As the winds and fires rage, causing threat and destruction, we turn to one another for help and support.
As far as I know, we are all accounted for, but some have evacuated, and others are on alert for evacuation. We would like to facilitate in any way we can, so if you have a guest space available to help someone needing to evacuate, please let us know. If you need to evacuate and don’t yet have a plan or a place to go, please let us know, and we will do our best to connect you. Call the office 310-392-3029, or email office@mishkon.org. God does not often act separately from us, so if we are able, let us be God’s agents in lending a hand, space, and comfort to those in need.
Elijah the prophet noted that God was not present in the raging fire or the destructive winds but in the still, quiet voice, the kol d’mamah dakah. In moments of anxiety, remember to take a deep breath. Like the “still, quiet voice,” this allows us moments of calm despite the stress around us.
With prayers of safety and support,
--Rabbi Katzan
December 17, 2024
Dear Friends,
When Jews refer to the dead, we often attach an acronym after their names, z”l, which stands for “zichronam livracha/their memory should be for a blessing.” In Israel today, this custom of realizing blessing from memory has become a national practice of strengthening one another to extraordinary effect, giving one a sense that, despite the rest of reality, they are living in a sea of holiness.
As many of you know, this past week I was privileged to participate in the Rabbinical Assembly convention of Conservative and Masorti rabbis from around the world, this year held in Jerusalem. It was an incredible program of Torah, poetry, creative expression, meeting colleagues, and, most important, encountering Israel and Israelis where they are now, 14 months into a war ignited by the Hamas invasion on October 7. I witnessed a range of spiritual, psychological, and social progress, as well as indelible questions that continue to stain the heart and soul of our extended family in Israel. One of the more profound developments since my trip there one year ago is everywhere I looked: stickers.
Families and friends of victims and soldiers fallen since October 7 have taken to creating bumper-stickers with images of their loved one and a memorial epitaph, an expression that, to them, represents how their loved one lived his or her life. At Har Herzl, the military cemetery in Jerusalem, the grave of each soldier fallen since October 7 has become a holy space filled with color, poetry, mementos, photographs, and stacks of stickers for the taking. The intention is that people will take a sticker from the grave and put it somewhere, a park bench, their car, a public fence, not only spreading the glow of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen but also reminding you of the simple truths that make life so deep and meaningful, what these beautiful young people lived — and died — for.
“One doesn’t need a reason to live joyfully.” “Easy paths do not lead to special places.” “Enjoy life and don’t forget to smile.” “Keep your light bright and shining — you never know for just how many people you may be a lighthouse.”
Because I will unpack this powerful trip in my upcoming sermons, I will offer here a message I have come to appreciate about the holiday of Hanukkah: A festival of light is incomplete if we do not also pay attention to the shadows the light reveals. Israel has made incredible progress, but the war, the deaths, the existential threat persists, and they are woven into all aspects of life. Every day, Israelis insist on living life, insist on calling their political leaders to account, insist on remembering their fallen loved ones out loud — and insist we do so as well. This Hanukkah, as we light our menorah, let us remember that the Maccabees fought to be free to be their authentic selves despite a larger world seeking to snuff them and their traditions out, and that the fight to be free to be ourselves in our ancient homeland continues in earnest to this day.
Let us also recount an Israeli song or poem written since October 7 or quote one of these stickers — of which there are far too many. Let us find ways to participate in addressing the shadows this war has unleashed and revealed. Most important, this Hanukkah, let us remember that we ourselves have the potential to unleash powerful light into the world and that this is our collective purpose as a people.
“Keep your light bright and shining — you never know for just how many people you may be a lighthouse.”
Wishing you and all you hold dear a Hanukkah celebration of light, healing, and hope.
--Rabbi Katzan
Dear Friends,
Passover is the holiday of questions, of memory, and of hope. For thousands of years, Jews have reflected on our origin story to help make meaning of the situation and place in which we find ourselves. Once again, Passover this year really has poignant relevance.
