RSNS - Reconstructionist Synagogue of the North Shore

05/20/2026

Taking meaningful steps toward a more sustainable future for our RSNS community! 🌎🌸

04/29/2026

Mark your calendars! All Friday night services in the month of May will begin at 6:30pm🗓️😊

04/15/2026

Schedule an appointment at the link below for the upcoming Blood Drive at RSNS on Sunday, April 26th from 10:30am - 4:30pm! Every drop counts 😊

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02/26/2026

A special message about a special event!

02/20/2026

RSNS Purim Carnival is fast approaching! See you there 😊

08/28/2025

RSNS x Smusht High Holiday Fundraiser🍦🍦 Don’t forget to place your orders by September 13th for some delicious apples and honey ice cream! 🍎🍯

08/11/2025

8/10 - Message From Rabbi Jodie

Today we close a journey that has been so much more than a trip. Thanks to the generosity and vision of the UJA, we have been given the gift of seeing Israel not just with our eyes, but with our hearts, our minds, and our souls. We have walked through moments of beauty and moments of pain, through joy and tension, through history and the present day. We have seen resilience made real.

This morning we visited a community garden in Ra’anana, a project that began eight years ago when the municipality entrusted a piece of land to the community to work together. What has grown here is more than an edible forest. It is a living symbol of sustainability as an engine for growth, of collective responsibility and energy. Here Olim are welcomed, elders find a cure for loneliness, and people choose to see the light and the good in everyone. We are all a little bent they reminded us but that is okay because we all bring something.

Success here is not measured by money but by how many people you can bring into the process. There is no politics only the shared language of planting, tasting, and building something together. Cinnamon leaves, lemon-tasting herbs, and unique fruits became part of the day. We learned about the bird community, about planting with displaced persons, about the delicate awareness required to truly meet someone’s needs. We saw how a garden can be made wheelchair accessible and become a place of dignity, healing, and connection.

It is not a comfortable vacation nor was it meant to be. This journey has made us vulnerable. It has challenged us to be open to each other and to the people we have met. And in that openness we have found friends. We have been reminded that building a better society means empowering communities that have nothing and believing that we can make a difference.

At our closing circle we asked hard questions. What has been hard to hold? What tensions are we carrying home? How has this trip changed our role as Jews in the diaspora? What questions will continue to live in us? What responsibility do we feel now? These questions do not have neat answers. But in asking them together we have made something sacred.

We bless each neshama, soul, who has traveled this road:

Liza, who tries the hardest thing first and carries deep gratitude.
Karri, who embraces every experience with open heart and open hands.
Rebecca, who seeks hard conversations and listens with care.
David, who holds community and family close while learning always.
Jonah, who brings fresh eyes and youthful insight.
Aden, who asks the big questions with courage.
Matt, who bears witness and weaves joy into our people’s story.
Brooke, whose energy and openness bring connection.
Ellen, whose love of tradition grounds her listening.
Pam, who advocates and supports with steadfastness.
Gaby, whose joy and welcoming spirit carry strength.
Julian, whose warmth and humor knit communities together.

Together we have lived a l’dor v’dor experience, feeling the call to invest in each other, in the next generation, in the unfolding future of Am Yisrael.

We ended with a visit to the Carmel Market, letting the sounds, tastes, and colors wash over us one last time. Then to the airport, where I had a final small challenge. I was placed on standby and waited in uncertainty only to end up in the exact seat I had originally booked. No explanation, no clear meaning. Just a reminder that sometimes the best we can do is let go.

We leave with full minds, perhaps heavier hearts, and a deeper understanding not only of Israel but of ourselves. The journey home will be long but the work of carrying these lessons into our communities begins now.

May the seeds we planted here literal and spiritual continue to grow. May they bear fruit in acts of justice, kindness, and peace. And may we never take for granted the gift of being here together.

With gratitude.

