What did I accomplish during the year that has passed? Where did I fall short? Whom did I help? Whom did I hurt? What needs to change? 

 But beneath all these questions lies another, more fundamental one: 

 Who am I? 

 The easiest answers are usually the most immediate: our names, professions, accomplishments, relationships, and responsibilities. We introduce ourselves by describing what we do, where we live or to whom we belong. 

 These things are important, but they are not the whole story. Jobs change. Titles disappear. Success comes and goes. Even the roles we treasure most may change with time. 

 Rosh Hashanah invites us to look beneath those temporary descriptions and encounter the deeper self—the soul that remains when the titles and achievements are stripped away. 

 Jewish tradition suggests that this soul is formed through relationship: our relationship with family, with community, with other human beings, and with God. 

 The Torah teaches, Lo tov heyot ha’adam levado—“It is not good for the human being to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). Family is not merely an accessory to life. It is one of the principal places in which the soul is formed. It is where we first learn to give and receive love, to disagree, to forgive, to make sacrifices, and to care for someone beyond ourselves. 

 Family, of course, is not only biological. There are families we inherit and families we create. There is also the extended family of the Jewish people—a people bound together by memory, responsibility, and a story that began long before us and, God willing, will continue long after us.

 A beautiful midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:4) teaches that when God prepared to give the Torah at Mount Sinai, God asked the Israelites to provide guarantors who would ensure its continuity. The people first offered their ancestors and then their prophets. Finally, they said, “Our children will be our guarantors.” 

 God accepted. 

 The message is powerful: Jewish identity cannot survive only as a memory of the past. It survives when we place it into the hands of the future. Our children become our guarantors when they see that Judaism matters to us—not only in what we say, but in the lives we lead. 

 Faith forms another part of this deeper identity. 

 The Torah says: “The word is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, so that you may do it” (Deuteronomy 30:14). Faith is not necessarily found in dramatic miracles or perfect certainty. It can live in prayer, gratitude, doubt, and even complaint. 

 After all, complaining to God may itself be an expression of faith. It means that somewhere within us, we still believe someone is listening. 

 The Talmud (Ta’anit 25a) tells a remarkable story about Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa, a man who lived in profound poverty. In response to his prayers, Heaven granted his household one leg from a golden table. Later, however, his wife dreamed that in the World to Come everyone else sat at complete tables while theirs was missing a leg. Rabbi Hanina prayed again, asking that the golden leg be taken back. 

 The story is not teaching us that poverty is inherently holy or that material needs are unimportant. Judaism does not romanticize suffering. Rather, it challenges us to consider how we measure abundance. 

 Pirkei Avot offers a different way of measuring abundance: “Who is rich? The one who rejoices in what they have” (4:1). 

 True wealth is not determined only by what we possess. It is also found in the people we love, the values we transmit, the good we bring into the lives of others, and the ability to recognize blessings before they disappear. 

 At the end of life, Pirkei Avot teaches, neither silver nor gold accompanies us. What remains are our acts of Torah and kindness. 

 What we accumulate eventually belongs to someone else. What we plant within another person can continue growing for generations. 

 This brings us back to the shofar. 

 The central mitzvah of Rosh Hashanah is not simply to blow the shofar, but to hear its voice. This year, because the first day of Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat, we will wait until Sunday to fulfill that mitzvah. Perhaps the waiting itself can prepare us to do more than hear a sound. Perhaps it can prepare us to receive its message. 

 The shofar has no vocabulary and offers no explanation. It speaks through breath, broken notes, and silence. 

 The tekiah is whole and confident—the sound of the person we hope to become. 

 The shevarim is fractured—the sound of disappointment, grief, and the awareness that something within us needs repair. The teruah trembles—the sound of a human being struggling, searching, and refusing to give up. 

 Finally, we return to the long, unbroken sound of tekiah. Yet it is not the same sound we heard at the beginning. We have passed through brokenness. We have acknowledged our imperfections. The final tekiah is not the sound of innocence, but of resilience. 

 The shofar does not ask about our résumé. It does not ask how impressive we appear to others. It asks whether we are awake. 

 Are we present for the people who need us? Are we transmitting Judaism to the next generation? Do our actions reflect the values we claim to hold? Are we so busy building a successful life that we have forgotten to build a meaningful one? 

