On my recent trip to Israel, I had the privilege of attending Kabbalat Shabbat services in Tel Aviv—right at the marina as the sun was beginning to dip behind the Mediterranean. Just getting there was a gift: the golden light casting long shadows across the sand, the sounds of volleyball games, couples strolling by the water, laughter rising above the rhythmic waves.
It was a portrait of Israel’s breathtaking diversity. On the promenade I passed Jews from Russia, Yemen, Morocco, Iran, Ethiopia, and America. I saw Arabs—Christian, Muslim, and Druze—enjoying the warm evening. And then there was a moment I won’t forget: a gay couple holding hands and sharing a kiss on a bench, while just ten feet away, a young religious woman stood facing the sea, quietly reciting a psalm. Side by side—each in their own spiritual moment. This is Israel, in all its complexity and beauty.
The service itself, overlooking the sea, was as moving as ever. Gorgeous music, powerful poetry. Our ancient prayers flowed alongside verses by Bialik, Rachel, Leah Goldberg, Yehuda Amichai—an authentic fusion of tradition and innovation. At one point, the rabbi encouraged us to greet those around us. I turned to the couple seated in front of me and, making small talk, commented on the heat—the thick humidity that clung to us even after sunset.
One of them smiled and said, “We survived Pharaoh, we’ll survive this too.”
I laughed, recognizing the phrase—it’s become a kind of Israeli motto, even showing up in popular songs. (Here’s one by Meir Ariel you might enjoy.)
But as I reflected, I heard the deeper message, and I heard in the context of tremendous exhaustion. Look, our Israeli friends and family are tired. Tired of war. Tired of the unbearable wait to bring the hostages home. Tired of the government. Tired of the world’s silence.
And yet, in that same breath—resilience. Defiant hope.
Because we survived Pharaoh. And the Greeks and the Romans. The Crusades, the Inquisition, the pogroms, the Holocaust. We carry that history in our bones.
And somehow—by faith, by tradition, by community—we’ll survive this too.
Tonight, I’ll be welcoming Shabbat by the sea again, this time in Santa Monica. Please join me so we can find strength and joy in one another.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi