Adas Israel Congregation - Washington, DC, 2850 Quebec Street NW, Washington D.C., DC (2026)

09/04/2026

22 Elul 5786 | September 4

“At Home”
By Cathryn Marcuse

Last year’s theme for the High Holy Days at Adas was Welcome Home. While there is a new theme this year, in my life the theme has truly stuck. I am still thinking a lot about home lately. My family of five has just completed a larger-than-we-expected renovation on a house we bought last year, after a lengthy stop-and-start process about our long-term housing plans, the details of which I’ll spare you, the reader. Let’s just say, we’re settled into a home with no plans to move or make any changes for the first time since the summer of 2022, just a couple of months after I went to the mikveh and formally converted to Judaism.

At some point, between unpacking yet another box of books and yet another box of mixing bowls, I realized that the timeline between our Nomadic Years (as I will now henceforth refer to them in our family lore) and my transition to Judaism had been on a parallel track. As most converts would probably tell you, the mikveh is just one part of the process. It can take a long time to feel “at home” culturally, spiritually, linguistically, liturgically, gastronomically.

I’ve been feeling a lot more “at home” in my Judaism over the last year. I’m a lot more involved in my various Jewish communities and attending shul more regularly with my kids. For lack of a more elegant way to describe it, I’m just feeling way more Jewish recently. Something has accelerated. I’m left wondering if my brain and my neshama have been working in parallel this whole time, while my husband and I sorted through the multitude of variables in our housing situation and eventual renovation. Judaism is, beautifully, often a home-based practice, and so when I was thinking about our dining room, I was thinking about shabbat dinner. When I was thinking about our entryway, I was thinking about the mezuzah. When I thought about where to put outlets for appliances, I was thinking about making and baking my challah. My sense of my physical home and my sense of my spiritual home have become really intertwined. My housing Nomadic Years have come to a close; perhaps my spirit has been on the same trajectory.

I do not necessarily wish a renovation on my fellow congregants, but I do wish for us all to feel welcomed home this year at Adas’ holy days, in whatever form that takes. Maybe it’s staying at your actual home where your spirit finds the purest form of holiness, comfort, and safety. Maybe it’s cramming into the tent with 500 of your best friends, swaying back and forth and singing Avinu Malkenu with the faint sound of a firetruck in the background. Maybe you prefer to linger in the Beit Midrash, chatting and watching children run back and forth in their finery, kippot hanging off their heads by one desperate hair clip. All of it is home. All of it is holy.

Shanah Tovah!

adasisrael.org/elul

09/03/2026

Fall is just around the corner at Gan HaMishpacha, the Family Center @ Adas 🍂 Our Prenatal & Postpartum Support Groups begin this month, offering connection, community, and support for growing families. Plus, Ms. Ellie’s Infant & Toddler Music Class is back for plenty of music and movement with your little ones.
Learn more & register at adasisrael.org/gan-hamishpacha.html

09/02/2026

20 Elul 5786 | September 2

“Unfinished Business”
By Rabbi Anina Dassa

I didn't realize it would end like that.

No reconciliation. No birthday messages. No wedding invitations.

One of my closest friends and I did everything together. I assumed our friendship would always be part of my life. But as we changed, we also struggled to change with one another. We were constantly disappointing each other, and eventually, after trying to repair what felt broken, we stopped speaking.

"I don't think we should talk for a while."

A while turned into years.

Friendship breakups are rarely talked about, but they can leave some of our deepest wounds. Maybe you've experienced one yourself.

Every year when Elul arrives, I think about that friendship. Should I reach out after all these years? Would an apology bring healing, or reopen old wounds? If I reached out, would it be for her, or for me? Is there ever a point when letting go becomes its own act of faithfulness?

I didn’t used to ask myself these questions. Elul had become a time when this gnawing feeling of guilt came over me. But I have come to realize that facing these questions, acknowledging what still hurts, and being truly honest with myself - that is the work of teshuvah.

The Rambam famously teaches that when we have wronged another person, we should actively seek forgiveness. His teaching reminds us that teshuvah is never passive; it asks something of us. Yet relationships are rarely simple, and not every broken relationship can- or should- be repaired. Perhaps the Rambam's lesson is his insistence that we remain active in our inner work, and not to confuse avoidance with peace.

