Dear Friends,

וְכֵן אַתְּ מוֹצֵא בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁבָּא דָוִד לַחְפּוֹר תֵּימֶלְיוֹסִים שֶׁלְּבֵית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ חָפַר חֲמֵשׁ עֶשֶׂר מָאוָון דְּאַמִּין וְלֹא אַשְׁכַּח תְּהוֹמָא וּבְסוֹפָא אַשְׁכַּח חַד עָצִיץ וּבְעָא מִירְמִיתֵיהּ. אֲמַר לֵיהּ. לֵית אַתְּ יְכִיל. אֲמַר לֵיהּ. לָמָּה. אֲמַר לֵיהּ. דֲּנָא הָכָא כְּבִישׁ עַל תְּהוֹמָא. אֲמַר לֵיהּ. וּמִן אֵימַת אַתְּ הָכָא. אֲמַר לֵיהּ. מִן שַׁעְתָּא דְּשַׁמַּע רַחֲמָנָא קָלֵיהּ בְּסִינַי אֲנֹכִי יי אֱלֹהֶיךָ רְעָדַת אַרְעָא וּשְׁקוֹעַת וַאֲנָא יְהִיב הָכָא כְּבִישׁ עַל תְּהוֹמָא. אַף עַל גַּב כֵּן לָא שְׁמַע לֵיהּ. כֵּיוָן דְּרִימֵיהּ סְלִיק תְּהוֹמָא וּבְעָא מַטְּפָא עַלְמָא.

Similarly you find that when David started to excavate the foundations of the Temple, he dug down fifteen hundred cubits and did not find the abyss. At the end he found a clay pot and wanted to lift it. It told him, you cannot lift me. We asked, why? It answered, because I am here suppressing the abyss. He asked it, Since when are you here? It answered, From the moment that the Merciful spoke on Sinai: I am the Eternal, your God, the earth trembled and sank down, and I was put here to suppress the abyss. Nevertheless, he did not listen to it; when he lifted it the abyss rose and threatened to flood the world.

–Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin, 10:2 

The text above, from the Jerusalem Talmud (the older, less-influential sibling of the Babylonian Talmud), is mysterious. King David, after all, is not destined to build the Temple. That august distinction is reserved for his son, Solomon, because, as David himself reports, “The word of God came to me, saying, ‘You have shed much blood and fought great battles; you shall not build a House for My name, for you have shed much blood on the earth in my sight.” (Divrei Hayyamim 22:8). Nonetheless, at least in the imagination of the ancient sages, he tries to inaugurate construction, and, like anyone who hopes to build a mighty structure, he begins the project by clearing ground and excavating the site. 

Strangely, however, his goal in digging down is not, as we might expect, to uncover bedrock and then to build up from solid, immoveable ground. Instead, he wants to uncover the abyss and then, it would appear, to lay the foundations of God’s house on the turbid, roiling waters of primordial chaos. Luckily for the world, in the passage that follows the sages report that David, our great warrior-poet, manages to subdue the primordial waters that he heedlessly unleashed by composing and signing fifteen shirei hama’alot (Psalms of Ascent). But they do not answer (or even ask!) the question of why David would have wanted to build the Temple directly upon the churning abyss in the first place. Or why, when enjoined to stop by the tiny, fragile shard that apparently keeps chaos at bay, he ignores the warning entirely. We are simply left to wonder, which is not an easy posture to adopt.

A persistent theme in my conversations lately–with friends, with family, and with members of our community–is the prevailing perception that we are living through a time of ever-accelerating disorder, that the forces of chaos are rising, shaking our foundations, and, in some cases, prevailing. Accurate or not, this intuition, it seems to me, transcends a lot of boundaries and tribal distinctions. Matters of politics, culture, nationality, and spirituality aside, everywhere there is a sense that things are spinning out of control, and that sooner or later (but maybe sooner) we will be face to face with some kind of untameable berserk. And the Talmud–nothing if not an audacious piece of literature–suggests that, on some level, we’re actually looking for it. Disquieting though it may be, I have a hunch there is some truth to that, even if it is not the whole truth, neither for David nor for us. 

