In her novel “Shanim Tovot” (which translates into “Happy New Years” or “Good Years”), Israeli author Maya Arad — herself an Israeli living in the United States — imagines an Israeli woman living in the U.S. who keeps in touch with friends back home through annual Shana Tova letters, crafting the life she wishes they would picture. Arad’s humor and nuance capture the bittersweet space between cultures, a space familiar to many of us who have lived both in St. Louis and in Israel.

After three years in my birth town of St. Louis, I’ve recently returned to my hometown of Jerusalem. Being back among my Israeli community, I’ve been thinking about Arad’s book and asking: what other ways can we keep a heartfelt conversation going across oceans?

STL Voices from Israel aims to do just that — connecting former or present St. Louisans in Israel with the St. Louis Jewish community. Some have lived in Israel for decades, others are here for a year, a semester, or a short vacation. However, all have unique voices and perspectives worth sharing.

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Our first round of STL Voices from Israel features two young St. Louisans beginning rabbinic and cantorial studies at the Reform movement’s Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem. They offer their communal Shana Tova greeting and early reflections on life in Israel after just a few months.

If you’re a past or present St. Louisan currently in Israel and would like to add your voice, please reach out. We’d love to include you in future editions.

Shana Tova — or as many are wishing these days in Israel — may it be better than the year that has passed.

Renewing Yourself in a New Place

By Lucy Greenbaum

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For the last eight years, I have had the pleasure of welcoming the Jewish New Year at Congregation Shaare Emeth as their musician-in-residence. This year, I have begun my journey towards cantorial ordination at Hebrew Union College and have moved to Jerusalem for my first year of study.

This year brings many new things: friendships, ideas, opportunities and challenges. I was prepared for all of these. However, I was not ready for the act of renewing myself in a totally new country with similar yet different customs and cultures during this time of year. I had almost taken for granted how easy it is to return and renew at the same physical space, surrounded by the same community. So, what does it mean to renew and return in Jerusalem?

I am still figuring it out, but so far, Jerusalem feels like a great place to do so; a city that is constantly changing and renewing, with a widely diverse population with all kinds of beliefs and traditions. I am allowing myself to feel a sense of return as I hum the melodies of the high holidays on my walk to class down Jaffa Road. For me, music is like a portal that can give me a sense of returning even without physically moving, no matter where in the world I might be. This means that walking under the Montefiore windmill in the center of Jerusalem, hearing a group of Orthodox teens singing to Debbie Friedman’s Havdalah melody, makes me feel right at home.

I am also renewing by returning to texts of this time of year, like Psalm 27, asking only one thing of the Divine: “To dwell in the house of the Divine for all the days of my life.” I am still figuring out what exactly this means to me. Still, it feels easier to see “the house of the Divine” walking around Jerusalem than in St. Louis: from the ultra-Orthodox with their heads buried in prayer on the bus, to the young secular couple strapped with guns singing “Salaam” down the main drag of the busy Machane Yehudah shuk, to the gathering of the Reform movement for Havdalah before the start of the weekly protests at the end of Shabbat. Everyone is searching for their own glimmer of the Divine, and together, we make the house of the Divine.

Part of this year’s process of return and renewal involves acknowledging that this year’s Rosh Hashanah celebrations will differ from those of previous years. I won’t be surrounded by the familiar faces of Shaare Emeth members but instead by the faces of Jerusalem: peaceniks, soldiers, protestors, Haredim and young people partying at the shuk. My eyes won’t get to gaze upon the unbelievably gorgeous blue glass ark in the Stiffman Sanctuary, but I will be surrounded by the beautiful Jerusalem stone and have the opportunity to venture to the Old City to renew in an ancient and holy space. I won’t be greeted by the joyful voices of the High Holidays choir, but I’ll surround myself with the beautiful voices of my classmates. I’ll hear the sounds of Israeli Reform Movement’s traditions, and I’ll be reminded of the power of music by the chants I hear every week at the protests.

There is beauty in recognizing and naming the fact that this year will be different, and that it brings an opportunity to try new rituals and traditions. I know it may not feel like I’ve fully returned or renewed myself by the time that Rosh Hashanah arrives. That is OK. Ultimately, the practice of returning and renewing is just that, a practice.

And so, while I find myself in an unfamiliar setting, I’ll return to what I know to be true and renew myself with ancient texts, new friends and familiar sounds. Where will your holidays be? In a similar or a different physical place? And what might you do to make them feel/sound/taste/look different this year than in years past?

Fighting Shadows, Seeking Solidarity: A Yom Kippur Reflection from Jerusalem

By Tanner Smith

I have often said that trying to understand the Israeli — Palestinian conflict from America is like Plato’s allegory of the cave. You can read all the news from every source, but ultimately, all you see are shadows on the wall. These shadows are shaped by the bias in the news, your current social media algorithm and how badly you want your side to be “right.” We all see different shadows. We punish each other for seeing different shadows, we ostracize our children for them and we call our community leaders Nazis for them.

While in St. Louis, I felt unmoored to any point of view on Israel because of this shadow boxing. My work in the community limited what I could say publicly about the conflict, but I could hear how bitter the discussion had become. There were vitriolic comments about how the youth of today have been radicalized to hate themselves. Did I hate myself for praying for peace? There were accusations that those in support of Israel condone, even support, genocide. Was I genocidal for wanting the hostages returned?

This was my fight with the shadows on the wall, and all I got for it was anger. I was angry with antisemitism on campus, and that the U.S. government was using it to attack academia. I was angry with the Israeli government for the escalating violence. I was angry at anti-Zionist Jews who paint the war with a brush given to them by radicals online. I was angry with some of the religious leadership of St. Louis for their harsh words against those who did not commit to supporting Israel blindly. I was angry with myself for losing my sense of empathy. I left for Israel, angry, tired and community-less.

The anger is still with me in Jerusalem, but with it came solidarity with my community. Although outside the purview of my Hebrew education, when the hostage families called a general strike, it was my Hebrew ulpan instructor’s empathy that moved me to join them. I saw my biblical grammar professor at the peace rally held that day. Marching with me to the Knesset building was an American cantor working in a Reform shul near the site of the protest.

The progressive Jewish movement in Israel is angry, mournful and exhausted. They are also united, determined and stiff-necked in their resolution to end this war and bring the captives home. There is no corner of Jerusalem missing yellow flags expressing solidarity with the hostages, no bus stop missing the names of those taken and never a service without a tearful rendition of our prayer for the return of the hostages. The movement for progressive Judaism in Israel fights every day, not with each other’s shadows, but for each other.

Yom Kippur is a time to come together as a whole community. Our prayers for redemption require this of us. Avinu Malkeinu begins saying that we have sinned, and later requests redemption and forgiveness for us. We have spoken harshly, ostracized and ignored each other. The redemption of both the hostages and Gaza’s citizens rests on support from the progressive Jews in Israel, and they need partners in the U.S. In Israel, Avinu Malkeinu will be said as a whole community. I pray St. Louis can do the same.