08/10/2025

8/9 - Message From Rabbi Jodie

This Shabbat morning began a little slower than the rest of the week. Some in our group took advantage of the beautiful Tel Aviv morning with a walk along the beach or a run by the water. I joined a wonderful yoga class, and our hotel breakfast, complete with fresh breads, cheeses, and fruit, was an absolute delight. It felt like a gentle pause before another day filled with meaning.

Our first stop was the ANU Museum – The Museum of the Jewish People. Many of you may remember it as the Diaspora Museum. In the past, visitors entered at the top of a staircase to see pillars representing Torah, Avodah, and Gemilut Hasadim as the foundations of Jewish survival. Now, instead of pillars, the first thing you encounter is the stories of real people. It is a striking shift, from focusing on abstract concepts to showing the living, breathing individuals who carry our heritage.

ANU means us. The exhibits ask: Who is the “us”? What is our journey? What are the parts of your identity that connect you to Jewish life? The diversity on display makes it clear that we all have an entry point, different, personal, yet tied to the same story. Walking through, I felt reminded of my own connection to Judaism and the ways we each help keep it alive.

We met for lunch at the Sarona Market with someone very special to our community. Nine years ago, we welcomed a young Israeli through the Shinshinim program, a year of volunteer service before army duty. She brought us Hebrew songs, stories, and energy, but most importantly, she brought herself. She became our friend.

This week, sitting across from her, I realized just how enduring those connections are. Her life has taken her in many directions, yet she remains deeply connected to Jews abroad. This fall she is getting married and has asked me to officiate. In Israel, however, progressive Jewish weddings are not officially recognized. She will have to have another rabbi, sanctioned by the Chief Rabbinate, present to sign the documents. Still, she wants a Jewish ceremony in the spirit of what she experienced with us. I believe her time in our community, seeing an open and inclusive Judaism, helped shape that choice.

Later, we met a woman serving in the IDF’s Sapir Unit, part of Yahalom’s elite aerial ordnance disposal team. Her work involves neutralizing bombs and missiles at Air Force bases. When asked about breaking gender barriers, she said simply, “It’s not my job to convince male commanders to choose women. My job is to do the work well, so the quality speaks for itself.” Her quiet determination and focus on excellence were deeply inspiring.

In the late afternoon, we walked through Jaffa and met Rachel Korazim, an extraordinary educator. We read poetry from her anthology Shiva, each piece a window into how this war is shaping Israeli society. One poem wrestled with the absence of God, shifting the blame to the absence of government. Another confronted the lie we tell our children, that they will be safe, that there will be no need for an army. Some poems were deeply ideological, others personal and raw. They did not offer easy comfort, but they held truth, and sometimes truth is the most sacred offering we have.

Our final dinner together was at Hazakan v’hayam, “The Old Man and the Sea.” This Arab restaurant was filled with life, music, and joy. We were the only non-Arabs in a vast, bustling space, yet the welcome was warm. Plates of colorful salads, breads, and seafood filled the table as music and singing rose around us. Before long, we were singing too. In that moment, culture was not an abstract concept, it was shared, lived, and celebrated together.

It was at the end of this joyful meal that we said goodbye to our guard and medic, Yonathan. He had been a wonderful addition to our group—fully participating in our experiences and offering a different lens through which to see them. His presence enriched our journey, and we will miss him.

We ended the day in Hostage Square and Democracy Square for the Saturday evening demonstration. This week, the crowd was larger than last week. The feeling of standing there, not as tourists, but together as a community, was powerful. In a place where grief, hope, and determination mix, our presence was both witness and prayer.

Shabbat here is always layered, moments of joy alongside moments of deep reflection. Today held both, reminding me once again that Jewish life has always been about holding the fullness of our experience in one heart

08/09/2025

8/ 8 - Message From Rabbi Jodie

Today was a powerful and deeply moving day, one in which history, heartbreak, and hope seemed to meet at every turn. We spent the day in the company of Shmaya Berkowitz, a bereaved father whose son Eyal Meir Berkowitz (Z”L) died fighting in Gaza. Shmaya did not simply tell us his son’s story. He took us with him into the places that have shaped his grief and his strength: Sderot, the Nova Festival site, and the Tekumah memorial. In each place, his own loss was held alongside the losses of so many others, making the day feel at once intensely personal and profoundly collective.

