As we move toward fall and Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, I’ve been reflecting on a few experiences from this summer that have stayed with me.

Those reflections begin with Bubbie Sophie.

Just months before our wedding, my wife’s grandmother was struck by a bus. We sat with 81-year-old Sophie as the doctor delivered the bad news: “We’re not sure you’ll ever walk again.”

Sophie didn’t miss a beat.

“I won’t just be walking but I’ll be dancing again at their wedding,” she told him. “If Hitler couldn’t get me, the bus had no chance.”

That was Sophie, a Holocaust survivor who courageously escaped into the forest during an Auschwitz death march. Surely she’d walk away from that bus too.

This summer, my wife, youngest son Adam, and I retraced those steps in Poland to learn more about her life, her loss, and her legacy.

One of our educators introduced us to the Hebrew phrase gam v’gam: “both this and that.” The idea that we can hold two conflicting truths at once.

In Poland, I saw that everywhere.

We stood in forests so peaceful, birds singing, the wind gently stirring, knowing that in clearings all around were the mass graves of thousands of Jewish children. We visited synagogues that are now museums, haunting reminders of once-vibrant communities erased from the map. We walked through ghettos and death camps where people were stripped of their names, their dignity, and their lives.

But we also visited the monastery where nuns took in Jewish children, climbed into a hayloft where a farmer risked everything by hiding Jewish families, and toured a factory whose owner hid hundreds of Jews as essential workers, including Sophie, to keep them from the death camps until he was arrested for doing so. Even in history’s darkest moments, there were people who chose courage over fear and humanity over hate.

I left Poland with a renewed appreciation for the responsibility that comes with bearing witness. And I will never forget watching my youngest, Sophie’s great-grandson Adam, wrap tefillin just steps from the gas chamber she eluded. And then I arrived in Israel.

I immediately followed this experience by joining a leadership journey with fellow JCC leaders in Israel, where we saw a country rebuilding with hope and joy, much the way Sophie did throughout her life.

While Poland deepened my understanding of the Jewish past, Israel strengthened my faith in the Jewish future.

Together, they reminded me what it means to belong to the Jewish story. We met people still living in the shadow of October 7th, yet determined it would not define their next chapter.

We visited the Niv Nirel Center, a place dedicated to healing and renewal, and met its founder, a mother who lost her children on October 7th and transformed unimaginable personal loss into compassion and hope for countless others.

At Kibbutz Nahal Oz, where Hamas sought to destroy not only lives, but Israel’s agriculture and food security, residents took action, rebuilding bigger, better, and bolder. The kibbutz has surpassed its pre-October 7th agricultural production, and plans are underway to welcome more families.

A city mayor whose town was ravaged by terror and rebounded with resilience described such determination as radical hope. The decision to keep building, even when the future remains uncertain. And the clearest expression of that hope was joy.

I was moved to tears more than once by how much joy I saw everywhere we went. Families filled restaurants late into the evening. Teenagers played volleyball on the beach after dark. Boardwalks buzzed with life. It was the living embodiment of what has become a generational rallying cry:

We will dance again.

Of course, it made me think of Sophie, who kept the promise she made in the hospital. On April 8, 2000, she walked onto the dance floor at our wedding and danced with the love of her life as I danced with mine.

Despite everything that had tried to stop her, there we were. Dancing.

And here we are. Just a few days after I returned from my travels, I walked through our JLA campus during the busiest week of summer. We were hosting the largest cohort of campers in J Los Angeles history.

There was music and dancing in the courtyard, laughter in every hallway, kids running carefree and joyful as exhausted counselors tried to keep up!

After everything I had witnessed over the previous weeks, those sounds landed differently. They were the sounds of a successful Jewish community center summer camp and the undeniable declaration of a thriving Jewish future where we get to put the J in Joy.

A future I am honored to play even the smallest role in building, here at J Los Angeles and in my proudly Jewish life.

As we enter a new year, I find myself thinking about what we carry forward. The stories we inherit, the choices we make, and the future we leave for those who follow.

Sophie chose life. She chose joy. And she danced. Not only for herself, but for every generation who follows in her indefatigable footsteps.

May we continue to do the same.

Again and again and again.

Shana Tova,

David Siegel