2025—The Year to Open Our Doors and Become a ‘Regular’
There is a deep truth at the heart of Judaism: we are only as strong as the communities we build. From Sinai to the shtetl, from the bustling streets of Jerusalem to the quiet corners of suburban New Jersey, Jewish life has thrived because of our ability to come together. And now, in 2025—a world shaken by the horrors of October 7 and the resurgence of antisemitism—it is time for every one of us to recommit to that truth.
We must open our doors.
We must open them wide to welcome all Jews—those who have been left out, those who have walked away, and those who have yet to find a home. We must be unyielding in our hospitality, determined to heal internal wounds and extend our hands to those searching for connection, comfort, and meaning. For too long, too many of us have stood apart, divided by differences of practice, belief, or ideology. But the stakes are too high for us to remain fragmented.
Radical hospitality is not a new idea. It has been a cornerstone of Jewish life since the days of Abraham and Sarah. When three strangers appeared near their tent, Abraham “ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them” (Genesis 18:2). Despite the heat of the day, despite their own needs—Abraham recovering from his adult circumcision, Abraham and Sarah prepared a meal and made their guests feel at home. This moment, which Jewish tradition holds as the pinnacle of hachnasat orchim (welcoming guests), reminds us that hospitality is not just an obligation—it’s an expression of holiness.
The Jewish people need each other now more than ever.
I grew up immersed in Jewish community. My family attended several synagogues within walking distance of our home in suburban New Jersey. On Shabbat mornings, I tagged along with my parents as we participated in different minyanim. I vividly recall walking up one of the steep streets in Englewood’s East Hill neighborhood on Shavuot in 1998, the first time we attended Congregation Kol Haneshamah, a small egalitarian chavurah. It was a close-knit community of about 50 families. My parents made lifelong friends there—families who filled our Passover seder table and with whom we shared countless Shabbat meals. Their children became my and my sister’s friends, too.
That small chavurah was the first time I saw what community could really mean. It was not just about going to services; it was about building relationships that endured beyond the walls of the synagogue. It was about knowing that when someone celebrated, mourned, or just needed a hand, there was a group of people ready to show up.
As an adult, however, finding that kind of connection has not always been easy. In the decade after high school, I lived in six states and twice in Israel, searching for communities that could meet my spiritual needs and religious obligations. My journey brought me to Hasidic shtiebels, Mizrahi synagogues, and Israeli Reform communities. I prayed in Renewal circles where spontaneous dancing broke out, and I davened in socially distanced outdoor minyanim during the pandemic.
Each community had something special to offer, but I rarely stayed long enough to become “a regular.” Moving frequently made it hard to truly belong. Even after I settled in Chicago in 2020, I continued hopping from synagogue to synagogue, exploring everything the city’s Jewish life had to offer.
What I have learned is this: becoming “a regular” is about showing up. It is about walking through the door—again and again—until the faces around you start to feel familiar and the unfamiliar parts of the service or community feel like home.
It is not always easy. I have walked into services where I did not know a soul and left feeling unsure if anyone registered my presence. But I have also experienced the warmth that comes when someone notices you are new and makes an effort to welcome you. I have been the recipient of invitations for Shabbat meals from strangers who quickly became friends.
This is the power of community. It offers stability in an unstable world, comfort in times of grief, and meaning in moments of joy.
This is especially important in the wake of October 7, a day that shattered our collective sense of security. In the immediate aftermath, we witnessed the power of community in action. Jews of every background came together to mourn, to pray, and to stand in solidarity. Vigils were filled with faces I had not seen before—people who felt compelled to reconnect with their Jewish roots or simply to be among other Jews.
But now, as the shock fades and news cycles more on, old divisions are creeping back in. Denominational divides, political arguments, and ideological debates threaten to pull us apart.
We cannot let that happen.
If you belong to a community, it is time to ask: are our doors truly open? Are we making space for every Jew who walks through them, no matter how they look, pray, or believe? Are we inviting in those who feel disconnected or excluded?
As the Talmud teaches, Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh—“All of Israel is responsible for one another” (Shavuot 39a)! Our interconnectedness means we must not only welcome the outsider but seek them out.
And if you are someone who has yet to find a home in Jewish life, know this: there is a place for you. It may take time, courage, and patience, but you belong. Experiment. Visit different synagogues, chavurot, or Torah study groups. Host a Shabbat dinner or volunteer with a Jewish social services organization.
Judaism is not meant to be lived in isolation. It thrives in connection.
In 2025, I challenge all of us to take that step—whether it is opening our doors wider or stepping into a community for the first time. Together, we can build spaces where Jews of all backgrounds can fulfill their spiritual needs and religious obligations, where no one is left feeling like a stranger.
As Ecclesiastes reminds us, “Two are better than one… for if they fall, one can lift the other” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10). Our resilience has always come from our togetherness. Our pride is our greatest strength. And our communities are where we find both.
This year, find your community. Become a regular. Open the door for someone else. And let us show the world what it means for Jews to be united, proud, and unbreakable.