A few weeks ago, nearly 1,000 members of our Greater Boston Jewish community gathered for an evening I suspect many of us will remember for a long time. We came together to hear Rachel Goldberg-Polin and Jon Polin tell the story of their son, Hersh (z”l), and the unimaginable journey their family has endured since October 7, 2023.

One moment has stayed with me. Rachel shared that she still lights a Shabbat candle for Hersh each week — a quiet act of love and connection. It struck me as something deeply Jewish: our tradition’s ability to hold grief and gratitude, heartbreak and hope, at once.

It was a privilege to sit with Rachel and Jon. Their honesty, courage, and humanity left a profound impression on everyone in the room. Three lessons in particular continue to shape how I think about this moment for our people.

Community is what carries us

Again and again, Rachel and Jon returned to the power of community — support from Jews around the world, strangers who prayed for Hersh by name, people who showed up simply because they felt responsible for another Jewish family. Jon described feeling held by the Jewish people during the darkest days of their lives.

This is what our tradition means by Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh — all Jews are responsible for one another. In a post–October 7 world, many of us have been reminded just how deeply interconnected we are. Looking around that room, I was struck by how fortunate we are to belong to a community that shows up for each other in crisis and in celebration alike.

Hope is not a feeling, it’s a responsibility

Rachel has said, “Hope is mandatory.” During Hersh’s captivity, hope was a daily practice that gave them strength. After his murder, it took a different shape. Rachel spoke about the power of the word “yet” — healing may not be possible today, yet. Jon connected this to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ distinction between optimism and hope: optimism believes things will get better; hope is the conviction that together, we can help make them better.

That distinction feels urgent right now. We are living through real challenge — for Israel, for the Jewish people, for our broader society. Our tradition doesn’t ask us to deny that. It asks us to choose hope anyway: to keep building, teaching, and leading, because the future isn’t written yet.

Judaism gives us a way to hold what feels impossible

Rachel described Judaism as a treasure chest every Jew inherits — wisdom, ritual, memory, and meaning, offered precisely when we need them most. Jewish ritual doesn’t erase pain or offer easy answers. It keeps us connected — to one another, to those we love, to our ancestors, to something larger than ourselves.

When Rachel returns to lighting that Shabbat candle, she asks Hersh to wrap himself around her, to create just enough space from the pain that she can still feel the blessing of the day. As she put it: she is still broken, and she still laughs. She still feels pain, and she still feels joy. Judaism lets her hold all of it at once.

Choose light, even in darkness

Rachel and Jon told us the story of their family, but they also reminded us of something larger: that the Jewish story has always been one of resilience, responsibility, and hope. Thank you to everyone who joined us that evening — together, we showed what it means to stay connected, so that no one carries their burden alone.

Want to see highlights from the evening? View photos from the event on our Facebook page.