How often do we look at someone in the news and quietly ask, “Are they Jewish?” And when the answer is yes—especially when that person is behaving in ways that cause real harm—we cringe. We hope the wider world understands that this individual does not represent the Jewish people as a whole.

Stephen Miller entered the immigration spotlight in 2009 when he began working for then-Senator Jeff Sessions, helping to craft opposition to bipartisan immigration legislation. He built his political identity as a hardline architect of immigration policy and joined Donald Trump’s 2016 campaign, writing speeches focused heavily on illegal immigration.

Since then, as a senior White House advisor on immigration and homeland security matters, Miller has pushed policies that include a quota of 3,000 immigration arrests per day, deprioritizing individuals with criminal convictions, and deploying ICE agents to cities such as Los Angeles, Portland, and Minnesota, with more deployments planned. His influence over Trump’s immigration agenda has been both significant and deeply troubling.

In 2018, Miller’s own uncle publicly condemned him, noting that had these same policies been in place a century earlier, their family would not have been able to escape pogroms in Belarus. His great-uncle, Wolf-Leib Glosser, fled persecution, came to America, and ultimately brought over the rest of the family—allowing them to survive and thrive. Without that opportunity, they, like millions of others, may have perished in the Holocaust. (Politico, August 2018)

That same year, Miller’s childhood rabbi rebuked him in a Rosh Hashanah sermon, lamenting the damage his actions have done to Jewish moral standing in the public sphere. (Washington Post, September 2018)

And still, as his name continues to surface in the news, many of us feel shame knowing that he is Jewish. We may even hope that, with a name like Miller, others don’t realize it—though we know they often do.

Recently, Rabbi Mark Levine (RRC-ordained) authored “A Symbolic Statement of Disassociation from Stephen Miller.” I read it, and I signed it.

I encourage you to read it as well, and if you feel moved, to add your name. The letter reminds us that the Torah commands us no fewer than 36 times to care for the stranger—an obligation that Miller’s policies consistently reject. As the Torah teaches: “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 10:19).

Stephen Miller’s actions and public conduct are morally incompatible with the values of Judaism. He does not speak for the Jewish people, our tradition, or our ethical commitments. As an act of communal conscience, the statement affirms that he should not be granted moral standing, honor, or communal legitimacy within Jewish spaces. It draws upon the ancient principle of ḥerem—not as punishment, but as a refusal to normalize conduct that violates the ethical core of Torah.
Will it make a difference? Some say no. But I believe that even saying something matters. Perhaps the difference is this very article. Perhaps there are things here you did not know. Every voice counts when speaking out against injustice.

The statement itself is clear that it is “symbolic and moral in nature. It does not carry legal, halakhic, or institutional authority. It reflects the conscience and ethical judgment of the individual signatory alone.” And symbols matter. Speaking our conscience gives voice to those who may not be able to share theirs.

That is why I signed it. Because I do not want anyone to believe that Stephen Miller represents the Jewish community—or our values.

The post Speaking Out When One of Our Own Causes Harm first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

We often read Sarah’s laughter as doubt or disbelief. But perhaps there’s something deeper here. Sarah laughs because she has lived long enough to know what the world tells women they can and cannot do. She has internalized the limitations placed upon her. The impossible has been defined for her by biology, by society, by the way things have always been.

Yet God challenges Abraham: “Is anything too wondrous for the Eternal?” (Genesis 18:14) And within the year, Isaac—whose very name means “he will laugh”—is born. Sarah’s laughter transforms from skepticism to joy: “God has brought me laughter; everyone who hears will laugh with me” (Genesis 21:6).

This week, Virginia elected Abigail Spanberger as its first woman governor. Like Sarah, she has broken through what many considered an impossible barrier. For 246 years of Virginia’s history—from the founding of our nation through countless elections—the governor’s mansion had been occupied exclusively by men. “It has always been this way” is perhaps the most powerful argument against change, the kind of logic that makes us laugh at impossibility rather than possibility.

But Spanberger’s election reminds us that barriers exist not because they are natural or inevitable, but because they have not yet been broken. What seems impossible in one generation becomes the triumph we celebrate in the next.

Sarah’s story teaches us something crucial: the laughter of disbelief can become the laughter of celebration. When we dare to imagine beyond the constraints of “how things have always been,” we open ourselves to transformation. Sarah doesn’t just bear a child; she becomes the mother of nations. She doesn’t just defy biological odds; she reshapes the narrative of what women can accomplish in our tradition.

As we read Vayera this Shabbat, let us ask ourselves: What impossible things are we laughing at? What barriers do we assume are permanent simply because they have existed for so long? Where are we called to challenge the way things have always been?

Sarah’s laughter—and Spanberger’s victory—remind us that God’s question remains urgent: “Is anything too wondrous?” The answer, as our history repeatedly demonstrates, is no. Nothing is too wondrous when we have the courage to imagine new possibilities and the determination to make them real.