I wish I knew what to make of a text like this, but I really don’t. And it’s possible that the text itself is an invitation into unknowing. Just recently, in a fascinating interview in the New York Times, George Saunders, a wonderful novelist and short story writer, described his own experience writing “Lincoln In The Bardo,” which is a striking meditation on grief about Abraham Lincoln following the death of his son. Reflecting on Chekhov's famous notion that art is largely about formulating questions rather than providing answers, Saunders said: “I wrote myself into a place where the question got more and more profound, and I found myself less and less capable of giving a definitive answer. That’s not for an artist to do. You ratchet the question up, and you go, Yeah, that’s a tough one.” 

Perhaps that is precisely what the sages in Jerusalem are doing when they invite us to imagine King David trying to uncover and to build on the abyss itself. They present us with a complicated, brilliant, pious, daring, selfish, loving, ambitious figure–our prototypical king–and leave him hanging like an unanswered question, assuring us only that the beauty of our human poetry can indeed arise from chaos and that somehow, in the end, it will save us.

Rabbi Benjamin Resnick

Ben

Every week during Shabbat morning services, when we pray for the State of Israel—asking G-d to be its shield, to spread His shelter of peace over it, and to strengthen its defenders—my eyes fill with tears. I know that Israel can feel like a complicated and even controversial topic today. But for me, my love for Israel has always transcended politics and any given moment in its leadership. My love is rooted in the people of Israel, in their resilience, and in the stories of extraordinary bravery and sacrifice that continue to emerge, such as in the aftermath of October 7.

Many of you heard me speak at Rosh Hashanah, when I shared my thoughts about Eli Sharabi’s book, Hostage. His story continues to inspire me daily, even as we move through the rhythms of our ordinary lives.

This past November, we gathered with our Bnei Mitzvah families for a Family Kabbalat Shabbat. After dinner, families participated in a Jewish values game, ranking different values from 1–15. Rabbi Resnick and I were genuinely moved that every family placed “Support Israel” within their top five. It reminded us yet again how deeply rooted a connection to Israel is within our Learning Center community. I often say it jokingly, but it may very well be true: we might have the most Zionist Religious School in the area!

Our students don’t just express their love for Israel—they live it. Last year’s Tu BiShvat fundraiser raised over $500 for the Jewish National Fund, allowing our children to plant a grove of trees in Israel. Many students donated from their own savings and felt proud to help reforest areas burned on October 7. During winter break, the Lieberman family traveled to Israel with a stack of heartfelt cards our students made for soldiers, delivering them directly on bases. Later in the year, our students raised funds to purchase essential equipment for the unit of Morah Emily’s son, Yonatan, a lone soldier in the IDF. One student donated $300 of his own savings. These are not small gestures. They show that our community’s love for Israel is not only spoken—it is acted upon, generously and wholeheartedly.

This year, we are fortunate to host our Shinshinit, Eden Levy from Ra’anana. In speaking with her about October 7, I learned that her brother, Koby, was serving at the Nahal Oz base during the attack—one of the most devastating battle sites of that day. The base was overtaken; soldiers, both men and women, were taken hostage. Some have only recently returned home. One of those soldiers, Matan Angrist, was a close friend of Eden’s brother. Eden’s account of the long hours of fear and uncertainty her family endured until they learned Koby was alive, and the embrace that followed when he finally returned home, added yet another deeply personal layer to the stories of courage we carry. I have invited Eden to speak to our congregation on April 24 for Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day. I wholeheartedly encourage you to save the date and come hear her remarkable story—she was only 16 at the time.

Our Bnei Mitzvah class also recently presented to younger students their learning about Henrietta Szold, the founder of Hadassah. They studied her life as an example of what it means to choose courage, to pursue justice, and to persist through challenges in service of a higher purpose. Our hope is that our graduates will internalize these values, continue to cultivate their Jewish identity, and strengthen their connection with Israel and the Jewish people.

On December 6, we celebrated the last Bar Mitzvah of the class of 2024–2025. Soon we will begin celebrating the Bnei Mitzvah of our 2025–2026 class—eight thoughtful, talented, and dedicated students, each unique and full of promise. I cannot wait to hear each one chant from the Torah and share the Torah they discover within it. I am looking forward to hearing how they make their own connections between the text, their reality and the world around us. 



Thank you to the PJC Board for supporting our work at the Learning Center and for encouraging us to always strive higher. Truly—it takes a village, and we are so fortunate that this is OUR village!

Ana Turkienicz

Ana

Dear Friends,

When we entered the year 5786 in September, the tragedies of 2025 had not yet played out. The dastardly Chanukkah Bondi Beach massacre and the horrific circumstances around the death of Rob and Michelle Reiner were yet to occur. They still haunt me in 2026.

