Petit Verdot. The winery is intentionally small, producing approximately 5,000 to 6,000 bottles each year.

We are in the Judean Hills, Israel's first officially recognized wine appellation. To qualify as a wine from this region, more than 80 percent of the grapes must be grown here. It's a lovely example of how a community with deep agricultural roots continues to find new ways to cultivate the land—this time, one bottle of wine at a time. Is there a better way?

​One of the most thought-provoking conversations of our day was with a senior Israeli military officer who spoke with remarkable candor about the challenges facing Israel. Because of his position, we are keeping his identity anonymous, but his perspective offered a fascinating glimpse into the complexities of Israel's current reality.

He began by distinguishing between the external threats Israel faces and the internal challenges that may ultimately prove even more difficult to overcome. The external threats, he suggested, are something Israel knows how to confront. Iran, Hezbollah, Hamas, and the other terrorist organizations surrounding Israel represent serious dangers, but Israel has extraordinary intelligence, technology, and military capabilities. The internal divisions within Israeli society, however, are much harder to solve.

Reflecting on October 7, he described it as a catastrophic failure of Israel's security assumptions. For years, Israel believed it could contain Hamas, rely on intelligence to anticipate an attack, and trust its technological superiority to protect its borders. October 7 shattered that confidence. He rejected conspiracy theories about internal betrayal, instead acknowledging the complacency and institutional failures that made the massacre possible.

He also spoke about the extraordinary response of Israeli society afterward: the soldiers who mobilized, the volunteers who stepped forward, and the remarkable resilience of a nation under attack. Yet he cautioned against confusing military success with strategic victory. Israel has significantly weakened Hamas and Hezbollah, demonstrated extraordinary military capabilities against Iran, and changed the regional balance of power. But Hamas still exists, Hezbollah is still rebuilding, and Iran's ambitions remain. Military strength alone cannot resolve these conflicts. Without a clear political and diplomatic strategy for what comes next, Israel risks finding itself in an endless cycle of war.

Perhaps his most passionate comments concerned Israel's standing in the international community. He acknowledged that Israel is doing a terrible job communicating its position to the world and has, in many ways, abandoned the effort. Too often, he argued, Israeli leaders dismiss criticism as antisemitism rather than engaging with it. While he believes much of the international narrative about the war is disconnected from reality, he also recognizes that Israel cannot simply declare that it will stand alone.

He spoke emotionally about the humanitarian situation in Gaza, describing the extensive Israeli military and civilian efforts to facilitate food, shelter, fuel, and other humanitarian assistance, even while fighting Hamas. He emphasized that Palestinian civilians are not Israel's enemy and that the suffering of innocent people is deeply troubling. He challenged those who describe themselves as pro-Palestinian to consider whether their actions actually improve Palestinian lives. In his view, supporting Hamas only perpetuates the suffering of Palestinians. The real opportunity lies in strengthening moderate Palestinian leadership and supporting those willing to envision a future alongside Israel rather than in place of Israel.

He was equally candid about Israel's own political leadership. He criticized the government's failure to articulate a realistic vision for the future, its willingness to allow extremist voices to define Israel's public image, and its reluctance to address the Palestinian question. He believes that even Israelis who want peace are understandably far more cautious after October 7. But caution cannot become an excuse for avoiding difficult conversations or indefinitely postponing the possibility of a different future.

And then he turned to what he considers perhaps Israel's greatest long-term internal threat: the growing division within Israeli society, particularly the relationship between the ultra-Orthodox (Haredi) community and the rest of the country. He warned that the growing population of Haredi Israelis, combined with limited participation in military service and the workforce, creates an increasingly unsustainable burden on the country. But he also argued that confrontation and coercion will not solve the problem. Israel needs to find ways to bring communities together, create incentives for participation, and restore a sense of shared responsibility.

He ended with a warning that I found particularly powerful. Israelis sometimes speak as though their country is invincible, as though its military strength, technological innovation, and historical connection to the land guarantee its future. But history teaches otherwise. Jewish sovereignty is not guaranteed forever. Israel's future depends not simply on the strength of its military, but on the resilience of its society, the wisdom of its leadership, and its ability to maintain meaningful relationships with the rest of the world.

And yet, despite his sobering assessment, he ended on a note of optimism. He sees extraordinary opportunities for the Middle East, particularly in the relationships Israel has developed with countries like the United Arab Emirates, Jordan, Egypt, and potentially Saudi Arabia. He believes there are people throughout the region who want the same things Israelis want: security, prosperity, opportunity, and a future for their children. The challenge is finding a way to move beyond the extremists who are committed to perpetual conflict.

His message was ultimately one of both warning and hope: Israel has extraordinary strengths, but it cannot rely on military power alone. Its future will depend on its ability to look honestly at its own failures, change course when necessary, engage the world rather than retreat from it, and remember that its greatest source of strength has always been the resilience and unity of its people.

Our final stop of the day is the Museum of Tolerance in Jerusalem, a museum and educational center dedicated to confronting antisemitism, racism, and prejudice while promoting understanding and respect among people of different backgrounds. Through history, personal stories, and interactive exhibits, the museum challenges visitors to consider how intolerance takes root, the consequences of hatred, and the responsibility each of us has to build a more compassionate and respectful society. After a day spent reflecting on Israel's internal divisions, external challenges, and uncertain future, it is a fitting place to end—with a reminder that the work of building a better future begins with how we see and treat one another.

Tomorrow... The Old City, Machane Yehuda (the outdoor market before Shabbat), and then... SHABBAT!

Rabbi's Log Israel: Day 3

Israel Trip – Day Three: Anu. We Are All Part of the Story.

Before we turned in for the evening yesterday, Avi, our amazing guide, messaged us that if, by chance, we were to hear a siren in the night, we were to go downstairs to the level just below the lobby into the parking garage. I didn't give the message much thought. At 3 AM, our third day in Israel began when the siren went off and we were startled out of a deep sleep. I consider myself an organized, prepared person, but apparently, I had given very little thought to what I would actually do in the event of a middle-of-the-night rush to the hotel shelter. What should I put on? What should I grab? How quickly do I need to move? I'll jump to the end of the story and tell you that it was a false alarm. But at 3 AM, it was quite an experience. So much for a solid night of sleep!

After a somewhat disrupted night, we headed to Tel Aviv's ANU Museum of the Jewish People. And as it turned out, there couldn't have been a more meaningful place to spend part of our day.

Our docent began by explaining the significance of the museum's name. It was formerly called Beit Hatfutsot, generally translated as the Museum of the Diaspora. But the Hebrew word hatfutsot comes from a root meaning to scatter or disperse. In other words, it described the Jewish people as those who had been scattered throughout the world.

The museum's new name, ANU, means "WE."

That one little word carries an enormous message. Our docent reminded us that even when we are alone lighting Hanukkah candles, we say the blessing in the plural: She'asah nisim la'avoteinu – who performed miracles for our ancestors. We speak as part of a collective. We are never simply individuals; we are part of something larger. Whether we live in Nashville, Jerusalem, Caracas, or Curaçao, we are all part of the same Jewish story.

The museum is organized around three ideas: Mosaic, Journey, and Roots. On the Mosaic level, we encountered Jewish families from around the world, each with their own traditions, surroundings, and understanding of what it means to be Jewish. One of the most interesting parts of the exhibit featured 21 people who were all asked the same question: "What does it mean to you to be Jewish?" Not one gave the same answer.

