Good evening everyone, and g’mar chatimah tova.
It’s good to see so many of you here tonight. This will be the last time I directly address such a large part of the congregation as president. As many of you know, I was planning to step down at the next AGM, with our vice president, Dee, taking the reins. But due to some changes in my work life, the transition will come a little sooner—Dee will now take over after the High Holidays. I want to thank her for stepping up early and helping me find a healthier balance.
So this is not just a Kol Nidre welcome—it’s also something of a farewell. As I move into the past-president role, I’d like to share some reflections from my time as president that I hope will be useful for us all.
Let me begin by asking—how are you feeling tonight?
Me? I’m tired. Is anyone else feeling tired?
It’s been a lot, hasn’t it?
Being Jewish is never simple—but since October 7, it has been uniquely exhausting.
- We carry concern for Israeli friends and family.
- We grieve for the Israeli hostages and lament the cost of the war on Palestinian civilians
- We worry about the future of Israeli democracy and yearn for peace.
- And here at home, we’ve witnessed antisemitic expression unprecedented in our lifetimes – in protests, in schools, in cultural spaces.
Not all of us have experienced or witnessed open hatred, but we’ve all heard the stories and seen the statistics, haven’t we? And, we can’t often talk about it, right? I mean, at work, you can’t answer a polite and well meaning, “How are you doing, today?” with, “Thanks for asking. As a Jew, I’m hurting today because of such and such news.” It’s like we carry a heavy and invisible burden all the time.
And within that weariness, we also carry a complexity of thought and feeling — especially when it comes to Israel.
- Some of us feel Israel is fully justified in everything it does.
- Some have lost faith entirely.
- Others support some of Israel’s actions and object to others.
- Some of us are confused or simply overwhelmed.
- And for many, those feelings change day to day, even hour by hour.
No wonder we’re all so tired.
Here’s what I want you to know: however you’re feeling, you are not alone. For every reaction you’ve had, multiple others in this room have had it as well. That’s part of what it means to be a community — to hold space for many truths, many hearts, and many burdens.
I’m no different from any of you in this regard and what I’ve learned wrestling with all of this myself is that what matters more than what life throws at us is how we see it and what we do with it. We can’t control the world, but we can shape our own perspectives and deliberately choose our reactions.
Perspective
I recently attended an excellent anti-hate seminar hosted by the Waterloo Region Police Department. One key insight stuck with me.
Why are hate crimes considered more serious than regular crimes? After all, if someone is assaulted, it’s horrific regardless of motive. It turns out that hate crimes aren’t only about the victim. They ripple outward, sending terror through an entire community. Psychological studies support this: people who share the targeted identity experience trauma equal to the victim’s own. Therefore, hate crimes are a kind of terrorism. And they are very effective.
Now add to that the reality of modern media. Every antisemitic incident, whether in Toronto, Montreal, Vancouver, the US, or Europe, reaches us in seconds. Our feeds flood with memes, petitions, and outrage. There is an incident somewhere in the world every week and psychologically, each new incident lands as if it happened next door. No wonder we’re overwhelmed.
But here’s the good news: if our feelings are magnified by constant exposure, then reality, by definition, is less dire than it feels. More simply, things are never as bad as they feel.
That’s not denial. It’s perspective. Yes, antisemitism is real. But so is the fact that we are as safe as we’ve been in 2000 years of diaspora history. We live in a country that values pluralism and where the local and federal police invest a lot in protection of our community, not just reactively, but proactively as well. As a result, we can safely congregate here together tonight, just as we do every Shabbat, holiday, simcha, and funeral.
Another insight I’ve noticed, anecdotally but consistently, is that those most engaged in the Jewish community tend to feel the least anxious.
It’s the people who come to synagogue, who volunteer, who light candles and celebrate the holidays, who have mezuzot on their doorposts that seem the least panicked. Meanwhile, those who keep their Jewishness hidden often carry the most fear. We draw courage from practicing Judaism with one another.
Let me share a story to illustrate this.
I was on a plane sometime post-October 7, seated beside an ordinary and unassuming looking woman, traveling alone. After takeoff, she quietly took out a pocket siddur and began to daven ma’ariv inches away from a stranger who, for all she knew, could have been a violent antisemite. I was moved by her serenity.
When she finished, I introduced myself and asked about her experience as an obviously Orthodox Jew post October 7. I learned that she lived in Toronto. I asked if she was afraid there – in KW, we keep hearing that Toronto streets are unsafe for Jews. She seemed almost surprised by the question and said, simply, “No, it’s all fine.”
That answer stunned me. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. She had a strong Jewish community. That support gave her courage—not just when surrounded by others, but even in vulnerable, solitary moments like on the plane.
It made me think: if hate crimes impact us all psychologically, maybe every positive Jewish experience—every service, every meal, every mitzvah—serves as a counterbalance. I’ve come to believe that the experiences we create together help rewire the fear we’ve absorbed from the outside world.
What We Should Not Do
Before moving from perspective to action, please allow me to touch briefly on what I’ve learned doesn’t help.
