I’m glad I could contribute, and I’ve appreciated seeing how Chadashot continues to reflect strong commitment and purpose. I’m confident the newsletter remains in good hands going forward, and I wish the editors and writers continued success in sustaining and growing the work they’ve built.

My job would have been impossible without the help of my two vice-chairs, Marilyn Berkowitz and Shelley Szwalbenest. With Marilyn as my faithful compatriot and fellow decision maker for three years, and then adding Shelley for two, we oversaw the work of two Region Torah Fund Vice President classes: the 2021–2024 class for one year and the 2024–2026 class for two years. Both groups had wonderful, hard-working, dedicated women, and we tried to use everyone’s strengths for the good of the group. With both classes we shared articles, speeches, programming ideas, and strategies. We all worked together to bring in donations, solve problems, and most important of all—enjoy our time together, note each other’s life moments, and take pride in our work as Women’s League volunteers.

Torah Fund would not be able to support our Conservative/Masorti institutes of higher education without the efforts and dedication of our 13 Region Torah Fund Vice Presidents – and my two vice chairs as well. Each volunteer also understands every donation supports the continuation of our movement.

Torah Fund is the dedicated philanthropy of WLCJ, and our grassroots fundraising continues to do the job. Thank you to everyone who supports Torah Fund in any way—making/collecting donations, coordinating events, paperwork, Chadashot, Legacy Society (Marcia Toppall and Donna Burkat), helping with e-cards (Gilda Zucker and Nancy Goldberg), packing pins, Transition Team, Torah Fund Cabinet and spreading the word about our efforts. It has truly been an honor to work with every one of you and see the results of our labors.

Thank you also for the warmth and support you have extended to me personally. The joy and self-growth I have experienced while being your WLCJ Vice President, Torah Fund Chair, cannot be measured.

Studies show us that people who volunteer are happier, have a more positive attitude, enhanced social connections, and improved self-esteem. I see all these characteristics in our dedicated TF volunteers. We can all take great satisfaction in a job well done. Yasher Kochachen (good job) to all.

Now on to our next campaign for 2026–2027, Shema Koleinu (Hear Our Voice). I wish Janet Kirschner, our incoming Torah Fund Vice President, and her team much success.

WLCJ President Julia Loeb said the transition will streamline operations and enable WLCJ to enhance engagement and efficiency while continuing to support our Conservative/Masorti Institutions of higher learning.

Starting July 1, the Torah Fund offices will be located within the WLCJ offices. Morgan Long has been appointed Torah Fund Manager, joining the Torah Fund team along with Janet Kirschner, incoming Torah Fund Vice President. Outgoing WLCJ International Vice President, Torah Fund Chair

Lori Snow has served in that position for the past three years, overseeing several successful campaigns.

“As the incoming Torah Fund Vice President, I am excited and honored to have the opportunity to lead this campaign,” Kirschner said.

The transition comes as the 2026-2027 Torah Fund Campaign theme is announced: Shema Koleinu, Hear Our Voice. This new theme marks 40 years since the first female cantor was invested. This year’s Torah Fund pin with its joyful women and musical symbolism expresses the right of every woman’s voice as we celebrate this anniversary. The new campaign launches July 1.

The Torah Fund newsletter Chadashot will continue to feature the latest events and happenings of Torah Fund. Torah Fund donors receive links to the virtual newsletter three times a year. Jodi Beck has served as Chadashot editor for six years and will end her term prior to the new campaign when a new editor will be named.

The holiday of Tu B’Av takes place on the 15th of Av. This year, it begins at sundown on July 28 and ends in the evening on July 29.

Tu B’Av comes just one week after Tisha B’Av, the saddest day on the Jewish calendar, which commemorates the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem. Jewish spiritual tradition teaches us that there is always light within darkness, and Tu B’Av reminds us of joy, renewal, and love.

Tu B’Av is both ancient and modern. It was originally observed during the Second Temple period as a day of dancing and celebration. In recent decades, the holiday has been revived as the Jewish Day of Love—a kind of quirky Jewish older sibling to Valentine’s Day.