And isn't that exactly the point? There is no single way to be Jewish. We are a mosaic of different experiences, beliefs, traditions, languages, and identities. What holds us together isn't that we are all the same, but that we are all part of the same people.

One statistic our docent shared really stayed with me. Jews represent approximately two-tenths of one percent of the world's population. Think about that. We are an extraordinarily small people, and yet our history, contributions, influence, and presence in the world are remarkably outsized. Our docent challenged us to think about what accounts for that. Education? Our commitment to learning? Something else? It's a question worth taking home.

As we moved through the Journey level, we explored the history of Jewish life beyond the Land of Israel, including the communities of Babylonia and Alexandria that helped shape what would become modern Judaism after the destruction of the ancient Temples. We also encountered the story of Theodor Herzl and the Dreyfus Affair. Our docent made a particularly poignant observation: before the Dreyfus Affair, Herzl was simply a young journalist covering a story. Witnessing the antisemitism surrounding the case profoundly changed the direction of his life and ultimately helped inspire his vision of Zionism.

Her point was that we never know what might emerge from even the darkest moments in Jewish history. We cannot predict who will be inspired to lead, what ideas will take shape, or what extraordinary contributions might come from moments of tragedy. That doesn't erase the pain of those moments, but it reminds us that the Jewish story has never been finished.

We ended on the Roots level, exploring the foundations of Jewish life: our calendar, Shabbat, our sacred texts, and the traditions that connect generations of Jews. Among the treasures highlighted was the Codex Sassoon, one of the oldest and most complete surviving Hebrew Bibles, which was purchased for $38.1 million. It was a powerful reminder of just how much our people have invested in preserving our texts, our learning, and our tradition across more than a thousand years.

I found myself thinking about the contrast between the night before and the day we had just experienced. At 3 AM, the siren reminded us of the very real and immediate challenges of living in Israel today. At ANU, we were reminded that the Jewish story is so much bigger than any one moment, any one crisis, or any one generation.

We are a small people with an extraordinarily long story. We have been scattered, displaced, challenged, and threatened, and yet we have continued to create, learn, teach, build communities, and find ways to remain connected to one another.

And perhaps that is why the museum's name is so important. Not they, the Jews scattered around the world. Not them, the people who live somewhere else. But ANU. WE.

And after everything we have seen and experienced on this trip, that feels like exactly the right word.

#IsraelTravel #ANU #JewishPeoplehood

Rabbi's Log Israel: Day 2

Day Two: The Stories We Have an Obligation to Tell

My day began with one of the most glorious runs I can remember. I ran alongside the magnificent Makhtesh Ramon crater, following a JNF dirt road through the Negev. I was completely alone, watching the sun rise over the desert, surrounded by a kind of quiet that is almost impossible to describe. There are moments when you realize you're experiencing something truly extraordinary, and this was one of them.

I had no idea how dramatically that quiet would contrast with what the day had in store.

We were heading to the Gaza Envelope (the communities surrounding Gaza) to meet Koby Levy, a 25-year-old Israeli soldier who survived one of the most horrific battles of October 7 at the Nahal Oz military base.

Koby was a combat medic serving with an armored corps unit stationed at the base. He had been there since July 2023, and October 7 was supposed to be his last Shabbat on base before beginning his final month of military service. His parents had actually boarded a flight from Tel Aviv to New York the night before. They had no idea what was about to happen to their son.

At 6:29 a.m. on October 7, Koby awoke to what he initially thought was an earthquake. It was the sound of rockets. Within minutes, the base was being bombarded. He and his fellow soldiers rushed to a bomb shelter, and two tanks from his platoon headed toward the border to investigate what was happening.

At first, they thought they were responding to another round of rocket fire. They had no idea that Hamas terrorists had already infiltrated the base.

Then came the gunfire. Koby recognized the sound of automatic weapons and realized that what they were hearing wasn't coming from Israeli soldiers. Communications were lost. The base was being overrun.

A friend managed to get a brief phone connection and told them that the base commander had been critically wounded, soldiers had been killed, and dozens of terrorists had entered the base.

What followed was four hours of unimaginable fighting. Koby and the other soldiers were trapped in a bomb shelter, defending themselves against terrorists just feet away. They were being fired upon with rifles, grenades, and RPGs. As a medic, Koby was trying to save the lives of wounded soldiers while simultaneously fighting for his own.

At one point, he managed to call his mother. His parents were on their way to New York, completely unaware of the unfolding catastrophe. Koby knew that this might be the last time he would ever speak to her. He told her he loved her and that he would do everything he could to get out alive, although he wasn't sure he would.

At approximately 11 a.m., a grenade exploded inside their shelter. Koby was badly injured. His weapon was disabled, and as he emerged from the shelter, he saw a tank from his own platoon engulfed in flames. He found his close friend Yoni lying on the ground. Yoni was dead.

Koby had no weapon, no phone, no radio, and no way to communicate with anyone. He eventually made his way into a bush on the base, where he remained hidden, completely alone, for five hours.

He told us that during those hours, he became convinced that the State of Israel was finished. He could hear fighting in the distance, but the base around him had gone silent. Having witnessed the number of terrorists who had overwhelmed the base, he couldn't imagine how Israel could survive an attack of this magnitude.

At approximately 4:30 that afternoon, Israeli soldiers finally reached him. He was rescued and eventually taken to the hospital.

Koby survived. Fifty-four Israeli soldiers did not. The Nahal Oz base was one of the sites of the largest military battles on October 7.

But what Koby said afterward was perhaps even more powerful than the details of his survival.

He spoke about the extraordinary courage of the soldiers who stepped into leadership roles when their commanders were killed or wounded. He told us about one commander, Shilo Ivan, who made the decision to lead his soldiers directly into the base to rescue their fellow soldiers. All seven members of that team were killed.

And then Koby said something that I think is important for all of us to understand: October 7 was a story of an enormous failure. The army failed in its fundamental responsibility to protect Israeli citizens. That truth cannot be erased or explained away. But it is also a story of extraordinary selflessness, courage, and people rising to do things they never imagined they would be called upon to do.

He spoke about his responsibility to tell these stories because so many of the people who should be telling them are no longer here. He wants their names remembered. He wants us to know who they were and what they did.

One thing he said particularly stayed with me. He explained that during the attack, the terrorists weren't shouting "Israelis." They were shouting "Jews." And that distinction matters. What happened on October 7 was not simply an attack on the State of Israel or its military. It was an attack on Jews.

As a Jew living in America, I wanted to tell Koby how profoundly grateful we are. Many of us have visited Israel countless times, love this country, and feel deeply connected to it. But we didn't build it. We didn't fight for it. We didn't stand in that bomb shelter. And I wanted him to know that we understand, at least in some small way, what he and his friends did for all of us.

I also asked him whether telling his story helps him heal, particularly knowing what his parents experienced during those hours when they had no idea whether their son was alive or dead.

His answer was that sometimes telling the story is empowering, and sometimes it is painful. But ultimately, he feels obligated to do it. He said that while they may have lost the military battle that day, they won something else: the battle of remaining true to their values, of standing up for one another, and of preserving their humanity even in the face of unimaginable evil.

I don't think any of us left that conversation unchanged.