I suspect that if I were to start a real conversation about Israel within this room right now (don’t worry, I won’t!) —not on Facebook with distant acquaintances, but here, among people who know and trust each other—it would be passionate, emotional, and yes, loud. But I would still expect it to be respectful, safe, and humanizing. This would be possible—not because we all agree, but because of the strength of our community and the relationships we’ve cultivated here.
Let’s contrast that with the use of social media as a tool of political discourse. Political psychology tells us that people rarely shift their beliefs through logic, especially from strangers or acquaintances. Almost all of us form political convictions emotionally, then rationalize them after the fact.
You might feel better after posting your “hot take,” but I promise—your “friend” list isn’t listening. If you post on the topic frequently enough, most likely, many have muted you. Your powerful article from Jerusalem Post or CIJA on one hand or B’Tselem on the other may excite people who already agree with you, but they will absolutely not convert anyone who believes differently. Worse, these posts often fracture real relationships.
The same principle applies at the congregational level too. Over the past two years, I’ve been asked to have our synagogue sign petitions or issue political statements about Israel or Canada. We’ve consistently said no.
Why?
- Our congregation is beautifully diverse. Any statement would align with some and alienate many others.
- It has the potential to harm external relationships—with Jewish and non-Jewish partners.
- There’s no real gain. The Carney government is not waiting on Temple Shalom’s official stance on Palestinian statehood. And Netanyahu is not interested in what the Canadian diaspora thinks about war strategy.
- We are not the Israeli government’s proxy and are not responsible for their actions. To assume otherwise is itself, antisemitic.
- For those who want to be active in politics, there are many worthy organizations to join. But, OUR mission is to foster Reform Jewish life in KW. That’s where we need to focus. We are a refuge—not a battleground.
What We Can Do
Let me now suggest some things that are worth doing. There are two directions we can act: inward, by building our own community; and outward, by building strong, trusting one on one relationships and then leveraging them.
1. Strengthen the Jewish Community
This is the predictable part of a synagogue president’s message: renew your membership if you’ve not already done so. But please don’t stop with your own membership. Encourage your adult children to join a shul wherever they live. Invite unaffiliated Jewish friends to come with you to a service or a seder. Reach out to those who’ve drifted away. Remind them what it means to belong.
And yes—if you’re financially able, please increase your donation. This building is now 30 years old and in need of generational repairs. We have a one-third-time rabbi who is exceptional – wouldn’t it be great to be able to invite her to spend more time with us. And, while I maintain that things are not as bad as they feel, we do need to remain prudent and maintain our post-Oct 7 security expenses.
As we announced recently, 2025–2026 will be a year of building. We’ve launched a one-time capital campaign to fund major repairs and improvements. I’m thrilled to share that we’ve already received over $60,000 in early pledges. Please contribute however you can.
And please have uncomfortable conversations inviting non-members to contribute as well. They also benefit from our continued health. We have the only egalitarian Jewish space in KW for celebration and meeting. Our employment of a rabbi is the only reason that there is someone in the region who can officiate a b-mitzvah, a wedding, or a funeral, or guide someone through a conversation process. Our organization has shown the ability to bring in police chiefs and MPs when we need to be heard and solicit help. Encourage those who benefit from our existence—even from the sidelines— not to take us for granted and support us even if they choose not to join us.
Besides funding, the building needs volunteer work from time to time. There is not enough t’shuvah in the world for our CMC chair, Steve Goldstone, to forgive me if I neglected to mention this need. If you are handy and can help in any way with facilities, please email Steve at cmc@templeshalom.ca.
2. Build Relationships Beyond Our Walls
Our lives are busy and sometimes alienated. But now more than ever, we need real human connection. That starts not with debate, but with warmth.
Volunteer with Shalom’s SEAC group or external organizations that support causes you’re passionate about. Get involved with interfaith groups. Meet with your local MP or police EDI team. Connect with your children’s teachers or school board. Show up as a Jew—visible, thoughtful, and open-hearted. Start building personal relationships.
But, it’s not just about public engagement. Intimate engagement is where we have the greatest impact. Invite Temple members, volunteer partners, neighbors, coworkers, and your children’s classmates’ parents into your home. Talk about your dreams, values, and hopes for our families and communities and not just our lovely Canadian weather. I bet you’ll find we’re not nearly as different as we appear to be from the outside. Build relationships, shared identity, and trust.
Then, once those relationships are strong, once influence is finally possible, you may find space for harder conversations – take that risk if you can. Remember that we don’t build relationships from hard conversations; we build relationships so that hard conversations become possible—because true change begins with trust, not tweets.
In Conclusion
To sum up, let me offer six takeaways from these past few years:
- Things are never as bad as they feel—fear distorts, but community restores.
- Broadcasting rarely changes minds—but it can harm relationships.
- Real influence starts with real relationships, built patiently and with care.
- We can all change the world—one conversation at a time.
- Jewish strength comes from Jewish connection—from showing up for each other
- Now is the time to build—spiritually, communally, and materially.
I want to thank you, truly, for the honor of serving as your president. It has been the greatest privilege of my life outside of my role as husband and father. Thank you all for your trust and support these last few years.
May this year bring peace—to us, to Israel, and to the world.
Shanah tova, and g’mar chatimah tova.