I take comfort in my many friendships fostered at the PJC. Marjut and Jonathan Herzog and their dog Mocha visited us in New Paltz. We shared a meal and hiked with Mocha and my new dog, Ruby.

In our December Book Group, there was a lively discussion of Amos Oz's first novel, My Michael attended by Andrea Prigot, Jacqueline Schachter, Cheryl Agris, Jacqui Stein and me. The January Book Group will be held on Zoom on Monday, January 26th at 8:00 pm. We will discuss Baila Shargel's biography, Lost Love: The Untold Story of Henrietta Szold. I also look forward to resuming weekly chevruta discussions with Rabbi Resnick. Editing HaKol gives me the opportunity to connect with all of you. I welcome your feedback.

Wishing you a happy, healthy, productive and peaceful 2026.

Barbara

Heart of a Stranger

An Unlikely Rabbi's Story of Faith, Identity and Belonging

by Angela Buchdahl

Angela Buchdahl was born in Korea, daughter of a Buddhist mother and a Jewish father. She was raised to embrace both heritages. By the age of ten, she knew she wanted to become a rabbi, but "kept butting up against the "boundaries of belonging". Her journey to discover faith, identity and belonging is one that will resonate with many Jews and non-Jews alike. Buchdahl truly knows what it means to be a stranger in a strange land - and why that is key to understanding the nature of Judaism.

The Torah mentions the commandment to love and care for the stranger ger roughly 36 times, making it one of the most repeated mitzvot. Buchdahl notes, "No one likes to be a stranger, the desire to belong and stay safe is universal. But when we understand what it feels like to be an outsider, we cultivate a radical compassion for others who have been dismissed. We learn to press against the gatekeepers, turn exclusion into empathy, rejection into resilience. We stumble upon the blessings that come from inhabiting the heart of a stranger". She muses, Feeling like the stranger might be the most Jewish thing about me. It is this quality of empathy that catapulted Angela Buchdahl into the high profile position of the chief Rabbi of Central Synagogue in Manhattan.

Heart of a Stranger is a fascinating memoir. The book is divided by key Jewish concepts - Echad: Oneness, Gesher: Bridge, V'Ahavta: And you shall love, Hachnasat Orchim: Welcoming Guests, Emunah: Trust, Savlanut: patience, etc.

Angela Buchdahl's story is unique. It is written with warmth and wisdom. Heart of a Stranger is a worthwhile read for anyone who wants to uncover the soul of Judaism.

Barbara

How is Shrek a uniquely Jewish story?

(Excerpted from a D’Var Torah Sari Schulman gave last year. Currently, she is directing the PJC Players’ musical production of Shrek.)

In Parashat Balak, the king of Moab, bribes Balaam with silver and gold to curse the Israelites so that he can defeat them and drive them out of the region. Despite the fact that the nation has done nothing to harm him and despite God’s admonition, “You must not curse that people for they are blessed,” Balaam gives into his greed. He gets up in the morning, saddles his donkey, and goes off with the noblemen from Moab. 

As he was riding along, Balaam’s donkey sees an angel of God and refuses to move any further. This happens three times, and after each incident, Balaam beats the donkey, not seeing the angel of God that had blocked the donkey’s path. After the third beating, God “opened the donkey’s mouth” and she asked, “What have I done to you that you have beaten me these three times?” Through the mouth of the donkey, God tells him not to curse the Israelites and to bless the Children of Israel instead. One of Balaam’s blessings includes the well-known “How fair are your tents O Jacob, Your dwellings, O Israel.” Ma tovu ohalecha Yaakov, mishkenotecha Israel.

The story of Balak raises several interesting questions: How can you recognize a sign or an angel sent from God? Can God speak to or through animals? (Most pet owners seem to say yes to this one.) This brings me to one of my favorite animated movies turned Broadway musicals, Shrek. Modern readers of this portion of Bamidbar can’t help but think of Shrek’s donkey sidekick– both of whom are chatty and annoying but ultimately loyal and wise. Though usually cast as unintelligent beasts of burden who accompany the heroes on long arduous journeys, the donkeys in these two stories are heroic in their own rites. According to Jewish educator and writer Adina Gerver, the donkey’s “sudden, surprising voice flips the power dynamic, rendering Balam [and Shrek] powerless.” Though irksome and loquacious, It is the donkey who teaches, guides, and leads the human to moral righteousness. Shrek’s donkey really annoyed him, but he could not have rescued Princess Fiona from the dragon and Lord Farquaad without him. Likewise, Balaam’s donkey annoyed him when she stalls, but he would not have learned to listen to God without her. As several sources put it, we should be more like the donkey and less like Balaam.