We then traveled a short distance to a memorial honoring the young female soldiers who served as surveillance observers at Nahal Oz. These young women were responsible for monitoring activity along the Gaza border. They were unarmed, and many had repeatedly raised concerns about what they were seeing and sensing in Gaza in the months leading up to October 7. Their warnings were not taken seriously enough.

On October 7, they were ambushed. Some were killed; others were abducted into Gaza.

Standing at their memorial, I found myself thinking about how many of these young women were barely out of high school. They were doing their jobs, watching, observing, and trying to protect the people and communities around them. Their lives, their warnings, and their stories deserve to be remembered.

We also saw the poppies that have become such a poignant presence at Nova and at the many memorial sites throughout the country. Each flower is a small reminder of an enormous loss.

Our visit to the new memorial and community center in Sderot offered another perspective on October 7. Sderot is a city that has lived under the threat of rocket fire from Gaza for decades. It is a community that knows what it means to live with fear, disruption, and resilience.

The new center represents something important: a place not only to remember what happened but to gather, reconnect, tell stories, and begin the work of rebuilding community. Memorials preserve the memory of those we lost. Community spaces help the living find their way forward. We need both.

I found myself thinking about something that has changed for me since October 7. For years, when we brought groups to Israel, our most solemn visit was to Yad Vashem, Israel's Holocaust memorial and museum. We would leave profoundly moved, committed to remembering, and determined that such hatred would never again threaten the Jewish people.

Now there are so many more memorials. Nova. The kibbutzim. The military bases. The homes and communities where people were murdered or abducted.

And I find myself asking a question that I never imagined I would ask: Will my children bring their grandchildren to Israel someday and have yet another memorial to visit? Will there be another place where we stand and tell the story of Jews who were murdered simply because they were Jews?

I find myself praying that we will never need to build another one.

I want my children and grandchildren to visit Israel to experience its extraordinary beauty, its history, its food, its humor, its music, its people, and its remarkable capacity for life. I want them to know the stories of our past, but I don't want their experience of Jewish history to be defined by one memorial after another.

And then, because Israel is Israel, there was a little comic relief. We spotted Boy George and his entourage. It was nice to have a celebrity sighting that didn't require us to check another name off our October 7 memorial list.

A day of extraordinary beauty, unimaginable sadness, courage, gratitude, and hope. That's Israel. Sometimes all in the same hour.

We will end the day at the Erez Crossing, where we’ll have the opportunity to meet with Company B of the 7th Battalion of the Jerusalem Brigade. This company of approximately 40 soldiers will welcome us for an informal visit. We’ll spend time talking with them, hearing a little about their experiences, and, most importantly, sharing a meal together—pizza and pasta for dinner. After a day spent listening to stories of October 7 and remembering those who were lost, it will be especially meaningful to sit with the young men and women who continue to serve and protect Israel today. Sometimes the most important thing we can do is simply show up, listen, and let these soldiers know that Jews from around the world are thinking of them and are grateful.

Rabbi's Log Israel: Day 1

From JFK Security to the Negev: A Day in Israel

I’m standing in line for my security check before boarding our flight at JFK, and I find myself having a rather unexpected reaction: I LOVE all this security. Bring it on. The questions, the scrutiny, the checks. Plungers and all.

The two Israeli women conducting our screening are women I am quite certain have more martial arts skills, security know-how, and general ability to take charge than anyone else I know. And I am absolutely thrilled that they are here. Ask me as many questions as you want. Check whatever you need to check. I am happy to cooperate.

There is also a man in our line who clearly needs to wait his turn but has decided that waiting his turn is not really for him. He quickly discovers that these two women are not having it. One of them firmly directs him to the back of the line. No discussion. No negotiation. He is definitely not in charge. Hashem may be in charge of the universe, but this Israeli woman is most definitely in charge of this security line.

And apparently, it is time for prayer. A group of men has gathered, although I am not entirely sure which prayer it is time for or why they have chosen the ATM as their focal point. I will reserve all the stereotype jokes that are coming to mind. Some observations are better left to the imagination.

Fast forward to Israel.

We are heading south, taking Route 6, the Trans-Israel Highway, which runs through much of the country and connects north and south. This week, November 4, marks the yahrzeit of Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli prime minister who was assassinated in 1995. His murder remains one of the most consequential and painful moments in modern Israeli history. It is hard not to think about the complexity of this country as we travel through it: its extraordinary accomplishments, its internal divisions, its security concerns, and its ongoing struggles over what kind of country it wants to be.

Our destination is Beer Sheva, a place many of you may recognize from the Torah reading on Rosh Hashanah morning: the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. After Abraham nearly sacrifices his son and the angel intervenes, Abraham returns to his young men, and they travel together to Beer Sheva. The Torah tells us that Abraham settled there. So here we are, traveling to a place that is woven into one of the most emotionally complicated stories in the entire Torah. Not exactly light vacation reading!

It might be 8:30 in the morning in Israel, but it is never too early for Elite chocolate. Especially the crumbly bar. Some things require no explanation, and some things are simply part of the Israeli experience. 

As we travel, we notice yellow signs still posted after the recent election. They read: "Absolute Failure: Iran, Gaza, Lebanon."

These are anti-Netanyahu political protest signs, expressing the frustration of Israelis who believe the government's handling of the country's security challenges and its multiple military fronts has been a failure. The signs are a reminder that Israelis are not simply spectators to the decisions being made in Jerusalem. They are vocal, engaged, passionate, and often deeply divided about their country's leadership and direction.

I find myself struck by the fact that even amid all the security concerns and the ongoing challenges, the political conversation is everywhere. Israelis are not shy about making their opinions known. They argue, protest, criticize, and debate. That, too, is part of the complicated, noisy, sometimes exhausting, and very much alive reality of Israeli democracy.

Our first major stop is Tel Beer Sheva, an extraordinary archaeological site that brings together the world of the Bible and the world of ancient Israel.

A tel is an artificial mound created over centuries as one settlement is built on top of another. People lived in the same location, rebuilt their homes, repaired their walls, and constructed new cities over the remains of earlier ones. Over time, the accumulated layers of human civilization create a hill. Archaeologists excavate those layers to uncover the lives of the people who came before us.

Tel Beer Sheva preserves the remains of an ancient Israelite city, with its principal remains dating to the Iron Age, particularly the 8th century BCE, and evidence of earlier settlement reaching back to the 10th century BCE. The city was carefully planned, with a distinctive gate, administrative buildings, storage facilities, residential neighborhoods, and an impressive defensive wall.

One of the most fascinating features is the ancient water system. In this arid part of the country, water was everything. The inhabitants developed an elaborate system to collect and store rainwater, including a huge underground reservoir reached by a staircase. Imagine living in a city where your ability to survive depended on engineering, planning, and making every drop count. Suddenly, our modern obsession with water conservation doesn't seem so new.

The city also gives us a glimpse into everyday Israelite life. The four-room house, a characteristic form of ancient Israelite domestic architecture, tells us about how families organized their living spaces, stored their food and belongings, and went about their daily lives. These weren't just biblical characters. They were people with homes, families, responsibilities, and the same basic needs we have today.

Tel Beer Sheva is one of three biblical tels recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, along with Megiddo and Hazor. Standing here, it is remarkable to think that the names we encounter in the Torah and the historical books of the Bible refer to actual places, communities, and civilizations whose remains we can still walk through.

