For the last couple of years, my family has gone to my cousin Ann’s house for Passover. I love it. Three generations around the same table, doing the same thing our ancestors did. My dad leads the Seder on the first night. Because he’s done this for so many years, it's a little more abbreviated, but we're there with one another. We're together.
During a recent Torah study with Rabbi Yisroel Mangel, we discussed the Passover story and the Haggadah, focusing on Dayenu. I was struck differently by the conversation this year. What I hadn’t thought about all these years is the moment in the Seder where we say, "It would have been enough." Human nature always wants more. But Dayenu asks you to stop and be mindful of what you have right now. I've been holding onto that this year. Because mindfulness is where the work starts.
It's been a hard few years to be Jewish in America. You know that. And yet, more people are walking through our doors than ever. More families at the table. More young adults raising their hands. Rabbi Shira Stutman said it at our Impact Breakfast this year: “It is a great time to be Jewish in America.” Sounds contrary, but both are actually true.
Here's what I carry through all of it: I want everyone to feel a strong sense of identity and a real sense of belonging. In our Jewish community and in our city. That might sound like a tagline. It's not. My parents taught me to feel special because I was Jewish. I have always felt that way. It's why I do this work. I want that for everyone. Not because someone told them they should, but because they felt it.
I hear it from parents, from donors, from community leaders who are doing everything right and still wondering if it's enough. So, we asked.
This past year, we sat down with agency leaders, senior rabbis, donors, and community members across Jewish Cincinnati. Professionals who serve our community every day told us they didn’t know where to turn when they had a family issue of their own. And what we heard from them mirrored what we heard from the people they serve. Teens are being pulled in more directions than my generation ever was. Families are quietly struggling to make ends meet. The desire is there. The gaps are, too.
All of it comes back to one question: Is there room for me here? That question lives in two places. It’s inside our own community, where not everyone feels there is space for how they think or who they are. And it’s outside it, where antisemitism makes people wonder if it's safe to show up at all. The answer to both questions is the same: pride. Pride in our Jewish identity. Pride in the diversity inside our community. And making room—actively, visibly—for everyone who wonders if there's space for all of who they are.
We can't control who hates us. But we can choose to be so rooted in who we are that it becomes our answer.
The Israelites lived that. They were free, but liberation didn’t automatically create unity. The wilderness was the work of figuring it out together. And some of the people who did the hardest walking never saw the destination. They built for the next generation anyway.
Dayenu reminds us that what we have is enough. And we are still choosing to build more. Together.
Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,
Danielle V. Minson
CEO, Jewish Federation of Cincinnati
jewishcincinnati.org/give
P.S. Join us April 16 for JCRC's annual meeting: Newsworthy or Not? RSVP here. If there's someone in your life who needs to be in this room, bring them.
P.P.S. Mark your calendar: May 20, our 130th Annual Meeting. The theme is What We Choose to Build, Together. Register here. You'll want to be in the room.