The Hebrew word for love is ahava. Its root, hav, means “to give.” This reminds us that love involves giving our time, attention, admiration, and respect to others. As parents, we can teach our children how to give by demonstrating love through our own acts of kindness and generosity.

Sharing stories is a wonderful way to begin conversations about affection, friendship, and caring for others. Books about love and kindness between friends, family members, neighbors, and community members can help children understand what it means to show love in everyday life.

What You Need to Know About This Ancient Day of Love

1. During the Second Temple period, Tu B’Av was like an ancient singles mixer. According to the Talmud, young Jewish women would dance in the vineyards, and unmarried men would go out to meet them.
2. The women wore borrowed white dresses so that no one would feel embarrassed if she did not own the proper garments.
3. According to the Talmud, women also danced on Yom Kippur. For this reason, Tu B’Av and Yom Kippur are described as two of the happiest days for the Jewish people.
4. On Tu B’Av, men and women from different tribes of Israel were permitted to marry one another, despite earlier restrictions on intermarriage between tribes.
5. The holiday’s Hebrew name simply refers to its date: the 15th of the month of Av. “Tu” comes from the Hebrew letters tet and vav, whose numerical values are 9 and 6. Together, they add up to 15.
6. In modern Israel, Tu B’Av is celebrated much like Valentine’s Day in the United States, with flowers, romantic dinners, and evening celebrations. It is also considered a meaningful date for weddings.
7. From the end of the Second Temple era until the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, Tu B’Av was mainly marked by the omission of Tachanun, a penitential prayer recited during weekday morning and afternoon services. The holiday was later revived in modern Israeli culture.
8. Because Tu B’Av falls during the full moon, many people enjoy taking an evening walk outside and appreciating nature’s beautiful “mood lighting.”

Celebrate Tu B’Av with a sweet, simple treat that families can make together. These No-Bake Chocolate Cookie Pops are fun for children in the summer heat, this no-oven recipe is a perfect holiday treat!

Ingredients

18 chocolate sandwich cookies
4 ounces cream cheese or frosting
1.5 cups milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips
Assorted sprinkles, finely chopped nuts or toasted flake coconut
Lollipop sticks or popsicle sticks

Directions

1. Crush the cookies into fine crumbs.
2. Mix the crumbs with cream cheese or frosting until the mixture holds together.
3. Roll the mixture into small balls.
4. Insert a lollipop stick into each ball.
5. Place cookie pops on a parchment paper lined cookie sheet and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
6. Melt chocolate in 30 second intervals stirring after each interval. Repeat until all the chocolate is melted.
7. Dip each cookie pop into melted chocolate.
8. Add sprinkles or decorations before the chocolate hardens.
9. Place the pops in the refrigerator for 1 hour until firm.

Enjoy and share with someone you love!

Joining us by pre-recorded video (it would have been 2:30 a.m. in Israel!), Rabbi Baker opened with a question: Why is shmita (the sabbatical year occurring every seven years when land is unused, agricultural work ceases and debts are forgiven) taught at Har Sinai, when the people were still in the desert? She explained that “there is no revelation without the details.” Even laws not yet relevant must be articulated, because they create a framework for the future.

She then connected this idea to Yom HaAtzmaut. Once seen as a holiday of pure joy, it has become harder for Israelis to shift from daily struggle to celebration. Security concerns, financial pressures, violence, hatred, polarization, and debates over military service all weigh heavily. Israel’s Declaration of Independence begins by explaining why the Jewish people deserve a state, then outlines a long-term program of action to build a society rooted in peace, justice, and equality. “When things are bad — you get to work.”

Returning to shmita, she cited Rashi: it matters precisely when it feels irrelevant, when it is still in the future, when we have time to imagine something better. “We stay in the mud when we can’t imagine a better future.” Jewish history teaches that big moments come only after sustained effort. Leadership must be cultivated. Rabbi Baker closed by thanking Women’s League and Torah Fund for embodying the Jewish DNA of hard work. Our mission is to build a better future despite the challenges. She wished us “a good year of work until the next Yom HaAtzmaut.”

