July 8, 2025

Every society and culture have its own distinct qualities; their own dichotomies and contradictions that identify them each as unique. Those qualities are those that draw us close or sometimes repel us…..and sometimes they do both at once.
When the fullness of that uniqueness happens to me here, I am somehow filled up in a profound manner.

Let me explain.

During a quintessentially meaningful welcome by our dear friends Gail and Joel Rosenfeld, replete with deep conversation, outstanding meals, a bit to drink and a sweet dose of Yaniv and his kids, Joel told me that we had a visit to make to someone who is sick. Who did we need to visit? Yair, the local butcher. Sounds random, I know. But it immediately wasn’t to me. You see over the past few years of visits; Joel always brings me to his butcher of 15 years. Not only is his meat supreme, but his heart more so. We spend no less than a ½ hour each time, sharing stories about nothing and everything. I think the meat tastes even more savory because of Yair’s huge heart. Yair had a sudden stroke and so Joel took me to visit his home on Shabbat, as he was able to come home from rehabilitation for the weekend. We entered and met his wife and Yair who was in a wheelchair. Yair’s face lit up with delight when we entered. He embraced us with a kiss and a magnificent smile. As his wife pushed cake and coffee at us, Yair calmly told what happened to him. Within 5 minutes of conversation a family of neighbors burst in with more bottles of drink and more to eat. Within a half hour another 15 showed up, all boisterous and loving. This is a Yemenite family and community. All of them are Orthodox. Yair made sure to tell each one that I am a Reform Rabbi. I guarantee you that not one of them had ever met a Reform Rabbi. None of them did anything but be more loving. There had to be 20 conversations happening at once. No matter how much my Hebrew is street fluent, I was only able to keep up with 50%. My head was spinning as they kept bringing out lamb, rice, beans and beer. They laughed and spoke about life and healing. They made fun of each other and all kept eyes of love and worry on dear Yair. He couldn’t have been happier. Neither could Joel and me. I felt like I was watching a movie that somehow, I was now a part. The warmth and immediate affection I felt was just culturally different. Their absolute nonjudgment of me and my different religious practice astounded me. And being in a room where we were different on the outside than all of them didn’t matter. It was pure human connection and acceptance. What I am trying to explain is that there is utter judgment in our world of silos, but I was given a key to be as at home as I wanted. Our difference was indeed the key to our connection. Yair, the Butcher!

We arrived to Jerusalem a day later. I began my studies immediately with my beloved teacher, Tal. We meet in our regular coffee shop. All kinds of folk come in and out. She stopped to introduce me to a friend of hers, a fairly famous actor on Israeli screen and stage. He is also Orthodox. His deep spirit and sense of balance was immediately apparent. We had a short, but instantly deep connection. He was in the coffee shop to meet his rabbi with whom he meets weekly to study and talk about life. He told me his rabbi was from one of the more religiously radical parts of the West Bank. My instinct was that his rabbi certainly wouldn’t want to meet me. I was presumptuous again. He was brought over for an introduction, again as a Reform Rabbi from New Jersey, no Kippah, etc. He didn’t even look at my head to see

if it was covered. He simply wanted to know about me and then as rabbis do, we spoke Torah. He loved that I wanted to talk about Tradition and invited me to a class In Jerusalem (I assure, not to proselytize). He wants me to come and share my own insights with his students. I did ask for a moment about where he lives and why. We interacted with total civility, clearly with different perspectives on the world. We bid farewell for the time being with a different face to our presumed differences. Two souls, connected to the same Divine umbilical cord, living totally different lives. A dichotomy that made for wholeness.

Talia was finally to arrive that night with her best friend from home. They came early for their once cancelled and now resumed exchange program. The families of the Israeli kids with whom they are connected called and declared to us that their girls insisted on meeting Talia and Liv at the airport with us. When Lauren and I got to the airport their Israeli friends were waiting with signs and balloons and utter anticipation. Mind you, Talia and Liv were to come home to Jerusalem with us and not see the girls for at least a day or so. One of the Israeli girls told Lauren she had been crossing the days off the calendar for 10 days (the day the Iran war ended). The Israelis said to Lauren, “You told us that your family would come as soon as the air space opened. But you didn’t just say it, you actually showed up. You are here to be with and hold us.” It took forever for our girls to get out from Customs, etc. When they walked through the doors, the reunion of our girls and theirs was redemptive. You see, the Israeli about whom I write, her family’s home was a block away from a direct hit of an Iranian missile. Her home was badly impacted. They will be living other places for another three months. Lauren and I turned our heads and cried. The Israeli and Americans couldn’t let go of each other. And of course, Talia and Liv left us, the porters, to take their suitcases and off they went for a night out. Embraces of solidarity and love lend hope. Showing up as much as possible is incumbent. The recent Iran conflict is barely over and hope of humanity lends balm.
And finally, for now, yesterday, we reclaimed Talia and Liv and took them down to see the devastated Nir Oz, whose members are TBJ’s family for 18 months now. I’ve been twice already and honestly didn’t want to go back to reexperience the misery of destruction and loss. But we felt it was imperative for the girl to understand. It impacted Lauren me even more so than the other times. Perhaps because it was just us with our dear friend, Chen. He was even more personal in his descriptions than he had been previously. Each home carried a story of miraculous survival and horrific loss and kidnapping. It all felt so palpable, as does their long road of healing that still is at its early stages, as 9 of their members are still in captivity. Chen spoke of their latest communal struggle of what to maintain as signs of memorial and what needs to be demolished so that life can begin anew for those who will return. Not an easy decision because every demolition removes the last of their old normal and yet every burnt-out home is a reminder of the nightmare of their lifetimes. More to come on this ethical dilemma. And because the war in Gaza is still raging, our visit was punctuated at least every 15 minutes with the sounds of war, close and clearly audible. I said to Lauren that never did I imagine that I would ever be used to the sounds of war as I have in the last 20 months. More dichotomy filled with pain and somehow with hope of more light to come. We will join all our friends from Nir Oz on Thursday night as we celebrate connection, renewal, solidarity and sibling love from New Jersey to Israel.

And of course, we returned for a huge middle eastern meal back in Jerusalem, with Talia and Liv arguing with us on the way home about what Truth is and what it isn’t….why the Torah should be maintained and lived by when we can’t prove it factually. Talia doesn’t go deep with us like that often, but I am guessing the conflict of truths she and Liv had just experienced at Nir Oz provoked a good old teenage challenge of parents. Dichotomy that lends itself to depth of thought.
I know, a typically lengthy dispatch from me. And, I haven’t written a word about Israel, post Iran. I will, but also a sign that Israelis are back living as much as they can while still feeling existential exhaustion.

And I can’t end without also expressing our utter devastation in constantly watching the utter tragedy in Texas. How to make any sense of such random despair is soul burning. We are heartbroken as what those families and communities are navigating. Prayers are not enough, but ours are steadfast.

If you made it this far, I thank you for caring to read and I appreciate that you are helping us process our myriads of emotions.

Here’s to dichotomy, non-judgment, hope and perhaps good news to come from Washington DC for peace.

Love to you from Jerusalem.
Matthew