July 29, 2026

 
Shlomo Artzi writes:
“Imagine a time when the times will be less sad, more joy, sun in our pockets. Imagine a time when life will be filled with so much that has been lost. Sun over our heads, almost like it was in our childhood. A world that might be simpler.”
 
What can I tell you? This time here has been magical. Not because life here is magical, but because these weeks have been filled with possibility.
 
A dear friend told me that somehow, when I am here, I see things through a filter of innocence. Not that I wear blinders. Not that I ignore the pain, complexity, or challenges. In fact, the deeper I dig into the complexity, the more I see possible paths toward redemption. It feels naïve even as I write these words, but I understand things more clearly because I refuse to stop asking, imagining, wondering, and searching for light. At home, I preach hope and optimism. Here, I gain the fuel to believe in the same.
 
Maybe it is because I don’t live with the daily pressure of the conflict. But I think it is more than that. I feel an authenticity here that is raw, an energy that is brimming with a hunger to see possibility.
 
Some people understandably see survival only through the lens of protecting themselves. Yet I have experienced far more people who see survival as an act of perseverance for themselves and for humanity. They understand that the current paradigm cannot continue. Vigilance remains essential. The painful lessons of the last few years are not lost on anyone, especially those who have been directly impacted. But alongside that vigilance is a recognition that hope and a plan are also necessary. At the end of long disagreements, almost everyone I speak with eventually admits some version of this truth.
 
And so, my final days here were as full as every other week of this remarkable month.
 
I spent my final Shabbat with a couple who are now dear friends. I never would have met them if not for the war. How conflict can produce any fruit at all is astounding. I met the husband two and a half weeks after October 7th. Many of you have heard me tell the story of Rabbi Dan Cohen and me staying an extra day after the emergency mission we joined with other rabbis from our area. We met him during that time, and he brought us to a military base that normally no one is permitted to enter. But times were different, and we needed each other.
 
He is a microbiology professor, but his son was serving in an elite unit that desperately needed protective equipment. The connection was immediate. And within 24 hours, you helped provide a significant amount of funding to make that possible. From there, a relationship was forged, not just between communities, but between people. Intellectual. Emotional. Human.
 
I drove down to the desert, where he and his family live. I was a little reticent because I was staying for an entire Shabbat. But I arrived at 6 PM, and we didn’t go to sleep until 2:30 in the morning. We talked about everything. He shared stories I cannot repeat here. But more importantly, we shared our narratives. He wanted to understand what is happening to Jews in America. What justice and mean. How those goals can sometimes appear to conflict, but do not have to be mutually exclusive.
 
This is a family deeply committed to peace, but also deeply committed to survival. They have put themselves and their children on the line for both. We laughed. We cried. We argued. We listened.
 
We started a new WhatsApp thread that he named: “The Deep, the Shallow, Fun in-between.” That’s exactly what it is.
 
I needed to leave because I had to get to Tel Aviv for more hellos and farewells. I had lunch with a young man from TBJ who made Aliyah six months ago, as well as a former member of Rodeph Sholom who also made Aliyah years ago. Rabbi Dan and Raina joined us, along with our dear friend Rabbi Michali and her husband, Itai. What a gift to sit together over heavenly falafel and even more importantly, meaningful conversation. I am so proud of these two young people and the lives they are building here.
 
I then had to say goodbye for a good while to Dan and Raina. They simply look phenomenal as Israelis…. healthy, vibrant, and full of life. They have become such close friends, life friends, over these past few years. I was simultaneously so happy for them and so sad to hug them farewell. I will miss them dearly.
I returned to Jerusalem to pack, collect my thoughts, and wrap my arms around the paradox of this moment: tending to the part of my heart that breaks when I leave here while beginning to ignite the part that cannot wait to see Lauren, my children, TBJ, and dear friends.
 
All of that meaning raced through my mind as I looked down at my sneakers and Israeli clogs, literally seeing the marks of where I had been and the people who had shaped this month.
 
I refused to let my last full day go to waste.
 