We also visit the modest home of David Ben-Gurion at Kibbutz Sde Boker in the Negev.

Ben-Gurion, Israel's first prime minister and the man who declared the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, made a rather remarkable decision in 1953. He stepped away from the prime ministership and moved with his wife, Paula, to a small kibbutz in the middle of the desert. He believed that the future of Israel depended on developing the Negev, and he wanted to lead by example. His famous vision was to make the desert bloom.

Think about that for a moment. The leader of a young country, facing enormous challenges, chooses to move away from the political center of the country and settle in the desert. He wanted young Israelis to see that the Negev wasn't the edge of the country or an empty expanse to be crossed on the way somewhere else. It was central to Israel's future.

The house itself is wonderfully modest. It has been preserved just as it was when Ben-Gurion died in 1973, in accordance with his wishes. His study and library are particularly fascinating. There are approximately 5,000 books, covering everything from Jewish texts and the Bible to philosophy, history, geography, and military affairs. The books tell you something about the man: a leader who was intensely curious, deeply intellectual, and constantly thinking about the future.

Walking through his home, I was struck by the contrast between the enormity of the decisions he made and the simplicity of his surroundings. There is something powerful about seeing the personal space of someone who helped create a country.

And perhaps that is the larger theme of the day. Israel is a place where the ancient and modern are never very far apart. We can stand in a city that Abraham knew, walk through the remains of an ancient Israelite community, and then visit the home of the man who helped bring the modern State of Israel into existence.

Thousands of years of Jewish history, all in one day. And, of course, a little Elite chocolate along the way.

Not a bad day in Israel. 

Tomorrow we will spend the day in the Gaza envelope, immersing ourselves in the aftermath of the October 7th brutal attack on Israel. Now... we sleep!

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Rabbis' Log Guatemala: Final post

When we left you last, we had spent a day touring the historic city of Antigua by foot and another day learning about the coffee farming community just outside of the city. Since then, in our final few days in Antigua, we hiked the volcano Pacaya (one of 37 volcanoes in Guatemala), visited an organic farming community that farms vegetables, bread, beautiful animals, and a butterfly garden, and participated in a reflective Shabbat service with our traveling companions and a special homemade Shabbat dinner by our hosts, David and Bethany Boran.

Each of these experiences was special and illuminating as we continued to reflect on the connection between what we have been experiencing in Guatemala and what we appreciate about Judaism. Judaism teaches us to look for holiness not only in familiar places, but wherever human beings are living with intention, memory, and care for one another. Sometimes, stepping outside our own community sharpens our understanding of what we hold sacred within it. So again, we thank you for supporting this sabbatical time for us as your rabbis.

Spending time immersed in the culture of Guatemala offers such a moment. While Guatemala and Judaism emerge from very different histories and geographies, the echoes between them are striking. Beneath the vibrant colors, ancient customs, and communal rhythms of Guatemalan life are values deeply familiar to Jewish tradition: memory, ritual, resilience, and community.

Memory sits at the center of Jewish life. We are commanded to remember—zachor—not only as an act of history, but as a moral and spiritual practice. As the Torah teaches, “Remember the days of old; consider the years of ages past” (Deut. 32:7). Memory in Judaism is meant to guide how we live now.

Guatemalan culture, particularly within indigenous Mayan communities, is also shaped by collective memory. Traditions are preserved through storytelling, ceremony, language, and art, even in the face of centuries of oppression and attempted erasure. Like Judaism, Guatemalan culture teaches that remembering is a way of surviving—and of honoring those who came before.

Judaism sanctifies time. Shabbat arrives each week as an island of holiness, reminding us to pause, to gather, and to reconnect with what matters most. The rabbis taught that more than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people (Ahad HaAm)—a reminder that ritual sustains identity across generations.

In Guatemala, time is also marked with intention. Community rituals, religious festivals, and earth-honoring ceremonies create a rhythm that connects people to one another and to something larger than themselves. While the expressions differ, the impulse feels deeply Jewish: to slow down, to notice, and to live with awareness of the sacred.

Judaism imbues physical objects with spiritual meaning. A tallit is not simply a garment, but a reminder of mitzvot and responsibility. The tzitzit are meant to help us “remember all the commandments and do them” (Numbers 15:39).

Similarly, traditional Guatemalan textiles—especially huipiles—are rich with symbolism. Patterns and colors communicate identity, ancestry, and worldview. These garments tell stories, much like Jewish ritual objects do, reminding us that what we create and wear can carry holiness.

Jewish life is communal by design. We pray together, celebrate together, and mourn together. Many of our most sacred moments require a minyan, affirming the rabbinic insight that “All of Israel is responsible for one another” (Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh). Guatemalan culture reflects this same understanding. Daily life is deeply communal, rooted in shared responsibility and mutual care. This emphasis on collective life resonates strongly with Jewish values, especially at a time when individualism can so easily pull us apart.

Both Jewish history and Guatemalan history include profound suffering. And yet, neither culture is defined solely by trauma. The prophet Isaiah speaks of a people who are “not destroyed” but renewed again and again—a vision that has sustained Jewish hope across centuries. Judaism blesses life—l’chaim—even after devastation. Guatemalan culture does the same through color, music, ritual, and an enduring connection to the land. In both traditions, survival is not only endurance, but renewal.

Encountering Guatemalan culture through a Jewish lens is not about drawing perfect parallels, but about deepening our appreciation for our own values. It reminds us that Judaism’s emphasis on memory, ritual, and community is not abstract—it is profoundly human. When we recognize holiness reflected in other cultures, we often come back to our own tradition with fresh eyes and renewed gratitude. In that sense, Guatemala becomes not just a place on the map, but a mirror—helping us see Judaism’s wisdom, beauty, and relevance more clearly. So once again, thank you for this time.

A closing blessing:

May our encounters with cultures beyond our own deepen our gratitude for the wisdom of our tradition.
May memory guide us, ritual ground us, and community sustain us.
And may we continue to recognize the image of God—in one another, in inherited traditions, and in the shared human longing for meaning and connection.
Ken yehi ratzon.

Rabbis' Log From Guatemala: Day 2

We set off early this morning for the neighboring town of San Miguel de Escobar. There, we met Manuel and Angela. Manuel is a coffee farmer. Angela is our interpreter since Manuel does not speak English and many of us don’t speak Spanish. Manuel works for a cooperative of coffee growers in San Miguel de Escobar and also with De La Gente, which is a coffee NGO (non-governmental organization). The Guatemalan government supports the coffee farmers throughout Guatemala in a variety of regions as a way to invest in the overall economy of the country - it lifts all people through a domino effect. 

Coffee is a massive global industry valued at over $460 billion in 2020. Over 90% of the world’s coffee is produced in developing countries, while the majority of consumption takes place in developed, industrial countries, a reality fueled by normalized exploitative practices. The conventional global supply chain allows for coffee to be a commodity of enjoyment, daily ritual, and community for billions of drinkers around the world, while too often it is a source of economic precarity for those who cultivate it.