Israel at a Crossroads: Navigating Threats, Truth, and Turbulence

Our featured presenter, Tsach Saar, Deputy Consul General of Israel in New York, plays a central role in managing the consulate’s work, building relationships with elected officials and community leaders, and serving as Acting Head of Mission when needed. He shared his background — four years as a parliamentary advisor in the Knesset, diplomatic posts in Albania, Berlin, and now New York, which he described as “the most difficult” assignment of his career.

Tsach offered a candid overview of the Middle East. Iran, he said, is “the big elephant in the room.” For Israel, Iran is an existential threat; for the United States, a strategic one. Iran maintains “a very organized plan to destroy Israel.” Israel’s priorities are preventing Iranian nuclear weapons, eliminating ballistic missile capabilities, and neutralizing proxies such as Hezbollah and the Houthis. He noted the global implications of Iranian aggression, including rising insurance premiums for ships in the Strait of Hormuz and the involvement of Russia and China. Even if 95% of missiles are intercepted, he warned, the remaining 5% can cause devastation “equal to a nuclear bomb.”

On Hezbollah, Tsach emphasized that Israel has no territorial dispute with Lebanon and seeks peace, but Hezbollah refuses to disarm and continues rebuilding. If sanctions on Iran are lifted, support for Hezbollah will grow.

Turning to Gaza, he noted that Israel currently controls 50% of the territory militarily and that Israelis are relieved all hostages — “dead or alive” — are home. Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005, he reminded us, “and they attacked Israel in 2023.” The peace plan is in “phase two,” but Hamas refuses to disarm or relinquish its ideology. A deadlock persists as Hamas uses its taxing authority to rebuild.

With regard to Iran, Lebanon, and Gaza, Tsach sees Israelis becoming “much more of one mind,” more united, and “much nicer to each other.”

Asked for good news, he pointed to Syria, where the threat has weakened.

When asked what American Jews can do, Tsach urged us to be “overtly proud and vocal” as Jews and Zionists. We can criticize the government and still be Zionists. “Talk to people! Stand up for what you believe in!”

He acknowledged concerns about violence in the West Bank, calling it a real problem driven by “mostly young extremists and criminals,” and said Israel must address it.

Tsach said he has not met with New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani but described Mamdani’s “rhetoric as dangerous and antisemitic for attempting to separate Jewish identity from Israel.” He also noted that he was “smart and charming.”

Tsach also spoke about his engagement with Masorti communities, his awareness of Kotel issues, and his conversations with the president of 91�첥. With 40% of American Jews living in the states he oversees, he sees direct dialogue as essential and remains optimistic.

We are grateful to Rabbi Chaya Rowen Baker and Tsach Saar for their frank, thoughtful presentations, offering clarity, context, and hope as Israel navigates profound challenges and possibilities.

Tze ulemad, often translated “Go and learn,” is used in the Passover Haggadah to introduce the verses from Deuteronomy 25:5–8 (“My father was a wandering Aramean”) and the lengthy midrashic section that follows. The process this section models is at least as important as the specific content of the texts. It is intended to be illustrative of how we go about reading and studying, how we go about telling and understanding our stories, and how we emerge transformed as a result.

The introductory phrase, unusual in rabbinic literature, is itself a key part of the lesson. The word tze actually means “go out” in the imperative. It comes from the same root used to refer to the Exodus from Egypt itself, yetziat Mitzrayim (Exod. 12:41). Here, joined to ulemad (and learn), the complete phrase invites an extended meditation on the relationship between going out and learning.

On the one hand, the capacity and willingness to go out serves as the precondition for learning.Learning demands a kind of leaving—a letting go of what we believe we already know. It requires the courage to sit with uncertainty, ambiguity, beginner status, or feeling ignorant. It entails leaving the comfort zone of familiarity and expertise, the ego gratification of being right. More concretely, we learn when we go outside of ourselves and our current surroundings and relationships, going out into the world to meet new people, see new terrain, and have new experiences.