The work of Elul is not to resolve every unfinished story before Rosh Hashanah just so we can say the relationship is resolved. It is to become honest enough to ask better questions. What relationships still shape us? What regrets have we buried? What fears or pride keep us from taking the next step? When is reaching out an act of healing, or when is it an attempt to quiet our own guilt?

Teshuvah is not always measured by whether every relationship is restored. Sometimes the holiest work is refusing to look away from what remains unresolved.

As we begin this month of preparation, may we have the wisdom to know what can be repaired, the humility to seek forgiveness where it is needed, the discernment to know when silence may be more loving than speech, and the courage to keep doing the work of teshuvah, even when the story is still unfinished.

adasisrael.org/elul

09/01/2026

Some traditions are meant for the quiet of the night. Join us this Saturday night as Shabbat ends for Selichot. Meaning "forgiveness," this centuries-old tradition welcomes us into the High Holy Day season through song, prayer, and timeless liturgy.

adasisrael.org/hhd-prep

08/31/2026

18 Elul 5786 | August 31

“How the Torah Reading Cycle Embodies Teshuva”
Rabbi Andy Weissfeld

If everyone in the Bible were perfect, Torah study would be a lot less interesting — and a lot less useful. The fallibility of our Biblical heroes only strengthens my desire to look to them as role models, and we get plenty of chances to see it: we read the whole Torah every year, and one doesn't need to read far to find something to disagree with, or find genuinely troubling by today's standards. So why do we keep reading stories and laws we no longer fully resonate with?

In his recent book Returning, Nicholas Lemann answers with a lesson in humility. He describes it as an exercise "in trying to understand how people in the past could have made what strikes us as obvious, unforgivable mistakes and judgments." In other words: if our ancestors made this many mistakes, we probably will too.

Not a comfortable thought — but a useful one to sit with during Elul. We don't have to wait for the "Torah" of our own lives to be written, and a future generation to judge it. Elul asks us to do that ourselves, on purpose, now: to sit with this year's choices the way we sit with Abraham's, or Moses's, and ask honestly where we can do better.

We reread the Torah every year not because it changes, but because we do. Teshuva — literally, "return" — is the same discipline turned inward: a habit, not a single reckoning. That word shows up every time we read Torah, too. When we return the scroll to the ark, we sing "Hashiveinu Adonai eilecha v'nashuva, chadesh yameinu k'kedem — return us to You, and we will return; renew our days as of old." Hashiveinu and teshuva come from the same root: to return. We sing it every time we put the Torah away, only to take it out and read it again the following week. Just as the Torah was meant to be read weekly, renewed each year by our lived experience, teshuva was never meant to be a one-time fix. It's a practice we repeat until it becomes who we are.

adasisrael.org/elul

08/28/2026

15 Elul 5786 | August 28

“Choosing Joy”
Joanie Liebermann

One morning at the beach, my younger granddaughter toddled beside me as we sauntered to the local market near our Airbnb. A cashier, roughly my age, came to help as I fumbled with the cart, the child, and the door.

"How old is she?" the gray-haired woman asked.

"Almost two and a half," I said.

She smiled at the toddler. "You are very cute."

"I am very cute," the little girl mimicked, looking straight at me. I mirrored her beaming face.

"Is she your granddaughter?" the cashier asked. In response to my yes, she chuckled: "She's exactly the same age as my great-grandson."

I suppose I could have been jealous — being a great-grandmother is an unlikely scenario for me. But it is also not my dream. Instead, I reveled in my granddaughter's joy as we moved through the aisles: "Peaches! Sauerkraut! Cottage cheese!" she squealed at every sighting of a favorite food. The few necessities we bought were eclipsed by her sheer delight and the dance of words and grins between us.

That exuberance, that love, that wonder is what I want to carry into Elul 5786 and the year ahead. Save continued repair of the world, they are the only antidotes I know to the despair generated by the current state of our city, our country, Israel, our planet. These qualities are also deeply embedded in Judaism and in the practice of Jewish mindfulness I've been pursuing recently. I hope to find more joy in the ordinary: on early morning walks, in relationships with friends, family, and the Nicaraguan family we support, within our synagogue community, in my meditation practice, in my Jewish and secular learning, in the books I read, the sentences I craft.