Coffee has played a major role in Guatemala’s economy since the late 1800s, serving as the backbone of the country’s GDP for nearly a century. While Guatemala’s economy is more diversified today, coffee remains one of the top exports by value. Within Guatemala, there are approximately 125,000 coffee farmers, 97% of whom are small-scale producers that account for nearly 45% of the country’s production. Large-scale plantations, which represent only 3% of Guatemala’s farmers, are producing more than half of the coffee in the country. Small-scale producers, like Manuel and the cooperative he is a part of (keep reading), despite intergenerational experience and expertise in the industry, continue to be more susceptible to price fluctuations, climate change, and exploitative supply chains.

In 2005, Franklin Voorhes was volunteering in Guatemala when he met coffee farmers from the town of San Miguel Escobar who were organizing to make cultivating coffee a sustainable livelihood. Franklin was intrigued and inspired by their vision and wanted to be part of helping them improve their quality of life as small-scale producers. Together with seven coffee producers, they started processing their coffee and looking for markets for high-quality green and roasted coffee. Out of that partnership and many subsequent discussions and experiments, an organization called (at the time) As Green As It Gets emerged, and the cooperative is now known as the Coffee Growers of San Miguel Escobar. 

They worked collaboratively for several years, improving the quality of farmers’ coffee by exploring various processing techniques while simultaneously systematizing and structuring the cooperative. Over time, they wanted to educate and create awareness among tourists arriving in Antigua about coffee production, so they developed a tour where small-scale coffee producers would share their expertise, culture, and hopes for the industry with visitors. Tourism has since evolved into a thriving element of their work.

In 2014, “As Green As It Gets” became “De La Gente” (meaning Of the People or By the People), a name that describes who they are, who they serve, and who benefits from their work. They specifically decided to confront issues and injustices within the coffee supply chain and related challenges that producers face. At that time, they incorporated more cooperatives on a larger scale, choosing to accompany and assist them in becoming sustainable and thriving coffee producers.  

Today, De La Gente works in partnership with four coffee-growing regions, nine cooperatives total, representing over 140 small-scale coffee producers, and channels nearly $350,000 each year to farming communities in sales alone. They have been recognized for the quality of their coffee, their transparent relationships with the cooperatives they partner with, and the immersive opportunities they offer within those communities. 

Our group walked about 20 minutes up the volcano from Manuel's house, into the coffee fields. All around us, the three volcanoes were erupting continuously with Fuego. Rabbi Flip doesn’t know yet that I signed us up to hike the volcano on Shabbat. Shhhh… don’t tell!

Coffee leaf rust is a fungus that infects the coffee tree and causes it to lose its leaves and die slowly. The trees that are part of the cooperative are treated with organic treatment fertilizer, limestone on the trunk of the plant, and sprayed with copper to prevent the fungus. Additionally, when the coffee tree has too much shade, it is more susceptible to fungus. Coffee needs shade to grow, but it has to be the right balance. The beans go from green to yellow to orange and then finally to red, and that’s when they’re ripe. The black ones don’t have a coffee bean inside. Some companies blend the black beans anyway with the green, not yet ripe beans, to make instant coffee and then treat it with other flavorings. Rabbi Flip and I are already feeling the pressure to up our coffee game! 

Inside each red coffee cherry, there are two coffee beans and a liquid that they call coffee honey. If you chew the red skin, it tastes like a cherry flavor. Occasionally, the berries have just one coffee bean inside, and those actually have a really good flavor, but it’s rare to find coffee that’s made only from the berries with one coffee bean. 

I’ll admit that I have developed a fondness for my two coffee beans and have promised them that I will never drink instant again. It seems the least I can do.

It takes a total of three years to get the first harvest from a coffee tree. When the coffee trees start to produce, they create a white flower that smells like jasmine. The jasmine smell attracts the bees that come to pollinate the flowers, then the coffee cherries begin to ripen. Currently, we are at 1600 m above sea level. Coffee can be harvested up to 2000 m above sea level - the higher up you go, the stronger the coffee. While there is only one coffee harvest season per year, they are actually picked at three different times during the season due to the cherries ripening at different times.

The unroasted beans are green, and they are exported that way. De la Gente has a US roaster located in Cincinnati, and when you buy coffee from De La Gente, it is roasted and shipped to you immediately because once coffee beans are roasted, they have a shorter shelf life. Longer roast = darker roast/color. Manuel’s wife, Rocio, roasts the green coffee beans and then grinds them on a grinder given to her by Manuel’s mother as a wedding gift, which is customary in a Guatemalan marriage. (Audrey… where is my coffee grinder?)

Basically, if you want really good coffee, you need to buy from De La Gente or a reputable cooperative with strict standards on farming and sorting. You need to buy it immediately after it is roasted and grind it yourself just before you brew. Basically, Rabbi Flip and I have been drinking the “Boone’s Farm” of coffee and had no idea. (Apologies to those who like “Boone’s Farm”. We will be doubling your annual support😉.) Also… Guatemalans do not make or drink anything but caffeinated coffee. Apparently, we shouldn’t either!

P.S. There’s also now a female farmers’ cooperative, women and their daughters making coffee as part of De La Gente. And if you are eager to drink this amazing coffee, head to B’s Salty and Sweet in Colombia, TN, where Micah members David and Bethany Boran serve it every day!

Rabbis Log From Guatemala: Day 1

The travel day to get to Guatemala began very early, around 3 AM. We flew through Atlanta. Our first taste of Guatemalan culture was sitting right in our row in the form of a 99-year-old Guatemalan abuela (grandmother) traveling back home and separated from her granddaughter on the flight. We quickly became her “family,” helping her to buckle and unbuckle her seatbelt and utilize the restroom as needed.

We arrived in Guatemala city, cleared our immigration and headed to the UNESCO, World Heritage city of Antigua, which sits at 5,000 feet above sea level, surrounded by three of the most gorgeous volcanoes, two of which are currently active.

David and Bethany Boran (Micah members) are our amazing guides. On our first full day we headed out for a walking tour of the city with David as our historian. One of the things we noticed right away is that many of the local Guatemalans are not very tall. Some of that is due to malnutrition in the more indigenous communities, and the fact that so many live at high altitude which naturally lends itself to shorter stature. Or so we were told. Rabbi Flip is feeling very tall and enjoying that. The city itself is entirely composed of cobblestone streets, with very narrow sidewalks and planters that extend out so one must be very aware of where they are stepping and where they are walking. I think it’s not a matter of when we will fall, but how many times each day!

And it’s easy to note your direction by where the volcanoes are located.

And by the Park Central, if you stand still and listen, the sounds are a buffet of noises - an orchestra of bird calls, the water of the main fountain, an old man playing a lute, and tourists walking and shopping.

Antigua is a grid city. Avenidas and calles… like streets and avenues in Manhattan. Antigua means antique… it is the old Guatemalan capital, the colonial capital. Several Catholic monasteries in Antigua were established when the city was established in the 1500s. Indigenous villagers were taken from the surrounding villages and as far north as Mexico City to build the city for the Spaniards. The Catholic monasteries often supported this practice. In 1773, Guatemala City became the new capital and Antigua was largely abandoned. But coffee became a popular crop in the 1830s and Antigua boomed once again.

Masks are everywhere in Guatemalan art. We see them on walls in shops, in the hotel and around the city. Masks are part of the Mayan culture and indicative of spirit animals. They were worn during certain festivals and celebrations and are representative of the indigenous people.