“In every generation they rise up to destroy us, but God saves us from their hands… .” October 7 continues to reverberate for us all, and the images of our hostages still held in captivity put painful punctuation on this line from the Hagaddah. Passover may help us memorialize the trauma, but it must also inspire hope.
At the Seder, we are obligated to fulfill five mitzvot, five commandments: Two are commanded by the Torah, and three are dictated by the Rabbis of old. On the Seder night, we are to:
- Eat Matzah, which is both the bread of affliction and the bread of freedom.
- Tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt.
- Eat Marror, bitter herbs.
- Drink four cups of wine, each cup symbolic of redemption.
- Sing the Hallel, a liturgy of praise to God, who lifted us up from the trauma of oppression to the heights of redemption.
Each of these commandments is fulfilled with our mouth. The genius of Jewish tradition is that, with the same mouth we remember by “eating” suffering, we are also obligated to internalize and express hope. A people fixated on its own suffering, its own victimhood, is doomed to grievance. Judaism forces us to invest in hope for the future, and this is redemptive of the human spirit.
Today, many groups and communities may lay claim to some form of victimhood and oppression, and they, too, deserve a seat at a Seder. I pray that, in the reflection of their suffering, they may taste the liberation that comes from aspiring to a vision of what might come next, to envision their wounds healed and a well-integrated future.
We conclude the Seder with the words Le’shanah ha’ba’ah b’Yerushalayim/Next year in Jerusalem. Our vision of the future is in a Jerusalem reconstructed and reimagined. May it be that we merit seeing a Jerusalem with no more need of Iron Dome, with its people healed from insecurity and trauma, and with firm and trusted resolutions to its many threats and conflicts with her neighbors.
May you and all who are dear to you have a beautiful and meaningful celebration of Passover, and I look forward to hearing from you at a service, program, or conversation at Mishkon very soon. Am Yisrael Chai, and Chag Sameach.
--Rabbi Katzan
Dear Friends,
Since October 7, Jews around the world, and we at Mishkon, have taken to singing verses from the liturgy Acheinu kol beit Yisrael ha’netunim b’tzarah u’v’shivyah ha’omdim bein bayam u’vein bayabasha/To our brothers and sisters, all the House of Israel, those ensnared in trouble or held captive, whether at sea or on land … . The liturgy continues, imploring God’s intervention to bring the afflicted out of darkness, out from their anxiety and trauma and into the warmth of light and freedom. The soulful melody of Abie Rotenberg has helped turn this somewhat-obscure piece of liturgy into a unifying anthem of solidarity and prayer for solace.
Tonight, as Shabbat ended, I heard of Iran’s attack on Israel, a retaliation for Israel’s attack on an Iranian embassy in Syria. Hundreds of drones and missiles rained down on many parts of Israel but were nearly entirely thwarted by Israel’s defense systems and by American naval interceptions. So far, there are no fatalities and little damage in Israel. Thank God.
I know that many are on edge and worrying about where this will lead. Our feeling of vulnerability has been accentuated not only by the Hamas attacks of October 7 but also by strong feelings of abandonment. Most Jews alive today have no personal memory of these feelings of isolation and shattered trust. But our history and even our liturgy is shockingly aware of it. Painfully, this is not new.
But I am convinced that, despite the eruptions of anti-Semitic hatred and the makings of global conflict, the State of Israel and the Jewish people are strong and will be OK. We will come through this, and our future will be safe and secure.
The attack was announced by Iran as a retaliation for Israel’s strike — a response to months and years of Israel contending with Iran’s proxies of Hamas and Hezbollah. Pundits in Israel and elsewhere have understood that Iran had no choice but to make a big show of retaliation. But, they continue, Iran is not interested in an all-out war with Israel, let alone with the United States. As unsuccessful as this attack was, I get the feeling it was just serious enough for them to save face and to show their Islamist allies they are still a regional power to reckon with.
There are some very old festering hatreds and challenges, but there are also fresh opportunities for stability in the region as additional Arab states are realizing they have more to gain from an alliance with Israel than from holding on to old conflicts. Let us pray that these trends continue and succeed in being God’s agent in delivering us the safety and security we so desperately desire.