Six weeks ago, after telling my patients two years earlier that I would retire in 2026, I closed my office door for the last time. My husband retired a month before me. We're entering this Teshuvah season as fully retired people with enormous gratitude — and each with the traditional questions of return sharpened by a new one: what am I returning to?

I've imagined this self without work for a long time, but we are still mere acquaintances, not old friends. Some things will carry over: I can still chant Modah Ani each morning, Shabbat will come every week, and Judaism and Adas will play central roles, sometimes quietly, sometimes openly. My exercise routines and the school drop-offs I share with my daughter will remain fixed rituals. Morning Minyan, which sustained me through the eleven months after my father's death, awaits whenever I'm ready.

The rest of the day is less certain — how much room there will be for meditation, writing, art, the household projects I've long ignored, the synagogue projects I've imagined, my great-uncle's poetry waiting to be translated. I'll certainly be challenged, but I'm excited for this new chapter, even knowing it will end in decline. Yet, armed with a little luck, I trust that joy, love, and wonder, modeled by my granddaughter and her older sister and long espoused by our Jewish forebears, will help me find my way.

adasisrael.org/elul

08/26/2026

One of the first signs that the High Holy Days are near. 🤍

08/26/2026

13 Elul 5786 | August 26

“The Long Road and the Short Cut”
By Rabbi Lauren Holtzblatt

These days we are all looking for short cuts, including me. How can we find the quickest way to get from one place to another? How can we find the fastest answer to our questions? (google, AI, pick your search engine). You get my point.

Fast is not always bad. Speed allows us to be more productive, to spend more time on things that matter if we can spend less time on the more frivolous. But speed is not the answer to everything and these days it seems appropriate to remind ourselves that sometimes taking the long road and slowing down allows for a different kind of experience.

In the spring I went away with Rabbis Krinsky, Dassa and 20 other rabbinic fellows to celebrate our Rabbi’s conclusion of 40 years in the rabbinate. Watching my teacher learn, grow, make mistakes, build, teach, and mentor over many years reminded me that mastery of anything comes with time and experience and not just with a quick fix. Time spent on anything, relationships, a craft, our careers, our families brings a depth that just cannot be reached overnight.

In these days of Elul- where we are asked to think more deeply about our lives, ourselves, where we are going and what needs repair- one of the tools we might employ is to slow down, to take the long road. Sometimes when we are racing we lose the contours of relationships, the details of the lives of the people we care most about, and the ability to make real change that needs time in order to solidify. In a beautiful story in the Talmud, we are taught that the short road might get us somewhere quicker, but it often has obstructions, the long road can offer us time, presence, change and a clear path. See you there?

Eruvin 53b
תִּינוֹק מַאי הִיא? פַּעַם אַחַת הָיִיתִי מְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּרֶךְ, וְרָאִיתִי תִּינוֹק יוֹשֵׁב עַל פָּרָשַׁת דְּרָכִים. וְאָמַרְתִּי לוֹ: בְּאֵיזֶה דֶּרֶךְ נֵלֵךְ לָעִיר? אָמַר לִי: זוֹ קְצָרָה וַאֲרוּכָּה, וְזוֹ אֲרוּכָּה וּקְצָרָה. וְהָלַכְתִּי בִּקְצָרָה וַאֲרוּכָּה, כֵּיוָן שֶׁהִגַּעְתִּי לָעִיר מָצָאתִי שֶׁמַּקִּיפִין אוֹתָהּ גַּנּוֹת וּפַרְדֵּיסִין.חָזַרְתִּי לַאֲחוֹרַי. אָמַרְתִּי לוֹ: בְּנִי, הֲלֹא אָמַרְתָּ לִי קְצָרָה? אָמַר לִי: וְלֹא אָמַרְתִּי לְךָ אֲרוּכָּה? נְשַׁקְתִּיו עַל רֹאשׁוֹ, וְאָמַרְתִּי לוֹ: אַשְׁרֵיכֶם יִשְׂרָאֵל שֶׁכּוּלְּכֶם חֲכָמִים גְּדוֹלִים אַתֶּם, מִגְּדוֹלְכֶם וְעַד קְטַנְּכֶם.

