We Need to Build a Life Worth Defending.

The room was filled with pride—cheers for alma maters, applause for the IDF, teachers, and the Jewish day schools and camps that shape lives. The energy reflected our individuality, but the message tied it all together: we’re not just building our own stories—we’re building something shared that is worth protecting.

Jewish life isn’t held together by fear. It is fueled by faith, meaning, and the everyday moments we invest in who we are and who we’re becoming.

Dan Senor’s address at the 92nd Street Y, shared on his Call Me Back podcast (May 2025), wasn’t just another speech about the state of the Jewish world. It was a reminder. A validation.

What stayed with me was the collective message that reminded me that my work, and the work of so many others, is part of something bigger than any one moment or institution. It pulled our personal stories into a shared mission. And somewhere in that shared momentum of pride and purpose, this idea came into focus: “It’s more than building defenses—it’s about building lives worth defending.”

I paused the episode. Rewound. Let it sink in.

Because this is precisely what I believe—and exactly why I do my work.

I don’t post about Jewish education because I need content. I do it because I believe every image, every caption, every story is a window into what makes a Jewish child’s life feel meaningful, rooted, and proud.

Just this week, I saw a toddler reach out her hand to a teacher for support as he climbed out of the sandbox. I watched a teacher gently guide students to research the animal they imagined for their diorama. And I saw middle schoolers step forward to help our youngest students join a collective dance around the Lag BaOmer bonfire. They weren’t performing, they were living what we hope every child learns: to look around, reach out, and make space for someone else to feel like they belong. It’s what it means to be part of a people.

None of it was staged. All of it was real.

Because the moments that matter most aren't designed to impress, they're designed to connect. They're the moments when a child is in a space that celebrates who they are, and a parent sees it and thinks, “This is where my child belongs.”

Jewish continuity isn’t something we beg people to care about. It’s something we let them feel. And when we get our storytelling right and share those moments in a way that reflects our values, we don’t just market a program.

We build something worth belonging to.

That’s what Dan Senor reminded me.

Because maybe the real work isn’t about fighting what we fear. Maybe it’s about doubling down on what we believe.

So here’s what I’m choosing: to keep showing up, to keep highlighting the joy, the values, and the connection, to keep helping families see that Jewish life isn’t just worth protecting.

It’s worth living.

And maybe that’s the better question to ask ourselves: Are we giving people something worth coming back to?

It’s not just about protecting Jewish life from the outside; it’s about making Jewish life feel so meaningful-so rich, joyful, and rooted—that it’s worth protecting.

Reflecting on all of this, I’m deeply grateful to the Almighty for the strength to do this work and for the quiet and revealed miracles that allow us to build Jewish life with joy, pride, and purpose.

Jewish continuity isn’t just about effort and strategy—it’s built on faith. On the belief that what we do in our schools, homes, and communities matters. And I thank Hashem for placing me in a role where I can be part of this sacred responsibility. It’s not just meaningful work. It’s a privilege.