 Perhaps our identity is not something we discover once and possess forever. It is something we create through every relationship, decision, and act of responsibility. 

 This Rosh Hashanah, when we finally hear the shofar, may we allow its voice to become a mirror. May it remind us that we are more than our titles, possessions, successes—and even our failures. 

 And when the new year asks, “Who are you?” may we be able to answer: 

I am a soul still growing. 

I am part of a family and a community. 

I am responsible for what I transmit to those who come after me. 

I am connected to God, even when I question, struggle or complain.

 I am a member of Am Yisrael. 

And I am ready to begin again. 

Shana Tovah! 

Rabbi Ari Oliszewski, Temple Emanuel Virginia Beach

 Around a shared table sat three rabbis—Rabbi Shlomo Eisenberg of Congregation B’nai Israel, representing Orthodox Judaism; Rabbi Jacob Herber of Congregation Beth El, from the Conservative movement; and Rabbi Roz Mandelberg of Ohef Sholom Temple, from Reform Judaism. 

 Each coming from a different school of thought, the rabbis gathered not to debate, not to emphasize differences, but to speak, listen, and build together. The conversation took place as part of my podcast, Shmoozin’ with Rabbi Ari, a space created precisely for this purpose: to foster genuine, human, and meaningful encounters. 

 The idea for this podcast was born from a desire to showcase all the beauty and goodness of the Tidewater Jewish community to the world, and in doing so, to further spread love for the Jewish people, our traditions, and our culture. 

 This latest episode—the fifth since launching this project, supported by Temple Emanuel —far exceeded any expectations. In an atmosphere of camaraderie, mutual respect, and a shared sense of purpose, the conversation touched on personal journeys and communal stories. 

Gatherings like this are not merely symbolic—they are necessary. They remind us that respect does not require uniformity, that disagreement need not become hostility, and that authentic dialogue has the power to transform realities. 

Our Sages expressed this idea beautifully in the Talmud: “Elu ve’Elu Divrei Elohim Chayim”, “These and those are the words of the Living God” (Eruvin 13b). We may not all think alike, yet each voice can carry truth. And when we learn to listen to one another with respect, the future—both as a community and as a society—is secure. 

If three rabbis from different movements can sit together—not merely to avoid conflict, but to think about how to build, how to support, and how to contribute to collective growth—then the message is clear: it can be done. We can dialogue. We can dream. We can build community. 

Those who wish to watch or revisit this meaningful encounter can do so on YouTube (Shmoozin’ with Rabbi Ari) or on Facebook, where we continue to create spaces for dialogue, connection, and hope. 

 I have no doubt that this fifth episode of Shmoozin’ with Rabbi Ari left us with a simple yet powerful lesson: when people truly listen to one another, something changes. Differences stop being walls and begin to become bridges. 

May we continue to strengthen the bonds that unite us day by day, creating networks of connection, respect, harmony, and fraternity—so that together we may contribute to the growth and beauty of this extraordinary world we share. 

Rabbi Ari Oliszewski is the rabbi at Temple Emanuel in Virginia Beach.

 We were filled with joy and excitement — looking forward to family reunions, reconnecting with friends, and of course, enjoying an authentic Argentinian asado.

 But it wasn’t just these celebrations that made this trip so meaningful.

 Having grown up in Buenos Aires, I’ve had the privilege of meeting many wonderful people, being part of different Jewish communities, and attending countless communal events. However, I had never experienced a ceremony as powerful, emotional, and profound as the one I witnessed at Comunidad Dor Jadash – Max Nordau Synagogue in Villa Crespo, a neighborhood known for its strong Jewish roots.

 On Thursday, October 30, the community celebrated a very special Bar-t Mitzvah, or as they called it, “Jai Mitzvah” — a ceremony that gave eight survivors of the Shoah (Holocaust) the opportunity to finally celebrate their Bar or Bat Mitzvah.

 Eight survivors of one of humanity’s darkest chapters gathered in the synagogue to remind us that it is never too late to celebrate life and to keep the flame of Judaism burning bright. They stood as living testimony that even under the cruelest oppression, Am Israel Chai — the people of Israel live — and nothing and no one can destroy this eternal nation.