Our journey began tracing Route 4, the derekh hayam, the “road of the sea,” stretching from Rosh Hanikra in the north all the way down to Egypt. The land here carries many layers of history. We spoke of 1948, when Gaza came under Egyptian military rule but those who fled there were never given Egyptian citizenship. They became stateless, caught in the currents of regional politics, a pawn in a game far larger than themselves. At Nativ HaAsara, the closest Israeli community to Gaza, we saw a giant flag mounted as a beacon to soldiers just across the border. These residents had already been uprooted once from the Sinai after the peace treaty with Egypt, and even here they still live with the feeling of not having returned to anything “normal.”

From there, we drove Route 232, now known as the blood road, the same route terrorists took on October 7. We spoke of the years before the Iron Dome, when rockets rained down on Sderot without pause, of the Jewish communities evacuated from Gaza in 2005 after decades of debate, and of how many here now view those decisions through the lens of that terrible day. Sderot’s population has grown from 22,000 in 2001 to over 60,000 today, an act of courage in itself when daily life is shadowed by sirens and shelters.

6:29 a.m. A moment seared into memory. The first distress calls from the Nova Festival reached Magen David Adom. At the very same time, 26 terrorists stormed the Sderot police station. We heard of Yossi, the ambulance driver who stayed at Nova when others were called away. The terrorists, realizing the festival was underway, targeted the crowd and even the ambulance. Out of 18 missing, 17 were found and buried. The last, medic Eli Akim Leibman, was discovered only months later, buried with another victim.

At Tekumah, 1,400 burned-out cars from that day stand in a haunting pile. In the center is a blue car placed there intentionally as a statement of hope. Yes, we were struck down, but we will rise again.Nearby stand captured terrorist vehicles, placed here deliberately to challenge any future attempt at “October 7 denial,” just as we once had to confront Holocaust denial.

We stopped at the shelter where Ilay Nachman was killed protecting others. We listened to the testimonies of the three women who survived and called his mother, Ifat, so that she could feel our presence and support from afar. At the site, barcodes allowed us to save the voices of survivors to listen to again later, ensuring that their words will not be lost.

At the Nova site, the grief was overwhelming. Each sign told the story of a young life, full of music, friendship, and joy, cut short. Fighter jets roared overhead and artillery rumbled in the distance, reminders that the war these victims never returned from is still being fought. Yet among the visitors, strangers walked quietly together, reading, remembering, and honoring — threads of connection holding us as one people.

Shmaya’s voice faltered when he spoke of the price of bringing home the dead, not only in resources but in risk and pain. He asked the questions that have no easy answers: What does it mean to be part of a people? What is the glue that connects us? What happens if we lose our ability to feel that connection?

Our day ended far from where it began, in Tel Aviv, where we joined Kabbalat Shabbat with Beit Tefillah Yisraeli, followed by a joyful Tu B’Av Shabbat dinner near the beach. After the heaviness of what we had seen, the sound of singing, the ocean breeze, and a walk along the sand felt like a blessing — a reminder that even in the darkest chapters, there is light. We are still here. We are still connected.

As we enter Shabbat, we carry with us the stories of this day, the personal and the national, the ancient and the unfolding, and the reminder of how essential it is to hold each other close.

Shabbat Shalom.

08/08/2025

8/7 - Message From Rabbi Jodie

Today we experienced the resilience of Israeli society in places filled with intense meaning, deep pain, and perhaps a pinch of hope.