Lots of Israelis can be found traveling around Guatemala. And Jews. Jews from all over. Today we met Orthodox Jews from Los Angeles and Maryland. Guatemala as a country has consistently supported Israel more than most other nations. And despite there not being an active Jewish community that is indigenous, I still see many images that indicate interest in Jewish life and history. Apparently when Jews were expelled from Spain, many came to Guatemala City and have remained. It was a haven for Jewish Spaniards.

Tomorrow we journey up the Agua Volcano to begin meeting some of the farmers and farm communities surrounding Antigua. Hasta manana… until tomorrow!

Social Action Food Drive

Many members of our community (including older Nashvillians and children) have lost their SNAP benefits.  As a result, we will experience a crisis in food availability for our most vulnerable citizens.  As a Jewish community, we believe in caring for our neighbors and feeding the hungry.  It is a driving value held by all Jews and drives the Social Action/Justice committees in our local synagogues.  So, we have joined together to realize our commitment to t’kun olam.

Please join us and the other synagogues in Nashville in these next few weeks to help provide food for our neighbors.  Bring a FULL bag of food items (non-perishables) to Micah, where a designated box can be found. You can also bring checks to our office, or donate at our fundraiser link HERE.  On December 19th, the Second Harvest truck will go synagogue to synagogue to collect…. let’s make sure Micah collects the most!

Be a Part of Micah's Choir Tradition

Congregation Micah has a long standing tradition of having a volunteer choir for the High Holy Days.

Conducted by Maestro John Sevier along with Cantor Josh Goldberg and accompanist, Chris Smallwood, joining the Micah Choir is a great way for Micah Members to engage meaningfully with the community, have a robust musical outlet with support from three professional musicians, and get the satisfaction of contributing beauty and majesty to our High Holy Day Services. 

Rehearsals start this Sunday! 

If you are interested in joining the choir for this High Holy Day season, please reach out to Cantor Goldberg as soon as possible at: jgoldberg@congregationmicah.org 

Cantor’s Israel Log Day 5-7: Gimme Shelter

Like watercolors dripping down the page, days and nights have been blurring together as the week goes on, so I will try to use dates and time stamps as much as possible to help me keep my own story straight. 

As Thursday night (June 12th) rolled around, we were in high spirits despite an emotionally draining day in the Gaza envelope. One of our group members from Nashville (and my good friend who I’ve known since we were in grade school in Dallas), Camden, turned 31 at midnight, so we all wanted to show him a good time. We hit a few different night clubs in southern Tel Aviv, enjoyed some dancing, drinks, and conversation at a rooftop bar. Thursday in Tel Aviv is perhaps the second busiest night of the week for the bustling social scene, since Fridays are more (but not completely) quiet for Shabbat. 

Around 3 am (now Friday the 13th—which I now realize may have been foreshadowing!), we got a red alert while on the rooftop. We all ran down three flights of stairs, out into the street, and into the nearest building we could find that looked open. It was a corporate office building of some sort. We ran down three more flights of stairs, and gathered at the very bottom of the concrete stairwell and began furiously checking our phones to try to figure out exactly what was happening. The headlines were mostly to the tune of, “Israel attacks Iranian nuclear facilities—retaliation is imminent.”  

After a few minutes of deliberation, we decided it would be best to join the rest of our group back at the hostel less than a mile away. From what we heard, Iran was sending attack drones, but it would likely take a while—about 5-7 hours to close the 1,000 gap between Tehran and Israel.  

As I can attest having been through Nashville’s recent tornadoes, the difference between a tornado watch and a tornado warning is similar to the two types of bomb alerts we get here in Israel. Either we get an alert to “stay near a shelter”, or an alert to “enter the shelter immediately.” 

Technically at this point the warning was just to stay near shelter.  But we also knew this was a big deal, a major turning point in the war. Attacking a superpower like Iran is not without consequences. And we were now playing a waiting game.  

The news we read and now understand was that Mossad carried out a major multi-faceted attack, taking out their top commanders and nuclear scientists. The Iranian Regime was just days away from a major nuclear breakthrough, and Israel decided the existential risk of a nuclear Iran was greater than the risk of poking the bear. Diplomatic solutions were long past the point of no return and now was the time to strike. 

We spent about 3 hours in the shelter until finally we got great news—Israel had intercepted every last drone before they even made it to our airspace. This felt like a major win. Israel carried out a heroic and complex operation and dealt a significant blow to a major enemy of their own as well as to the USA. (Remember, the Ayotolla and his henchmen have been chanting “death to Israel, Death to America” for years.) It seemed like David had shot Goliath right in the forehead with a slingshot. 

This also meant we could finally go to bed and exhale a full sigh of relief. At 10:47 am on Friday the 13th, we got a message from Home Front Command app (Israel’s official app to alert citizens of security updates via the IDF) that said “end of stay next to protected space in your area.” I went to bed, but adrenaline, anxiety, and existential dread created a powerful cocktail of insomnia. I knew deep down that Israel may have won this battle, but also had just opened up Pandora’s box. 

After laying in bed for several hours, I finally gave up around noon, when I got a video call from someone in the group that everyone was going to walk down the street to get coffee and pastries from the one shop that was open. I checked my phone and all my warning apps still indicated that we were free to walk around freely—no need to stay near a shelter.  I consulted my cousin, who happens to be the head of the JNF (Jewish National Fund, a major non governmental organization in Israel) who assured me it was totally fine to go out and about as long as we stay aware of any alerts or sirens that may or may not arise. For now, we were in the clear.  So I figured, “why not?” I couldn’t sleep anyway and coffee and a bourekka sounded like a welcome and well deserved treat after a sleepless night. 

We walked down two blocks to the cafe and enjoyed a snack together, sang happy birthday to Camden again, and started discussing what to do next.  

Friday was supposed to be the official kickoff for Tel Aviv Pride festival, something we were all very much looking forward to. Of course, Israel is the only country in the middle east that not only allows people to be openly LGBTQ+, but celebrates queerness and has a large and thriving queer population. Pride festival to all of us represents everything we love about Israel—it’s a celebration and declaration of love, acceptance, individuality, inclusion, and progressivism. 

Unfortunately, but not to our surprise given the circumstances, Pride Fest was cancelled completely. In fact, we also got word that all our flights had been cancelled, as all Israeli airspace was closed until further notice. All commercial Israeli airlines moved their fleets to Europe to avoid aircrafts being targeted by Iran. The reality of this was a bit hard to swallow. I can’t recall any other time in my life when I have been away from home without any conceivable way to get home safely. With no public airport in the country in operation, the only way to get back to the States would be to drive to a neighboring country and catch a flight from there.  So that leaves Jordan and Egypt, neither of which are safe or reliable options right now. 

Despite this, and despite Pride being cancelled, we were still optimistic.  A group of us walked about 25 minutes to the beach. The streets were relatively quiet, but in a calm way, not an unsettling way. Eva Marquis (Micah member and board member) got positive comments from strangers who liked the Israeli flag she tucked into her ponytail. One person even gave us a pride flag to complete her festive outfit. 

We spent a few hours at the beach enjoying the absolutely gorgeous weather and took a swim. All my worries were washed away by the cool waters and soft sand of the Mediterranean. I took a nap under a gazebo, and eventually we made our way back to the hostel for Shabbat. 

Our guide, Sergey asked me to lead a short Kabbalat service, to which I happily obliged. We sang and prayed on the rooftop as the sun set over Tel Aviv. Sadly, at 7:40, about halfway through the service I had planned, we got a warning alert to stay near the shelter. That meant no more rooftop for us. Nobody panicked, but we calmly made our way down to the dining room, where we finished the service and ate a delicious dinner prepared by the hostel staff. 