In just over a week, it will be Passover, when we recount being taken out from the narrows of oppression in Egypt and brought into the light of freedom and redemption. I can think of no better blessing for us to contemplate than the conclusion of “Acheinu,” Hamakom yerahem aliehem v’yotziem me’afela l’orah/May God have mercy on themand bring them out from trouble to tranquility, from darkness to light, from subjugation to redemption. May God bring the hostages home, and may we once again feel trust, security, and brotherhood among our neighbors and the international community.
--Rabbi Katzan
January Letter from Israel
January 9, 2023
Dear Friends,
I wish you could all be with me here in Israel. It has been a healing and inspiring couple of weeks, and I feel recharged from the contact I’ve had with Israelis, with the other volunteers, and with the land itself. After planting more fennel than I’ve ever eaten in my life, my body feels a bit broken, but my soul feels whole.
As I wrote in my last note, there is insistent hope, a palpable sense of connectedness, and a conspicuous sobriety and lack of rowdiness even in the pubs. Although the country is a raw mixture of shock, trauma, and grieving, it is also unified, determined, and focused. It is a community that is, as it were, on fire but not consumed.
In my farewell to the group at Israel Food Rescue, I referred to the parsha of last week, Shemot, where we read of Moses encountering the burning bush. I referred to it because it took place at the “far end of the field,” where we often found ourselves, and where Moses’ encounter changed his life. It made me think of how we had spent our days in multiple fields, and although we were not directly addressed by God, there is no doubt that our lives have been touched by the significance of showing up for Israel at this time, with our hands in the earth and our hearts joined with the nation.
The metaphor of the bush that was “on fire but not consumed” aptly describes Israel and the Jewish people. As a people, we are on fire all over the world. French Jews are, once again, confronting so much anti-Semitism that they are moving to Israel in large numbers. That October 7 has inspired an exponential growth in expressed antipathy toward Jews, as opposed to sympathy and empathy, is beyond alarming. But we are not being consumed. We are not falling apart; we are coming together. This happens when we face the reality before us.
In the story, Moses first turned away from the burning bush and contemplated what this mysterious thing could be. He then intentionally turned toward it, facing a reality that spoke to him, even if he did not want to hear it. He made himself accountable to the task of leadership, and Jewish history changed forever. We, too, are being called on to look at our global reality and to be accountable for one another.
When we face grief, challenges in family or community, politics, or any significant problem, we are better able to see reality for what it is and the demands it makes of us. It is painful, but it is from this place that we realize our agency to do something about it. This is how old patterns are broken. We are being called to come together.
I have learned the meaning of the ubiquitous motto here in Israel, B’yachad nenatze’ach/Together we will be victorious. The emphasis is not on victory. The emphasis is on unity. Israelis have profound disagreement on what the Jewish character of the State should be or look like, but they have awakened to the reality that no one group can dictate to the rest, that they must figure it out together. The relief and gratitude Israelis have expressed to volunteers showing up is evidence that we in America and around the world have a role to play in Israel’s emergence from this profound crisis. Our task, as Moses decided to do, is to intentionally turn toward Israel and look at the crisis it faces and the painful moral challenges and standards no other country is held to. We are being asked to turn toward our Jewish communities and toward our own meaningful observance and expression of Judaism. It is a complex and painful situation, but it is the reality before us. We can make a difference.
This coming week, we will read parshat Bo, where Moses will once again face Pharaoh and demand freedom for his people. Pharaoh, the institution of familiar and hardened oppression, will refuse to allow the Israelites their freedom. Moses was a burning bush to Pharaoh, but Pharaoh refused to turn toward him. Pharaoh will pay dearly for his stubborn intransigence. We cannot afford to be like Pharaoh; we need to be like Moses.