In fact, Shrek’s astute donkey explains that “In some cultures donkeys are revered as the smartest of animals, especially the talking ones.” (This is in Shrek 2, by the way.) One need look no further for proof of his statement than a 2008 article from the NYT, entitled “Early Egyptians Revered Lowly Donkeys” or a 2023 BBC piece “How Donkeys Changed the Course of Human History.” 

Donkey isn’t the only Jewish element of the Shrek story. Shrek’s original author, William Steig was a child of Polish Jews who fled Old World anti-Semitism. Some say that the ogre is an extension of his experiences as a Jewish man and an allegory for the Eastern European Jew. “Shrek is an anti-hero, and Steig always said that the perfect hero is a flawed hero,” Claudia Nahson, curator of the Jewish Museum’s 2008 exhibit “From The New Yorker to Shrek: The Art of William Steig,” told the Seattle Times.

The Jewish feminist site, Hey Alma, concurs: “Shrek’s swamp is basically a fantastical shtetl in the Pale of Settlement, the region the Russian Empire “allowed” Jews to live in from 1791 to 1917. And for those who don’t know, “Shrek” means “fear” or “fright” in Yiddish. It bears repeating: donkey isn’t the only Jewish element of the Shrek story.

Now wouldn’t you just love to see this beloved and uniquely Jewish tale come to life on the PJC stage? We hope to see all of you in our audience, Sunday March 15. This free musical production features a cast of 20 children and adults. Donations will be accepted at the door.  

                     

Sari

But on that hike (up the mountain), my mother showed me that the verse we repeat -- "God is One" -- was never about preeminence or dominance, but rather wholeness.

Oneness is about unity, interconnectedness; if everything is one, then we all belong to this mountain, to the earth, and to each other. We are all gears in a fragile, interdependent system. This is not just the foundational principle of Judaism and my mother's Buddhism but a truth coursing through all religions.

Rabbi Angela Buchdahl

"Share a Simcha" allows congregants to share their news with our PJC community. Please submit news about family members -- engagements, births, job updates, kid achievements, community acknowledgements and any other milestones -- to the HaKol Editor, Barbara Saunders-Adams.

*Mazal Tov to our January Birthday Celebrants: Julian Faith, Elaine Prager, Sophie Lee, James Mazur, David Samuels, Lisa Teitell, Danielle Gretz, Ellen Wirchin, Dana Wellesley-Stein, Daniel Hovaness, Mitchell Goldenberg, Jessica Hochberg-Horvath, Michael Bowen, Jacob Falberg, Rebecca Schwarz, Kaylee Levine, Penelope Garvett, Jason Glick, Emma Schwartz, Anna Shampanier-Bowen, Jennifer Gerber, Samantha Bernstein, Deborah Korenstein, Hallie Meyerson, David Eliezer, Catherine Levene, Sandra Goldman, Adar Marcus, Jessica and Cabell Brown, Maurice Owen-Michaane, Isaac Lief, Stephanie Prager, Eliana Herzog, Marjut Herzog, Sofia Schneider, Mark Hochberg, Jordan Klebanow, Emily Glickman

Share a Simcha is a regular HaKol feature, so keep your news and updates coming!

Tributes

Donations to General Fund



• Meryl Glass-Druckerman
• Steven and Marilyn Klein
• Linda Fink

Donations to Rabbi's Discretionary Fund

• Barbara Saunders-Adams and Sam Adams
• Sandra and Bob Goldman

Billing statements are emailed monthly. 

Checks made out to the Pelham Jewish Center can be mailed to Pelham Jewish Center, P.O. Box 418, Montvale, NJ 07645. Credit card payment instructions are on your monthly emailed billing statement, or go to https://thepjc.shulcloud.com/payment.php. 

If you are interested in paying via appreciated securities or IRA distributions, please email Mitch Cepler.

It is the policy of the Pelham Jewish Center to make every effort to assist members experiencing financial challenges. Financial challenges should never be a barrier to being an active member of the PJC community. You can reach out to President, Lisa Neubardt, Treasurer, Mitchell Cepler or Rabbi Benjamin Resnick to speak confidentially concerning your ability to pay PJC dues and Learning Center tuition.