May we be inspired to break barriers, to laugh with joy rather than skepticism, and to create a world where the impossible becomes simply what we haven’t yet achieved.

The post Breaking Barriers: Sarah’s Laughter and New Possibilities first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

Mix the sugar in the hot water so that it melts. Make sure that it is not scalding hot when you put the yeast in or you will kill the yeast. You’ll know your yeast is good because when you set the yeast and water/sugar mixture aside, it will start to bubble! 

2 eggs
1/2 cup oil
1/2 cup honey (yes! 1/2 cup!)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon (or a little more) vanilla extract
Mix these all together. 

5 cups flour
Put oil, honey, eggs, and salt in a bowl and mix. Add two cups of flour to this mixture. After that is mixed, add the yeast/sugar/water mixture. (again, the yeast/sugar/water should be nice and bubbly! if it’s not, your yeast is not good, go get more)

Add the flour one cup at a time as you mix and start to knead. Depending on the weather and humidity, you will either need more or less flour. 

Knead it until it is in a nice ball, not too dry though.

Put the ball in a bowl that you have lightly oiled, cover and let sit for two hours, or double in size, or overnight if it’s Thursday. If you’re doing it overnight, I put some plastic wrap loosely over the bowl so air can still escape. Cover with your favorite towel. I use my gramma’s towel that is falling apart and only used for this purpose. It’s the “gramma spice” that I add. 

After the dough has risen, take it out of the bowl. Knead a little. Divide into either two, three, or even four challot. Then divide those into how ever many pieces you’re going to use to braid.

Put the braided dough on your cookie sheet, cover again, and let rise for one hour.

After one hour, pre-heat oven to 350. 

Brush the top of the challah with scrambled egg with a little water.

Bake from anywhere to 15-25 minutes, depends on size of the challah. If it starts too brown too quickly, loosely tent it with foil. When you knock on the challah and it sounds challah, it’s done! 

The post Rabbi Heidi’s Challah first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

Tikvah, hope. This is what we all held on to for 503 days. We watched on October 7, 2023, the atrocities of Hamas murdering over 1200 and taking hostage 251 people. The images and videos are seared in our minds. And the video of Shiri Bibas, tore our hearts in two. Clinging to her two children, Kfir and Ariel and the look of complete terror. Wanting to protect them and do anything to save them. But she, like the other hostages were dragged into Gaza and the horrors they experienced we will never know except that they were murdered at the hands of monsters.

503 days after they were taken from their beds and home, Shiri, Kfir, Ariel, and Oded Lifschitz, 84 years old, a survivor of the Holocaust and founder of Kibbutz Nir Oz, return to Israel. But it was not without Hamas’ orchestrated show. The stage, the banners, the crowds, the children, the parents, cheering Hamas as four caskets were placed in the vans of the International Red Cross. And to continue the acts of terrorism, the caskets were locked and fake keys were provided. 

I kept trying to keep the hope that two little boys would walk out of Gaza and back into the loving arms of their father. I keep hoping that there will someday be peace as talks continue for the second phase of the ceasefire with 59 hostages still in Gaza. But to be honest, today, that hope is fading.

I ask, how can there be peace when parents and grandparents bring their children and babies to a festival-like atmosphere in which four caskets are paraded before them and include the pictures of the children they have murdered? How can parents celebrate and take pictures of their children holding the guns of terrorists? How can there be peace when what is being taught is martyrdom and murder of all ages? Where is the hope? 

Maybe it is in the rainbow that was seen minutes before the exchange. From Tel Aviv and from Gaza, a rainbow was seen over the water. And then, at the moment of placing the caskets in the vans, the rain fell.

Was God giving us a sign to not give up? Was God and the angels crying over the loss of Oded, Kfir, and Ariel, z’l? And now asking, where is Shiri? Was God begging us to have just a glimmer of hope? I don’t know. I wish I knew.

The post Where is Hope? first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

This week, Bishop Mariann Edger Budde’s sermon at the post-inauguration service on Tuesday, drew the attention of the country. Religious or not, her message has many talking and many clergy enamored. She spoke directly to President Trump saying: “I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican and independent families, some who fear for their lives.”

Bishop Budde felt she had the attention of the President and the country and she was not going to waste a moment. 

Her request was a humble one, have mercy. What is mercy? The simple definition for mercy is ‘compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm.’ And right now, there is a great amount of fear within the immigrant and LGBTQ+ community. 

“Love the stranger” or “do not oppress the stranger,”  is mentioned 36 times in the Torah, making it the most repeated commandment of all 613 commandments. Last week, as we began the book of Exodus, we were reminded that we were strangers in Egypt and therefore we must take care of those around us who are also strangers in our own lands.

