News

Dear JCOGS family,

I write these words from our Sukkah, on this festival of joy, as news reaches us of a fragile ceasefire and the long-awaited release of hostages, tentative signs of relief amid so much pain and uncertainty. Two years after the horrific events of October 7, two years of war and heartbreak for Israelis and Palestinians alike, we arrive at a moment of profound and prayerful hope. Across Israel and Gaza, people are exhaling, even celebrating, with both grief and yearning still close at hand.

For two years at JCOGS, we have prayed for our Israeli family, many of us with loved ones who have endured unimaginable loss. We have opened our hearts to our Jewish sisters and brothers in Israel and around the world.

For two years, we have prayed for the hostages, for their safety and their return. We have encountered their faces in our sacred JCOGS home. One by one, as some have come home, we have taken their pictures down in gratitude, as we continue to pray for those still waiting. Together we have written hundreds of letters of support to their families, refusing to let hope fade.

For two years, we have prayed for all who suffer in Gaza, for the innocent, for children and families caught in the crossfire, and for food, medicine, and safety to reach them. 

For two years we have prayed for a time when Israelis and Palestinians might live in security, dignity, and freedom. A ceasefire and hostage release are only first steps toward something greater: a true and lasting peace. Still, they are steps worth holding close. We have hung prayers for peace in our lobby and prayed weekly: “May the time be near when all its inhabitants and neighbors dwell together in security and everlasting peace,” believing that every child everywhere deserves to grow up in safety and joy. In the days and years ahead, both Israelis and Palestinians—with great support—will need time and courage to begin the long work of healing and rebuilding homes, communities, and hearts alike. 

In its impermanence, the Sukkah reminds us of life’s fragility. We pray: Ufros aleinu sukkat shelomecha, spread over us Your sukkah of shalom, your shelter of peace. Like the Sukkah, peace is never permanent. It must be tended, rebuilt, and sheltered again and again.

But for now, we pray. We hope. And we allow ourselves a moment to exhale and celebrate this breath of peace. Kein yehi ratzon, may it come soon.

Shabbat Shalom, and Moadim Lesimcha, may this be a time of joy,
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Rabbi David
P.S. A Vermont-wide gathering is being discussed. Please check our Facebook page for updates.