 Ruth (94), Ilse (96), Alba (86), Berta (87), Marisha (87), Pedro (89), Elizabeth (88), and Anita (100) each put on a Tallit and Tefillin for the first time in their lives. Surrounded by family, friends, and numerous community and government representatives, they were called to the Torah as Bnei Mitzvah for the very first time.

Even though many decades have passed since the traditional age of 12 or 13, this ceremony proved that it is never too late to fulfill this sacred Jewish milestone.

 These eight survivors share stories of suffering, survival, loss, and remarkable rebuilding. Born in Romania, Croatia, Poland, Germany, Belgium, the Czech Republic, and Austria, they were victims of Nazi horror — when practicing Judaism or even staying alive was nearly impossible. Some hid for years in unimaginably small spaces; others were separated from their parents and siblings; many escaped, while some never reunited with their families. 

 Argentina became their refuge — a country that offered them safety and a chance to rebuild their lives, create new families, and embody true resilience, courage, and hope.

 The emotion felt during this ceremony was beyond words. Having the privilege to witness it was a brachah (blessing) that touched and continues to nourish my soul. Seeing these survivors pray together – filled with joy and gratitude after everything they endured – was a lesson in faith, strength, and the power of the human spirit.

 Their faces radiated happiness and hope — it was a true blessing, a reminder that we can always rise again. That life is about choosing to LIVE, in every sense of the word. These eight remarkable people taught us that living means standing up, moving forward, and never giving in to despair.

 This extraordinary event was made possible thanks to Comunidad Dor Jadash, led by my dear friend Rabbi Marcelo Bater, and the Tzedaká Foundation — an organization founded in 1991 within the Jewish community of Argentina, which continues to transform the lives of thousands of Argentinians in vulnerable situations through its unique, integrated social model.

 Everyone who knows me knows how proud I am to be part of this ancient and enduring people.

 After witnessing the Jai Mitzvah, that pride has grown beyond measure.

If there’s one thing that this experience reaffirmed for me, it’s that being Jewish is a privilege we must never take for granted.

No matter who tries to bring us down, we always rise.

We are never alone.

We are one united people.

And wherever we go — be it Argentina, the U.S., Brazil, Israel, or anywhere in the world — we will always find a Jewish community that welcomes us, inspires us, and reminds us that we are all part of it.

 Thank you, Ruth, Ilse, Alba, Berta, Marisha, Pedro, Elizabeth, and Anita, for showing us that anything is possible, and that keeping Judaism alive is truly in our hands.

Am Israel Chai VeKayam — The people of Israel live and endure.

Rabbi Ari Oliszewski is the rabbi at Temple Emanuel in Virginia Beach.

  Week after week adult students faced the fears and difficulties of learning a new language and celebrated the small victories: pronouncing a tricky word, realizing that Hebrew has no long vowels, or finally recognizing letters at a glance. Beyond grammar and vocabulary, this course became a testament to how learning something new can be a joyful and enriching adventure.

 But this is only the beginning. For the students, the foundation is now laid for a sacred language, an ancient tongue that unites the Jewish people across time and space. With every lesson, a door was opened to the history, culture, and prayers of ancestors.

 The students were enthusiastic and dedicated. Their thirst for knowledge made every class a true pleasure. 

 United Jewish Federation of Tidewater and Simon Family JCC provided a space where the transmission of this sacred language can flourish and G-d willing, the journey will continue. A new cycle of the course begins in November, offering both returning students and newcomers the chance to deepen their understanding and uncover even more of Hebrew’s beauty.

For more information, or to register, visit JewishVA.org/KCL or contact Sierra Lautman at SLautman@ujft.org. 

From Passover to Shavuot, the Torah teaches that the days must be counted to prepare to receive the Torah. This counting is known as Sefirat HaOmer. It is a period marked by introspection and mourning, which is unexpectedly interrupted by a spark of joy on the 33rd day of the count—better known as Lag BaOmer.

It is a day when solemnity is broken, and the glow of bonfires, the sound of melodies, and the warmth of hope come into play, carrying a powerful and timely message.

On this date, two significant events are recalled:

• The end of a plague that took the lives of 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva.
• The passing of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, who before his death revealed deep mystical teachings—considered by many as the beginning of Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism.

The passing of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, who before his death revealed deep mystical teachings—considered by many as the beginning of Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism.

Rabbi Shimon asked that this day be remembered with joy, not sadness, since the light of Torah he shared continues to shine through the generations.