On the other hand, it is also true that learning is often the precondition for going out. Learning spurs our imagination, inspiring us to envision new ways of doing and being, even alternative societal structures. Learning about others’ experiences can take us out of ourselves, growing our empathy and spurring us to action. Learning new ideas, philosophies, and spiritual and religious teachings can clarify or shift our values and ethics, leading us out of old patterns and into new practices and new priorities. Our ability to change our present circumstances—or leave them altogether—often follows upon having learned that there are alternative ways of being. Learning opens up possibility and hope, and can nurture the very courage that going out demands. This is why enslavers generally forbid enslaved people from educating themselves.

Of course, it is not an “either/or” but a “both/and.” Tze ulemad—“Go out, then learn” and “Learn so you can go out”—describes an iterative process. Going out enables learning, which enables going out, which makes further learning possible. And on and on. Or perhaps they are simultaneous, parallel, interdependent processes. Going out is learning, and learning is a form of going out.

We see this in the Exodus narrative itself. One way to read the story is that change begins when Moses goes out from Pharoah’s palace and sees his brothers (Exod. 2:11). This leads to revelation/learning at the Burning Bush. That learning begins the process of Moses leading the entire people out of slavery, which in turn makes possible a new level of revelation/learning at Mount Sinai. The result is the endless cycle of going out and learning that is Jewish culture, practice, and history—Torah study and secular education that (ideally) lead us step-by-step out of degradation, injustice, hatred, and violence toward ever greater dignity, justice, lovingkindness, and peace.

The contrast in the Exodus narrative is Pharaoh—the one character who will not or cannot learn or go out. “I do not know YHVH,” Pharoah famously declares; then, despite plague after plague destroying his society, he refuses to learn. This inability or unwillingness to learn becomes manifest in his hardened heart; he stays stuck, immobilized, heavy (kaved)—unable to go out from his current path and choose a new way. When he finally wants to go out—chasing after the Israelites—he becomes stuck, immobilized, and heavy (bikevedut) again, this time in the mud and mire of the Sea of Reeds (Exod. 14:25, Exod. 15:4, and Rashi).

Writ large, the Exodus narrative (and its retelling at the Passover seder) is a story of an existing world order crumbling and a new, more just society emerging, built by those who tze ulemad (go out and learn, who learn, and can therefore go out). Strikingly, just before actually going out (yatzo) from Egypt, the Israelites are commanded to instruct future generations about the Passover story, thereby becoming teachers, as well as learners (Exod. 12:26-27). Tze ulemad . Freedom and learning are intertwined. Go out so you can learn. Leaving is the hallmark of those who have been freed—who are no longer stuck or enslaved by external or internal forces—and don’t wait to be freed in order to learn. Rather, they go out through learning. Learning is the pathway to freedom. The study, discussion, storytelling, and interpretation at our seder tables is more than a celebration and reminder of our journey to freedom, it is an actualization of the journey itself. By the end of the evening, having learned something, we are a little freer than we were when we first sat down at the table.

In thinking about Passover, Chancellor Shuly Rubin Schwartz began with the Haggadah. For her, the seder is a living textual exercise—one that demonstrates how Jewish tradition holds continuity and change in tension. The obligation to tell the story remains constant; how that story is told must always respond to the moment. What follows is adapted from this conversation.

WHAT DOES THE HAGGADAH REPRESENT TO YOU?

To me, the ongoing exchange between teaching and learning lies at the heart of the Haggadah. And the Haggadah takes this one step further. It invites us not only to study and recite it, but to bring the experience to life. While there are essential elements that must be included, there is also enormous space for interpretation, creativity, and adaptation.

This dynamic makes the Haggadah the quintessential educational document of the Jewish people.

Passover’s central imperative is to ask questions and tell the story. In addition to reciting fixed questions, participants in every era will ask—and should be encouraged to ask—unanticipated questions. Similarly, how the Passover story is told is up to us. While drawing on the traditional themes, we strive to convey them in a language our audience can hear. In this way, each seder will uniquely reflect the people gathered around the table.

WHAT DOES THAT KIND OF FLEXIBILITY TELL US ABOUT HOW JUDAISM UNDERSTANDS TRADITION?

It is incumbent upon us to continually reframe, re-energize, and evolve so that the message of the Exodus—of liberation and possibility—can speak to every generation. In this way, the Haggadah conveys the essence of Conservative Judaism, retaining the traditional framework with its required elements and timeworn melodies, foods, and rituals, while encouraging us to add our own stamp to it.

