From JuJu with Love

What started out as a very scary, emotional week feels much lighter this Saturday morning.

A week that held fear, uncertainty, and raw emotion somehow also held so many moments I can only describe as miracles.

Six hundred prayer books—thought to be lost—were found intact in storage beneath our synagogue.

And last night, in a packed auditorium at the JCC, we held them in our hands again.

Our sanctuary may still be uninhabitable, but our community showed up—hundreds strong—filling every seat, every space, every corner with presence, prayer, and resilience.

My cousin, who hasn’t called Temple Israel her spiritual home in over twenty years, sat beside me and felt it too.

Because Temple Israel is so much more than a building.

It lives in the people.

In the memories.

In the connection that never really leaves you.

In the middle of everything, support poured in—from other faiths, from communities near and far, from people we know and people we’ve never met—reminding us that we are not alone.

One of our rabbis, in the midst of everything this week, even traveled to Washington, D.C. to advocate for the safety of Reform Jewish communities across the country.

And in a rare moment of unity, a bipartisan vote approved $1 billion in grants to help protect synagogues like ours.

Another deeply moving moment came during services when the rabbi invited all of the ECC teachers and staff to come up onto the bimah.

These were the teachers who had been there just days earlier—guiding, protecting, and comforting the youngest members of our community during an incredibly frightening week.

As they stood together and were invited to open the ark, the room felt different.

Quieter.

Heavier.

More connected.

It wasn’t just a ritual.

It was a moment of recognition.

Of gratitude.

Of healing.

The people who help shape our children—who hold their hands, wipe their tears, and make them feel safe—were now being held by the entire community.

And you could feel it.

In her sermon, the rabbi shared a story that stopped the entire room.

One of the preschool children went home the night of the attack and told his parents he had had the best day… the best adventure at school.

The best day.

While the adults were shaken—processing fear and uncertainty—the children felt something entirely different.

They felt safe.

They felt loved.

They felt protected.

The teachers had wrapped them in such care that even in the middle of something meant to frighten them, their innocence remained untouched.

Someone tried to take that away.

And failed.

And then there were the quieter miracles.

My aunt, after a difficult transition into a senior living facility, gently pushed us out the door last night so she wouldn’t miss dinner with her new friends.

A sign that even in change, something new and hopeful is beginning.

An unexpected dinner where friends and family connections overlapped in the most beautiful way.

A late-night conversation with my cousin—just the two of us, talking for hours like we rarely get to do.

And, of course, my sled dog doodle—who went from limping and “injured” to dragging me down the street this morning like nothing ever happened.

Because sometimes, even the smallest moments remind you that life keeps moving forward.

This week wasn’t easy.

But somehow, in the middle of it all, the miracles kept showing up.

And this morning, I feel lighter.

From Juju with love

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