The Israelites were only strangers when they first came down to Egypt at Joseph’s invitation. Here is was, second in command below Pharaoh, and now, he had the power to either invite them in or turn them away. Was Joseph going to hold a grudge against his brothers who threw him into the pit and sold him into slavery, or was he going to forgive them and welcome them with open arms. We know from the story that he was able to forgive them and move forward. He too had grown, having examined his own actions and learning that he needed to be more kind and compassionate. 

Pamela Hemphill, a retired drug and alcohol counselor who lives in Boise, Idaho, pleaded guilty in January 2022 to a misdemeanor offense for entering the Capitol during the riot and was sentenced to 60 days in prison and three years of probation. And as pardons were given to all those convicted and sentenced for the the January 6 riots, including Pamela, she stated that if she could, she would decline this pardon. She feels that by accepting this pardon, it is an insult to the Capitol Police and to the rule of the land. She said, “If I accept a pardon, I’m continuing their propaganda, their gaslighting and all their falsehoods they’re putting out there about Jan. 6.” Pamela sees how important it is to accept responsibility and hence, she herself has grown.

Technically, Pamela can decline the pardon, however, it would take a lot of legal work. Instead, where should her efforts be? Her message is like that of Bishop Budde, show mercy and especially compassion for all. 

In later interviews, Bishop Budde said, “I was trying actually to encourage a different kind of conversation, that you can certainly disagree with me…But could we, as Americans and fellow children of God, speak to one another with respect? I would offer the same to you.”

Over this past week, we all have been watching what is happening in our country. Our emotions are high and our blood pressure can match that. Families and friends have been torn apart and we are struggling. We hope that, if we can take a step back from going to extremes, maybe we can work together. We need to listen to one another, and most of all, remember to love the stranger, respect each person for who they are, and show a little more compassion. Who knows, maybe we can try to be the role models for those who should be the leaders.

The post What We Can Learn and Do to Show Mercy and Love the Stranger first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

Acheinu, Our brothers
the whole house of Israel,
who are in distress
and captivity
who wander over sea
and over land —

may God have mercy on them,
and bring them
from distress to comfort,
from darkness to light,
from slavery to redemption,
now, swiftly,
and soon.

And let us say: Amen.

The first time I really heard the prayer was when five rabbis from Israel joined us in Palm Springs last week. Together, they sang this at the end of their program, all of us standing and holding on to each other. Why was it that this was the moment I HEARD it? I was witness to their voices sharing how painful these past 468 days have been for Israel, the region, and the world.

This Shabbat, we begin to read the book of Exodus in which the Israelites who have been slaves for over 400 years are leaving the narrow place of Mitzrayim and making their way to Israel. From darkness to light. How hopeful I am that as we begin this journey of reading the Exodus we will start to see those who have been held in darkness brought out into the light and into the loving arms of their families. And we know there will be those who will not come out alive. We pray that they are embraced by God’s divine wings of protection as they are laid to rest by their families and wrapped in God’s blanket.

So I hold my breath and I listen to these words of Acheinu and pray that our brothers and sisters will come home soon and maybe, we all can breathe again.

The post Acheinu – Our Brothers and Sisters, Can You Finally Be Coming Home? first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

Throughout each eulogy, each recalled how humble and caring President Carter was. How the home he and his beloved, Roslalynn, z’l, built and lived in for almost their entire 77 years together, was unassuming, simple, and filled with the most precious of gifts, love. President Carter was a deeply religious individual who took the words of the Prophet Micah to heart. He lived a life in which he would, “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.” 

Throughout the service, it was shared how integrity and honesty were the cornerstones of his Presidency and how he lived his life. When he asked Walter Mondale to be his running mate, Mondale had only two requests: “I wanted to make a real contribution and I didn’t want to be embarrassed, as many of my predecessors have. He agreed, welcomed my full participation and directed his staff to treat me as they would him.” 

President Biden expressed how Carter believed “everyone should be treated with dignity and respect,” underscoring the imperative to “give hate no safe harbor” and to stand against “abuse in power.” 

Jason Carter, his grandson, described President Carter’s political life as “not just ahead of its time” but “prophetic.” President Carter was an early advocate for ending racial discrimination and mass incarceration, environmental conservation, and renewable energy. Jason noted, “Fifty years ago he was a climate warrior who pushed for a world where we conserved energy, limited emissions and traded our reliance on fossil fuels for expanded renewable sources.”

President Carter had a deep connection with the Jewish community as he was the first President to participate in a public Chanukiah lighting in 1979; he established the Commission on the Holocaust in 1978 which was charged with establishing a Holocaust memorial that would later build the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC; and brokering the peace agreement between Egypt and Israel in 1979. 