Each year, we are asked to confront the question: what does experiencing liberation require of us now? The answer is never fixed. It shifts from generation to generation, year to year, and changes depending upon who is gathered around the seder table and what each person is feeling at that time.

The seder was never meant to be static. I think those reading every word with no additions and doing the same thing every year misunderstand the seder’s purpose. The Haggadah and the seder itself were designed to be fluid, inviting continual renewal, interpretation, and growth.

CAN YOU GIVE AN EXAMPLE OF HOW THE SEDER ITSELF HAS EVOLVED IN RESPONSE TO CHANGING PERSPECTIVES?

The Four Sons (what we now refer to as the “Four Children”) is a wonderful example. Think about the  rasha, the so-called wicked child. Our understanding of that child has changed dramatically.

Instead of seeing the child as bad, we ask: What does it mean to be labeled as bad and to feel alienated as a result? What does it mean to feel like you’re doing something wrong without understanding why? This new interpretation shifts the meaning entirely. Anyone who has felt marginalized can see themselves in that child. This adaptation allows them to feel represented in the Haggadah and comfortable being at the table, while offering an opening for conversation around a sense of otherness or judgment should this person want to initiate it.

WHAT ISSUES HAVE RESHAPED SEDARIM AND HAGGADOT IN YOUR LIFETIME?

In one generation, questions of women’s roles led to the inclusion of Miriam’s Cup. Today, many children grow up with Miriam’s Cup on the table and don’t even think to question it.

The same pattern holds for those marginalized because of sexual orientation, whose experiences inspired the orange on the seder plate—another poignant response to a feeling of exclusion.

Other moments shaped the seder as well: The postwar generation added readings to remember the victims of the Holocaust. During the struggle for Soviet Jewry, prayers were added for those Jews living behind the Iron Curtain.

One of my most memorable sedarim took place in 1981, when we hosted an Iranian Jewish couple who had escaped the Ayatollah. In that moment, freedom was not an abstract idea, but a palpable presence in our midst.

Passover resonates because its message of liberation continues to meet the moment.

WHAT MAKES THE SEDER UNIQUELY OPEN TO THIS KIND OF EVOLUTION?

Much of the seder is minhag rather than halakhah. There are a few obligatory rituals and recitations, but beyond those, observing the holiday is deeply personal. Traditions and customs—such as the food you use for karpas, what kind of haroset you eat, and how you orchestrate finding the afikomen—vary depending on where your family comes from; what adult children, newer family members or long-time guests have introduced; and what community you find yourself in. Because of this, no two sedarim are the same. The more we internalize from others, the richer the seder becomes.

Pesah has always been the most observed holiday among American Jews. There’s a reason for that—it draws people in and the barrier to entry is low. The seder represents both a living Judaism and a practical Judaism that anyone can both access and contribute to.

The seder reminds us that no one generation owns the story. We inherit it, shape it, and pass it forward. That has been true around dining room tables for centuries, and it is true of institutions as well.

To publish a Passover reader is to take that obligation seriously. It signals that we all must continue to respond to the questions of this moment, just as Jews have done in generations before us. The story remains. The voices around the table change. The responsibility to elaborate on the narrative endures.

Tze ulemad —Go out and learn!  As is often the case, the brevity of the text—two words and a conjunction—conceals deceptively rich ideas.  In a sense, they encapsulate the theme of the holiday of Pesah, one that involves going out (of Egypt) and learning (about becoming the Jewish people). And tze ulemad, like much in the seder, invites questions: Who is going out? Where are they going? What are they learning?

Tze ulemad implies that learning involves action. It is easy to connect the phrase to approaches to experiential education, learning that involves hands-on participation accompanied by reflection. While one can learn about Israel, for example, from a book, experiencing Israel through time spent there deepens one’s understanding. Similarly, one can learn aboutprayer, Shabbat, and holiday ritual, or one can experience them directly. In this framing, the seder itself is an educational activity, one which symbolically refers to a core experience in the evolution of the Jewish people, one we cannot directly experience—the Exodus from Egypt.