I learned with my dear teacher, Tal. We translated one more song, shared final reflections about this chapter of our almost four-year journey together, and I assured her that I would find a way to work harder. My Hebrew has returned to a fluent level, but it took a real hit over the past six months when life made consistency difficult. It took this entire month of “breaking my teeth” before the natural flow returned. Someone asked me last week why this matters to me. I told them that speaking Hebrew in Israel is a key that opens doors, to culture, politics, news, intimate relationships, and a deeper level of belonging.
Besides running final errands, I heard a familiar voice on a Jerusalem street. I turned around and saw my first mentor from rabbinical school, Rabbi Shaul Feinberg, walking with his wife and adult children. I was running out of time. But the world is constantly taking time away from us. Instead of letting him walk by and simply cherishing old memories, I called after him.
 
“Shaul, it is Matt Gewirtz.” He turned and said, “Oh, Matt, it is you! How wonderful to see you.” We embraced with tears in my eyes, and I think in his as well. How did he become 83 and I become 60? Suddenly, I was 26 again, and he was in his late forties. We stood together in the Jerusalem sun, our hearts warmer than the climate.
 
I reminded him how much he helped me adjust to rabbinical school and find my path toward the rabbinate. He told me that helping me become me had also helped him become him. Typical Shaul. Still a mentor. We embraced, and for a moment I was transported in time and then brought back again.
 
My final dinner was with a newer friend of Lauren and mine, Gavriel Halevi. His father introduced us a few years ago, and we immediately bonded over our shared, and perhaps slightly irrational, love for the New York Knicks. For the first half hour, we talked about nothing but the Knicks, two little kids enjoying something we love. Eventually, we moved on to family, life, and most importantly, his sacred work in Israel.
 
Gavriel is part of the leadership team of Equalizer, an extraordinary nonprofit that uses sports as a catalyst for education, connection, and social transformation. They work across Israeli society, especially in communities that have historically lacked opportunity, using sports to teach values like tolerance, respect, and violence prevention. TBJ has proudly supported two of their teams, including teams wearing our logo on their uniforms.
 
Then came the airport. Delays. A departure that did not happen until 3 AM.
And yet, sitting there, I found myself unable to summarize the month because the truth is, I don’t think I can yet. It was as meaningful as I could have imagined. I do not take any of this for granted. Your support of your rabbi spending this kind of time to learn, reconnect, and reflect and then sharing that journey with you; is something I hold incredibly precious.
 
I won’t try to wrap all of it up here. I will simply say this: I will be speaking about these experiences and distilling them into my first Shabbat sermon back at TBJ on Friday, August 7th. Please join me.
 
One final moment. Sitting a few rows away from me on the plane was Yair Lapid, former Prime Minister of Israel and current member of Knesset. I do not usually do this kind of thing, but several hours into the flight I approached him. I introduced myself, told him about our community, and thanked him for his service to our homeland, especially for his support of the rights and recognition of Reform Jews in Israel. He was gracious, warm, and smiling. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, just like almost every other Israeli on the plane. The difference was that when we landed, there was security waiting to escort him. Just another unexpected moment in a month filled with them.
 
These dispatches have been deeply cathartic for me. But ultimately, they were always meant for you, to give you a glimpse into what I was seeing, feeling, and experiencing in real time. I tried to encounter every part of the spectrum. I tried to listen before judging. I know that complete objectivity is impossible, but I truly tried to approach every conversation with curiosity and humility. I hope it resonated. Your comments and encouragement have meant so much to me.
Perhaps that is what I am taking home most of all. Not answers. Not certainty. But deeper questions, deeper relationships, and a renewed commitment to searching for light even in complicated places.
 
Most of all, I thank Lauren. She doesn’t think twice about me spending the extra time away from home. She takes on more responsibility and cheers me on. Part of the reason we fell in love was over Israel. Our understanding of life and love comes through our deep attachment there. I write about it here, but her attachment there is as much or even deeper than mine. I love and thank you, Lu!
 
To redemption and peace.
Much love,
Matthew