At 9:02, we got another message from Home Front Command: “In the next few minutes, alerts are expected in your area In your area.”  We heard the sirens going off outside, and all 200 people staying at the Abraham Hostel started making our way out of the dining room, down two flights of stairs to the safe rooms. About halfway down the stairs, we heard a LOUD explosion in the distance and felt the entire stairwell shake as if there was a heavy earthquake.  I felt my heart jump out of my chest. We RAN down the rest of the stairs and into the safe rooms. My heart was still pounding, and I felt my eyes welling up with tears. I thought of my wife, parents, sister, and family and prayed that this wouldn’t be how it all ended for me—I couldn’t bear the thought of that for them (or myself). I sat in the corner and caught my breath for a few minutes, just wanting to be alone. 

Some folks from one of the other tour groups started singing Israeli songs, wanting to break the tension in the room and distract ourselves from the obvious. A few people convinced me to play along on guitar even though I really didn’t feel like it, as I was still quite shaken. But as soon as I started playing, and the music and dancing got louder and faster, I started to feel better. 

There were two more missile barrages that night at 1 am and again at 5 am.  In between warnings, a group of us gathered in the dining room, and Camden and I entertained them with more music. 

We got through the sleepless night all together—laughing, crying, singing, hugging, and supporting each other. 

Saturday was a relatively quiet day, followed by a slightly less chaotic night, with only one time going to the shelter at 2:30 am.

In all, over the weekend, Iran sent 100 drones and nearly 300 missiles all over Israel, with about 14 fatalities total. 

This morning, Birthright moved us and all the Birthright groups around the country to a different location in a remote area (which I won’t disclose online, but you can ask me). There are nearly 400 birthright participants in our hotel, mostly college-age. We had to shelter once so far tonight at the new location, but overall, it does feel slightly less hectic and dangerous here. 

Our trip was supposed to conclude tomorrow (Monday), but as of now, we are stuck here until further notice. We are hopeful that we will all be able to get home safely soon. 

I so appreciate all the texts and calls with concern. This is a life-changing experience, for sure, but I balance that thought by reminding myself that Israelis have to experience this kind of uncertainty all the time in their everyday lives. I think this experience has already made me and everyone in the group more resilient, resourceful, and tough, like a Sabra. I don’t know if I’m quite brave enough yet to sign up for the IDF, but it I do feel such a deeper respect and appreciation for what they do every day to keep the holy land safe.

Praying for a day when everyone here can live in peace, free from fears of attack. Nobody deserves to live without a sense of basic safety and security. 

I promise to keep you updated on our situation. 

With love and appreciation,
Cantor Josh Goldberg

Cantor's Israel Log Day 4

A Note From Rabbi Laurie:

Cantor Josh is safe in Israel during a historic and disconcerting time after Israel's preemptive strike on Iran last night.  All trip participants are safe and looking forward to a peaceful Shabbat together.  The following is Cantor's log from a day in the Gaza envelope yesterday before the strike on Iran. 

---

Today was a day that will live in my mind forever—a day of bearing witness to history and becoming transmitters of memory.

This morning, at 6 a.m., we drove down to Meshek Beit Hagdi, an agricultural center in Netivot, a village just a short drive from the edge of the Gaza Strip.  After being greeted by the operator, we entered an impossibly large greenhouse. As a team, we spent two hours tying and cutting twine used to grow cucumbers.  While not quite as labor-intensive as the activities from our previous two days, it did require concentration, careful use of knives (at least one person nicked themselves), and endurance, since the greenhouse effectively became a gigantic sauna.  An eerie sonic backdrop to our experience was the intermittent sounds of bombs dropping in the distance from across the Gaza border, each like a booming clap of thunder, but without a single cloud in the sky.  We each took a row and worked our way down, accomplishing as much as possible within our allotted time.

As a thank you, the operator let us sample some freshly harvested cucumbers on site.  A fitting and appreciated reward after helping to prepare them for their next cucumber harvest.

After this experience, we departed for the second half of our day: a tour of Reim and S’derot—two cities that now live in infamy as the sites of some of the most horrific battles of October 7th, which history will know forevermore as the beginning of the “Swords of Iron War.”

The rest of the afternoon took on a surreal, dreamlike quality. Sites that we had all seen in pictures over the past two years appeared before us, but somehow still seemed like a mirage.

We started at the burnt vehicles compound, which is, sadly, exactly what it sounds like. A collection of Nova music festival victims’ vehicles—charred, gruesomely disfigured, and riddled with bullet holes. Now effectively an automotive mausoleum, it stands as a visceral tribute to their tragic and terrifying murders, and the heroism of those who risked their lives to try and rescue others from brutal acts of terrorism on that fateful day.  We met the father of festival-goer Ben Shimoni (z’l’), who happened to come to the compound that morning to lovingly adorn his late son’s car with extra Israeli flags.

With tears in our eyes, we moved on to the festival site itself—a large open field where a groovy music festival transformed into a hellish nightmare. We gathered and heard personal stories from the IDF soldiers who joined us for the day.  Everyone in Israel is seemingly connected by one or two degrees of separation.  Then we walked around the hallowed grounds, spending time looking at and reading each plaque, every one with a picture and a story representing a sweet young angel taken too soon. Artists, musicians, and techies—boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, siblings, and cousins of those they left behind. All so very beautiful and so very young and with so much potential and so much life left to live. I encountered a young soldier standing in front of one of the plaques, softly crying to himself. I asked him if he knew the person in the picture. He said, “He was my best friend. The best person ever.”  I hugged him.


As our bus took off from the site, driving onto the narrow roads leading back to the main highway, I had a momentary bout of survivor’s guilt as the cruel reality hit me: the simple fact that we were able to drive away safely, while hundreds of festival-goers who desperately tried to escape were prevented from doing so by heavy gunfire and explosives. It seemed so unfair.  That compounded with the overwhelming feeling that 99% of the world doesn’t seem to fully understand or care about what happened here.  It begs the question: what would the public discourse have been had this happened at Coachella, Bonnaroo, or Burning Man??

Finally, we visited the police station memorial in S’derot where all that remains in place of where a local police station once stood are 18 pillars. Our guide, Sergei, explained to us how this battle unfolded, as the local police force did everything they could to fend off the terrorists infiltrating their city. Ultimately, Israeli forces decided to cut their losses and destroy the entire station and the gunmen that remained inside.

While we had lunch, we ran into some other IDF members. I talked to one of them, an American from New Jersey who had also been visiting the Nova site that morning. He said the soldiers are sent there every so often as a reminder of why exactly we are fighting this war.

I think all of the people in our now tight-knit travel group finished the day differently than we started it.  It was a somber day, and we will carry that weight with us even as we head into the celebratory joy of Shabbat and the Tel Aviv Pride festival that awaits us this weekend.

The de facto mantra of Nova Survivors and families is, “WE WILL DANCE AGAIN.” That mantra will be echoing through the halls of every nightclub in Tel Aviv this weekend. With every flash of strobe lights and every thump of subwoofers, Israelis and their allies reclaim their joy, reaffirming their millennia-old hope that the nation of Israel indeed lives. Am Yisrael chai!!! 