As I prepare to leave Israel, my body is a little sore, but my soul feels restored. B’yachad nenatze’ach, together we will be victorious. We need each other now more than ever, as a community and as a world-wide family. I look forward to sharing more reflections at Mishkon and around the Shabbat table. Now that I have test-driven this volunteer project, I fully endorse the Israel Food Rescue program for any of you looking to use your own hands to help Israel at this time. Go to their website, Israelfoodrescue.com, and I will be happy to answer any questions you may have. And please reach out to have coffee with me or come to services. I look forward to discussing what connecting more deeply as a Jew and community can look like.
Am Yisrael Chai.
--Rabbi Katzan
Letter from Israel
December 29, 2023
Dear Friends,
The band Counting Crows sing, “A long December, and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last…” For us as a global Jewish community, these words act more like a prayer. I must say, despite all the trauma, darkness, and horror we have absorbed, I am encouraged to believe that the coming year will indeed end up better than the last.
As you may know, I am in Israel now for two weeks volunteering. The aftermath of October 7th reverberates through the country, and the protracted mobilization of the army has left many fields untended, as it were, so I join the many volunteers coming to help fill the gaps. I have found there is much more going on in Israel than we realize.
A few days ago, I participated in project “Grilling for Hope” that prepares and serves BBQ meals to soldiers at bases around the country. We went to a base just outside of Gaza where shelling could be heard not too far away. This base is for reservist infantry soldiers, so their ages ranged dramatically. Underneath worn and dusty uniforms are regular people. But it seems there are few “regular people” in Israel. Each has palpable vitality and verve and are eager to build and create. As the soldiers approached and saw the many trays of grilled meats and salads, they seemed overcome and expressed sincere thanks. I felt emotional each time a soldier said thank you to me, as I was filled with profound gratitude for their service. I can’t do anything about Hamas. All I can do is support them in small ways, and they’re thanking me? I guess little things do matter. Underneath the volleys of gratitude is the gravity and reality of the moment: Israel, and by association the Jewish people, are at war. And it has brought us all close together.
Every morning at 6am the media publishes the names of soldiers who fell the day before. Communities around the country have established rituals of collecting along routes to the cemeteries with flags and their solemn presence. Here in Ra’anana, several young men from the community have been buried in recent weeks. Each story is of a vibrant, productive, beloved young person with tremendous potential who has been sacrificed in fighting an evil adversary for the sake of protecting and securing the country. Words fail to express what this means to this country.
There is a reason Israel has ascended so dramatically in 75 years. It is a country that, despite its decades of war, terrorism, and struggle, has a culture of hope. It may seem counterintuitive, but Israel is a country that is mysteriously driven by hope for the future. It is no surprise the national anthem is “Hatikvah/The Hope.”
Here, hope is lived. People marry relatively young and have over 3 children per household. Entrepreneurship seems to be a way of life. Despite the dramatic increase in material comforts, there remains an impressive amount of earthiness and grit among
Israelis. They spend time with each other more than they spend time on screens. Resilience is a reality.
When a population understands that each individual shares a common destiny with its community, that sense of responsibility inspires progress, growth, and, even in dark times, happiness. I see it and I feel it all around me.
For a better understanding of this, I commend to you the recent book by authors of “Start Up Nation,” Dan Senor and Saul Singer: “The Genius of Israel.” It came out just before October 7th, but their analysis of Israel holds up: Israel is an extraordinary country, and it will inspire each of us.
As 2023 comes to a close, let us be inspired by Israel with the audacity of hope that, as the song prays, “maybe this year will be better than the last.” 2024 is likely to be a lively year fraught with crazy politics, a major election, and the anxiety that a lot is beyond our control. So let us be blessed to pay closer attention to one another, to show up and spend more time together. Plan to have more Shabbat meals together, to volunteer a little more, to make more in-person dates with friends. And come more often to spend time together at Mishkon—together we’ll make our prayer a reality.
Wishing you and all you hold dear a healthy and joyous new year.
--Rabbi Katzan
Contact Us
Sanctuary Entrance
206 Main Street
Venice, CA 90291
Main Office and mailing address
201 Hampton Drive
Venice, CA 90291
310-392-3029 (ext 1)
office@mishkon.org
Privacy Settings | Privacy Policy | Member Terms
©2025 All rights reserved. Find out more about ShulCloud