That light of Torah is Judaism’s eternal guide, especially in times of darkness. It brings clarity, strength, and hope, even in moments when life feels overwhelming. Every mitzvah, every moment of learning, and every act of kindness is a spark that lights the way.

In Tractate Shabbat 33b, it is told how Rabbi Shimon and his son hid in a cave for 12 years, fleeing Roman persecution. When they emerged, they were so spiritually elevated that Rabbi Shimon’s gaze burned everything he saw, unable to accept that people were engaged in worldly activities. A heavenly voice said to him, “Did you come out to destroy My world? Return to the cave.”

After another year of reflection, he emerged again—this time with compassion and perspective. He understood that the material world could be elevated, not rejected. His mission was to bring light into reality, not escape from it.

This message is truly meant for our days. We do not run from difficulty. We face it with faith, resilience, and above all, Torah. Just as Rabbi Shimon transformed exile into light, we too must turn pain into purpose.

Today more than ever, we face enormous challenges that demand that light. Brothers and sisters kidnapped in Gaza have still not returned home (I pray that by the time this article is published, the story has changed). Pain and uncertainty persist. But Lag BaOmer reminds that giving up is not an option. Just as Rabbi Akiva, despite the loss of his students, continued to teach Torah and raise new disciples, we too must continue—with faith, strength, and hope.

On Lag BaOmer, bonfires are lit to remember those who studied Torah in hiding. But today, those fires mean more than memory. They are flames of faith that those who are missing will soon return. They are a symbol of a brighter future, where peace and understanding are guiding pillars.

This Lag BaOmer, let us ignite not only fire—but our souls. May the Torah continue to be our guide, our strength, and our comfort. And may we soon see the day when all the hostages return home safely and healthy, so we may celebrate life, freedom, and the eternal light of the Jewish people.

Chag Sameach!!

Rabbi Ari Oliszewski is the rabbi at Temple Emanuel in Virginia Beach.

Nearly a year has passed since the tragic events of October 7, 2023, a day that will forever be seared into the collective memory of our people. On that fateful day, Hamas brutally murdered a multitude of people. Families were torn apart, as loved ones were kidnapped, tortured, raped, and robbed of the fundamental human right to live in peace. As members of this ancient and resilient people, we have stood in unshakeable solidarity, yearning for a day when peace will no longer be a distant dream but a reality. Since that fateful day, the world has been watching the Middle East closely.

This is why the idea of gathering the entire Tidewater Jewish community, known for its unity and strength, was born.

Using music to pray, ask, demand, and continue dreaming of a true and lasting peace is one of the many ways we can contribute our grain of sand. For this reason, the community will unite at Temple Emanuel for a Concert for Peace. This event will featuring a diverse program of music, prayers, and reflections led by rabbis, cantors, community choirs, and leaders from the entire Tidewater Jewish community. The memory of those lost will be honored and a commitment to a lasting peace in Israel will be renewed.

But this concert is about more than remembrance – it is a chance to reaffirm a shared mission – ensuring that the memory of the victims remains alive and that work for a peaceful future continues, even in the face of unimaginable pain and injustice. Memory is not only a tribute to those who suffered but also a responsibility to carry for future generations.

May this gathering stand as a beacon of hope, inspiring all to work towards a future where respect and coexistence prevail over hatred and violence.

During this concert, a fundraising campaign to send aid to Israel in response to the ongoing needs created by this devastating war will take place.

Am Israel Chai
#BringThemHomeNow
Shanah Tovah Umetukah

Representatives from various congregations and organizations are joining forces for this special evening, featuring performances and reflections by:

• Alberto Mirchuk, Chazan from Buenos Aires, Argentina
• Rabbi Ari Oliszewski from Temple Emanuel
• Cantor Jen Rueben from Ohef Sholom Temple
• Rabbi Roz Mandelberg from Ohef Sholom Temple
• Cantor Jim Hibberd and the Choir from Congregation Beth Chaverim
• Cantor David Proser from KBH
• Cantor Elihu Flax from Beth El
• Rabbi David Bockman from Beth El
• Rabbi Michael Panitz from Temple Israel
• Rabbi Israel Zoberman, from Temple Lev Tikvah
• Emily Patyuk (Shinshin from Israel)