We know that in politics, we do not always agree with leaders or parties, and while these eulogies and memorials are only a snapshot of a person’s life and work, there is something so profound in each memorial that continued to be shared; President Jimmy Carter worked hard at living a life of integrity, truth, and compassion. He, and no person, is perfect, and one can find fault in any person. Yet, today, as our country remembers President Jimmy Carter, may we honor his life quest, to seek justice, show mercy and compassion to all, and be partners with God in building a stronger community, country, and world.

May President Jimmy Carter’s memory be a blessing and all the mourners be strengthened by his memory.

The post Remembering President Carter, z’l first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

Traditions provide a sense of stability and belonging, anchoring us through life’s changes. As Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof famously said, “Without our traditions, our lives would be as shaky as… as… as a fiddler on the roof!” And yet, traditions are not static—they grow and adapt as our families and lives change.

Sometimes, we need to gently remind those around us of the traditions that hold special meaning for us. Perhaps it’s a activity before the meal or that one relative’s recipe for cranberry sauce that must be on the table. Other times, we find ourselves embracing new traditions, whether born of necessity or the joy of expanding our family circle.

Family, after all, is not just the people we are related to by blood. It’s also the friends who show up when we need them, the people who bring us joy, and the community that makes us feel seen and loved. Each Thanksgiving table tells a unique story, reflecting the connections that sustain us throughout the year.

This season, let’s cherish the traditions that ground us while leaving room to create new ones. Try out a recipe from a friend, add a moment of mindfulness during the day, or invite someone new to your table. Traditions are at their best when they bring us closer to one another and remind us of the abundant blessings in our lives.

To our HaNefesh family, we wish you a happy, healthy, and meaningful Thanksgiving. May your day be filled with cherished memories, delicious food, and the excitement of blending the old with the new.

What’s a Thanksgiving tradition you’d like to share or create? We’d love to hear from you! Leave a comment here.

The post Expanding the Table of Thanksgiving Traditions first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

This week has been heavy, and the news keeps coming at us, each headline more overwhelming than the last. We’ve had time to mourn, to feel sad, to feel vulnerable. But now, it’s time to get up and remember: we have work to do—meaningful work, hard work.

Today, we spoke with Noe. If you haven’t met him yet, don’t worry; you’ll have a chance soon. When we asked if he was afraid, his response was inspiring. He said, “My momma didn’t cross no border for me to give up on this country!” Noe’s words are a powerful reminder: we can’t give up. So many of our families came here in search of freedom and opportunity—not just for themselves but for future generations. We are that next generation. Now, we’re the ones who must have hope and put in the hard work.

Last week, as the campaign came to a close, Vice President Kamala Harris shared a message with her staff, reminding them that while one race had ended, another was just beginning. The work continues, and we can’t afford to give up.

Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem, written in 1886, tells us, “The hope of two thousand years” is alive in us. If hope could endure for centuries, we can carry it forward today. 

Now is our time to come together, to work hard and work smart. We can’t give up on the hope our families brought with them to this country. Our work won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick—but as a Jewish community, we know how to play the long game.

We’ve got this. And most important of all, we have hope. No one can take that from us.

The post Holding Onto Hope and Doing the Work first appeared on Hanefeshoc.

I am worried about reproductive rights, immigration, climate change, LGBTQ+ rights, and antisemitism. 

I feel like I am a trifecta of risk. I am particularly vulnerable as a woman, a lesbian, and a Jew. Each of these identities shapes my perspective, and I am alarmed that the threats and divisive rhetoric we’ve heard could materialize.

Women’s rights are at risk—from reproductive rights to the countless challenges women face in being seen as equals or being viewed as capable leaders.

As a married lesbian, I am concerned that the rights Jodi and I have could be threatened. Even though we live in California, where our rights as a married couple are now enshrined in the state constitution, I worry that federal actions could still undermine those protections.

I am also troubled by the growing rise of antisemitism and Christian Nationalism, ideologies with strong views against Jewish people and anyone outside their own religious circles. If you have time, please read this article for more context: What Christian Nationalism Has in Store for Jews and Other Religious Minorities.

With all of this anxiety—on these issues and more, including immigration—what do I do?

First, I allow myself to feel. I take time to mourn, to be angry, to feel scared, and to sit with my sadness. But after that, I must channel my energy into action. Being here for all of you is incredibly important to me. It means so much to know that you feel comfortable reaching out to share your fears, concerns, and questions about what’s next. I may not have all the answers, but I know this: we are in this together. We will take on the hard work of rebuilding our country into a place we can all respect and feel proud of.

This won’t be easy, and it won’t happen overnight. As the article shows, we didn’t reach this point quickly, and repairing the damage will require long-term effort. If, at any point, we find it’s truly too dangerous, then yes, we will need to consider a Plan B. But for now, our Plan A is to fight for the country our grandparents and great-grandparents envisioned—a place where dreams can come true. I want to believe that this dream is still possible.

So let’s take a deep breath, name our emotions, and find moments of comfort together as we face this journey ahead.

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