What is the incident with a young boy? One time I was walking along the path, and I saw a young boy sitting at the crossroads. And I said to him: On which path shall we walk in order to get to the city? He said to me: This path is short and long, and that path is long and short. I walked on the path that was short and long. When I approached the city I found that gardens and orchards surrounded the city (it was obstructed). I walked back to the boy again and said to him: My son, didn’t you tell me that this way is short? He said to me: And didn’t I tell you that it is also long? I kissed him on his head and said to him: Happy are you, O Israel, for you are all exceedingly wise, from your old to your young.

adasisrael.org/elul

08/25/2026

This Sunday, Aug 30, is our Elul Retreat.

Give yourself the gift of a day devoted to reflection, learning, meditation, song, and community as we prepare for the High Holy Days together. We'll conclude with a special concert featuring Deborah Sacks Mintz.

Full schedule & registration @ adasisrael.org/event/elul-retreat-2026

08/24/2026

11 Elul 5786 | August 24

"Shana Tovah — Please, Gd"
By Naomi Shavin

Last Rosh Hashanah, I was nine weeks pregnant. I went to a Chabad in Pikesville, seeking closeness to G-d and to Yifat, my sister-in-law who was also pregnant. I was six months behind her, waiting for the results of a blood test that could detect my baby’s gender and screen for serious genetic conditions. During the sermon, the rabbi told the story of Chana, who prayed for a son on Rosh Hashanah and promised he’d serve G-d. G-d granted her prayer and then some; her son was a Ba’al Shem Tov. The rabbi told us that Rosh Hashanah was the best day to pray for our babies. I teared up, overcome with the weight of the opportunity as I tried to compose a prayer that would be humble and useful in G-d’s eyes and as generous as possible to my child. I was sure I was having a boy, and I prayed that he would be smart, kind, healthy and capable.

The blood test was inconclusive. We redid it, which meant that 10 days later, on Yom Kippur, my husband Ben and I were again waiting for results, this time as we contemplated our faith’s most profound questions about life and death. We stayed in DC that day, which turned out to be a good thing, because that afternoon, our rental apartment flooded catastrophically. Grimly, we joked that we learned who will perish by water: our home. A couple of days later, camped out in bed with our beloved dog Tubi, we began plotting our move-out. I worried the stress would impact my pregnancy. Desperate for good news, I logged into our online portal, and there was our test result. The screener came back normal. And we were having a boy.

In November, we got another, terrible answer to our Yom Kippur meditations. Tubi was diagnosed with a swift and fatal illness. I was 16 weeks pregnant and so overcome with grief I couldn’t eat. I worried my sorrow would harm our son. Our doctors reassured us that he would be fine. And he was fine — he was thriving — until he wasn’t.

I was nine months pregnant when our son’s heart stopped beating. There was no warning or explanation except, I guess, that he was not inscribed in the book of life. In the days before, he moved towards the sound of Ben’s voice, bopped along to the Top Gun Maverick soundtrack, and kicked like crazy when I ate a bagel with jam. On Sunday March 22, he had hiccups, and I rubbed his back through my belly. On Tuesday, March 24, I delivered him stillborn.

Eight days later, we named Jack at his burial in the Adas Israel cemetery. As that night stretched into the next morning, I rocked and wept in our brand new nursing glider, and I searched online for a Jewish explanation for stillbirth. There’s a hasidic story about a couple whose baby died. They are told that their son is a Ba’al Shem Tov who returned to earth for a very short mission. He did incredible things in a previous life, but he was nursed by a mother who did not keep kosher. In this life, all he needed was to be nursed by a mother who kept kosher. Put another way: He only had to be cared for by his parents to complete his sacred mission.

I thought about my prayer on Rosh Hashanah and wondered if I’d asked G-d for someone too special. Then I thought about my son Jack, who went wild for action movies and ice cream and the sound of his dad singing silly made-up songs. He was so normal. That was the miracle. I don’t believe that my son was a Ba’al Shem Tov, but I love that our tradition encourages parents who lose a baby to imagine who their child could have become in the most exceptional terms. After all, all we have now is everything we imagined for him.

Adas Israel Congregation - Washington, DC

09/04/2026

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