With deep love, respect, and gratitude,
Cantor Josh Goldberg

ADDENDUM:
Around 3 am, we got a red alert, and sirens started going off. Israel launched a major strike on Iran’s nuclear program. After a few hours, we were told it was safe to go to bed but to remain on alert. Possible Pride Fest may be postponed, and flights may be cancelled. Going to try to get some sleep and will see what tomorrow holds. This was our second red alert this week, but this one is more serious as it involves a major nuclear power and immediately made international news. Luckily, we have a bomb shelter here in the hostel. I feel safe and grateful to the IDF for protecting us. But prayers are still appreciated. ❤️

Cantor Josh's Israel Log: Day 2-3

Shalom Chaverim!

I am so happy to be in the holy land.

After our first day in the country getting adjusted to our hostel (and the time zone) we have now completed our first two full days of volunteering. On Monday we started bright and early, taking a bus from Tel Aviv to Kibbutz Magal, about 45 minutes north, just a few miles away from the Green Line (Palestinian border.) Part of this massive Kibbutz complex is a farm called the Tlamim Center. This place was truly unbelievable: a non-profit that employs individuals with special needs as well as young Israelis on gap year before their army service. They offer incredible programs including structured animal-assisted therapy through interaction with a wide variety of animals such as horses, dogs, sheep, and more. Programs are thoughtfully designed to meet the needs of diverse populations, including individuals with physical, emotional, or cognitive disabilities, trauma survivors from the security forces, and at-risk youth. We split up into groups and spent the morning working tilling the soil in their fields, and tending to the animals. It was labor intensive, but very rewarding and a great first activity. (I was somehow stuck walking and brushing adorable sweet dogs while my fellow group mates were literally digging ditches in the sun- so I’m not complaining!)

After a delicious lunch at the kibbutz (did you know kibbutzim have their own cafeterias??), we headed up to the north to work at Kibbutz Mishmarot in their social mobility center, where they collect thousands of surplus items from retailers all over Israel to donate to those in need. We folded and boxed hundreds of items of clothing. And I finished it off with a mini song session.

This morning (wednesday) we went to Jerusalem to help bag potatoes, radishes and tomatoes at Chasdei Naomi, a charity that provides food for needy families and holocaust survivors. The employees were so grateful for ourhelp. And our new slogan at the end was “NASH POTATOES!”

After this volunteer activity we had some free time to roam the city of Jerusalem. My heart felt so happy walking around the Jewish quarter. The entire country seems way more patriotic than I remember it being last time I was here summer of 2023 with the Congregational trip.

Reminders of October 7th are EVERYWHERE. On walls, busses, buildings. Clearly the tragedy is still just as fresh in everyone’s minds here as it was 600 days ago.

The stark difference between the austerity of the old city of Jerusalem, and the LGBTQ rainbow energy of Tel Aviv as pride weekend approaches was striking. Despite the setbacks, unfathomable tragedies, and scrutiny of seemingly the entire world, Israel is as vibrant, beautiful, energetic, and magical as ever. I love this country more than words can ever say and remain hopeful that it will soon be restored back to its full glory and everyone here can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

More to come!

With love,

Cantor Josh Goldberg

Visit Israel With Congregation Micah

Extra Information:

• This visit to Israel will include travel in the north to see how events post-October 7 have affected northern communities. We will spend Shabbat in Jerusalem and visit the Gaza envelope to understand what happened on October 7th. We will need a minimum of ten participants for this trip to "go".

• Flight suggestions: Air Canada, El Al, British Airways (leaving Nashville on 10/20, arrival in Tel Aviv on 10/21; departing Tel Aviv on 10/26 just before midnight or 10/27 just after midnight, returning to Nashville on 10/28

• Hotels: Orient Hotel Jerusalem, Kibbutz hotel in Galilee

• All meals included

• Tipping included in the trip fee (not additional)

Cantor Josh's Israel Log: Day 1

Cantor has finally made it to Israel! If you’re interested in receiving daily updates on Cantor’s time abroad in Israel over this next week, make sure that you fill out the form just below.

Cantor's Israel Blog ‘N Vlog Begins Next Week

If you are interested in receiving daily email updates when Cantor posts new content related to his Israel trip, fill out the form below.

Second Micah Sponsored Diaper Wrap

Your Social Action/Justice Committee hosts a second Micah-sponsored “Diaper Wrap” with the Diaper Connection of Middle TN. All adults and middle/high school children are welcome. Gather at their warehouse (directions provided) from 10 AM to 12 PM on Sunday, April 13, 2025, to help prepare diapers for families who need help with this expense. Questions? Email Lynn Heady (lynnheady3@gmail.com)

Leave No Child Wet Behind!

A Message From Michael Ochs

Micah Changed My Life… and I am Forever Grateful

Dear Congregation Micah,

I am thrilled to share that on Friday, November 22, I’ll be back at Micah for Shabbat services with Cantor Josh and the Rabbis Rice. Words can hardly capture how wonderful it feels to be returning to my forever synagogue more frequently these days. It’s true what they say—there really is no place like home.

Although I’m still busy writing, recording, and performing around the world, I now find myself returning to Nashville more often. This has given me the chance to reflect on just how impactful Micah has been on my journey and the place Micah holds in my heart.

The truth is, Rabbi Ken Kanter and the congregation changed the course of my life. I first wandered into Micah for an open house—the grand opening of our current building—so late that everyone had already gone home. Everyone, that is, except Rabbi K., who greeted me warmly and asked about my work. His eyes lit up when I mentioned my music, and soon enough, he asked if I’d play piano at Micah on Friday nights. I initially said no, hesitant to take on the responsibility with my busy travel schedule—and my general fear of commitment! But he wouldn’t take no for an answer—thank you, Hashem! Before I knew it, I was behind the piano every Friday night… and there was nowhere else I would rather be.

When a song I wrote went on to win the Gospel Music Association’s Dove Award for Song of the Year, Rabbi K. looked at me and said, half-sarcastically, “Michael, here’s an idea… how about you write a song for your people?”

I had never even considered writing Jewish music before. Growing up, my shul didn’t allow instruments, and my father’s side of the family was Orthodox, so I was accustomed to the beautiful, old melodies sung a cappella. I hadn’t thought much beyond them—until Micah.

Rabbi K. kept encouraging me to write more Jewish music, and before long, I had reimagined the entire Shabbat service. I produced an album with Micah favorite Daniel Leanse on vocals, and soon, I was being commissioned to write songs for other congregations, the 92nd Street Y, and leading Shabbat services in synagogues from L.A. to Oslo, New York to Copenhagen. Congregation Micah truly changed the trajectory of my life.

But what I love most about Micah are the people who embraced me and my music all those years ago. These friends became my second family. We’ve laughed together, cried together, noshed together, mourned together, traveled to Israel together, welcomed Alaa and *The Pursuit of Harmony* to Micah, engaged in thoughtful dialogue on a myriad of difficult issues...and lifted our voices in song together. We’ve been there for each other. I often joke that Micah has been the longest relationship of my life!

So please join me on Friday, November 22, for Shabbat services. We’ll sing some of the songs that bring us that feeling of continuity and belonging. And maybe we’ll try one or two new ones that, hopefully, will feel like old favorites before long.

I look forward to sharing Shabbat with you, reminiscing, and creating new memories together.