We began at ADI Negev–Nahalat Eran, “The Jewel of the Negev,” a rehabilitation village founded by Major General (Res.) Doron Almog in memory of his son, Eran. Originally known as ALEH Negev and built by the ALEH organization, the community was inspired by Eran’s experiences and shaped by Almog’s vision and leadership. Here, 170 residents live full time, 200 patients attend daily programs, and outpatient and inpatient services, including specialized treatment for PTSD, are offered to some of the neediest members of Israeli society, those with severe developmental and physical challenges. On the wall is the phrase תמיד אני שווה, Tamid ani shave, “I am always worth your effort.” This is more than a slogan, it is the moral foundation of this place. Plans are already underway to create a fully accessible residential community in the next decade where people with and without disabilities will live side by side in full inclusion.

We left ADI Negev and traveled along Route 241, knowing it was the road terrorists used on October 7 to reach and decimate the city of Ofakim. That awareness shadowed our arrival at Kibbutz Nir Oz, where we met one survivor and came face to face with the devastation of that day. She told us, “We know how to live in a war zone. We know how to talk to our kids. But this is different.” On October 7, seventy six people from Nir Oz were taken hostage. Until 10:30 a.m., the terrorists kept capturing people, then, after being told they had “enough hostages,” they began killing. She described how her husband became “the lock” for their safe room. She spoke of feeling abandoned, knowing that four and a half hours before 6:29 a.m., those in power knew something was going to happen, yet no one warned them.

The dining hall, once the vibrant hub of kibbutz life, is now a memorial. In front of some homes, signs read, “Netanyahu, the blood of my family is on your hands,” “Murderer,” “Traitor,” “Do not enter,” “Do not stand,” “Do not make impure.” The grief here is tangled with frustration and political outrage. The kibbutz faces complicated choices, dealing with the needs of many families, deciding whether to rebuild, leave, or start anew. For years, only “old timers” wanted to live here, and before October 7 young families were beginning to buy in, thanks to kibbutz movement incentives.

As I walked through, I wrestled with the tension between voyeurism and bearing witness. What information do I need to truly bear witness? Walking through others’ homes and sifting through their lives is uncomfortable. Yet by standing by the mailboxes or seeing the flags, I could take in the devastation as a whole. Who has the right to do this? How do we mourn as individuals and as a community? Ultimately, we were reminded that we visit not only to tell a terrible story, but to commit ourselves to work for good, for peace among all people, and to insist that what we share as human beings must outweigh what divides us.

Our final stop was Sderot, where we met George Stevens, a young American immigrant and youth movement counselor who lives in an “urban kibbutz” through the Dror Israel movement. Sderot was first settled by North African and Yemenite Jews who were sent here by the government without choice and without recognition for building the city. Once politically aligned with Labor, it has become more right wing, shaped by decades of rocket fire from Gaza. Every bus stop is a bomb shelter, and the government now requires safe rooms in all new homes. George wants people to settle here and reclaim the pioneer spirit once reserved for kibbutzim.

Central to his work, at least before October 7, was partnering with Palestinians in Gaza who still believe in peace and work toward a shared truth. He described the “10/7 narrative” that Israel’s best air force would arrive to save them, and how that faith was broken. He spoke of how, for some, if the person approaching is Israeli, they are coming to save you, and if they are not, they are coming to kill you. He named the “PR of victimhood” and the way each side projects foreshadowing of danger. His belief is that Hamas cannot remain in charge, but that moderate Palestinian voices must be supported.

George calls his philosophy peace realism, a blend of what he terms “radical pragmatism” and Yitzhak Rabin’s approach, “Fight terrorism as if there’s no peace process, and work for peace as if there’s no terror.” He spoke of two opposite worldviews in Israel, one believing everything will be fine if enough terrorists are killed, the other believing everything will be fine if violence is abandoned entirely. In his view, both military action and diplomacy are essential tools, and true security will only come through peace, just as peace will only be attainable when security is ensured. Since October 7, however, nearly all of his contacts and cross border projects have stopped.

As the day ended, we each found ways to absorb it. Some went to the beach, others walked. I walked for hours, noticing, breathing, and simply being present. We gathered later for a beautiful dinner, thank you, Rebecca, for finding the place, carrying with us the weight and the meaning of all we had heard and seen.