Tze ulemad can also be seen as a shorthand for powerful educational theories that don’t necessarily involve hopping on the next El Al flight. Think about the metaphors for learning that you may be familiar with. Young children are like empty vessels waiting to be filled. She’s so smart, she’s like a sponge soaking up information. These metaphors set the learner in a relatively passive role, as receptacles of whatever content is at hand.

Generally speaking, educators have come to reject such metaphors and instead frame learning as an active process. An alternate metaphor is that of a scientist who brings their current understandings of a phenomenon into the lab, collects data, and modifies or solidifies their initial understandings accordingly. The learner constructs new understandings from old. With the shifting metaphors of learning comes a reframing of the role of the educator from being, as a popular saying goes, “the sage of the stage” (spouting information for students to “soak up”) to “the guide on the side,” curating encounters with new information, perspectives, or information that are likely to prompt learners to adjust their understandings. This could happen through experiences such as a trip to Israel or participating in prayer, but it could also happen in a classroom and even at a dinner table.

As we “go out” to encounter new information and ideas, our frameworks for making sense of phenomena in the world, which psychologists refer to as “schemas,” become more elaborate and complex. As a basic example, a very young child may form a schema for “dog”: relatively small, furry, crawls around. They may develop positive and/or negative emotions related to dogs and establish a behavioral repertoire associated with them (approach and try to engage with; avoid at all costs). With experience, the child learns that dogs can come in various shapes, sizes, and degrees of furriness. They also learn that not everything with four legs and fur is a dog.

From this perspective, all learning is a matter of tze, of going out, or incremental change to our schema. Psychologist Irv Sigel (1921–2006) emphasized that the role of an educator is to, in his terminology, “distance” learners from their existing schemas, to call on them to use new data to shape their understanding. Educators and parents achieve this, according to Sigel, through implementing “distancing strategies” that call upon learners to “go out” of their schema[1].  

Active learning is all well and good, but you might be wondering, what does any of this have to do with Passover?

The structure of the seder itself stretches one’s understanding.We’re familiar with dinner. We may sit down with our family for dinner regularly or at least occasionally. We may even include some prayers and singing. But the seder is radically different from an everyday dinner or even a Shabbat meal. And we’re familiar with Jewish ritual observances and prayer services. These often take place at a synagogue or, at the very least, not at a dinner table. A seder makes its uniqueness known through its very being. It is a dinner like no other and it is a liturgical event like no other. Our attention is drawn to elements of the ritual that represent the unique experience of the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt, while at the same time referencing the quotidian Jewish experiences of ritual, family, and of course, food.

Relatedly, we take note that Sigel and others point to question-asking as a primary distancing strategy. To Sigel and others, a good question calls upon the learner to analyze their existing schema in light of new observations, inputs, or ideas. In case the distinctive qualities of the seder escape one’s conscious notice, the seder liturgy directs our attention to these through the inclusion of the so-called Four Questions. Why “so-called”? Because structurally speaking, there is only one question (How is this night different from all other nights?) and four answers provided (On all other nights . . . while on this night . . . ). Those answers serve as prompts for further exploration. Sure, we dip twice or lean while we eat, etc. But why? The answers raise questions, and the questions beget deeper understanding. Though framed as answers and not questions, this section functions as a distancing strategy, drawing attention to what makes this night special. The entire setup of the evening is an exercise in unpacking those different elements[2].

Toward the end of the magid section, we note that in every generation, everyone should see themselves as if they came out of Egypt. This passage calls upon us to raise new questions every year: timeless questions, those that are relevant specifically at this moment, and questions that spark further conversation among all the generations at our seder table. In this way, we continue to fulfill the imperative of tze ulemad.

[1] Sigel, I. E., Kress, J. S., & Elias, M. J. (2007). “Beyond Questioning: Inquiry Strategies and Cognitive and Affective Elements of Jewish Education.” Journal of Jewish Education, 73(1), 51–66.

[2] Also see Klein, R. (2023). “The Passover Seder as an Exercise in Piagetian Education Theory.” Religious Education. 118. 1–13.