Since October 7, something shifted.
In Israel. In the world. In all of us.
There was grief. Anger. Fear.
But also—this deep, almost unspoken need.
People didn’t know where to put their feelings.
They didn’t know how to mourn. How to pray.
They just knew they couldn’t hold it all alone.
That’s how these outdoor Shabbat gatherings were born.
I didn’t plan a grand event.
I just thought—what if we met outside, as the sun set, and stood together for a little while?
No synagogue. No service sheet. Just people. And a bit of soul.
Since then, we’ve held eleven gatherings.
More than 3,500 people have come.
We’ve stood side by side—Jews, non-Jews, children, parents, strangers, soldiers, artists, elders.
Some holding flags. Some holding silence. Some holding hands.
We meet in parks. On cliffs. On the beach, where the water’s close and the horizon feels infinite.
We begin just before sundown.
I say, “Close your eyes.”
And for a moment, everyone does.
There’s music. Often Ilan Kidron or Hilton Chilchik.
There’s prayer—simple, powerful Hebrew words.
We say the Shema. We breathe. We hold space.
Not for answers. Just for being.
And always—there is Israel.
In our hearts. In our songs. In the ache we carry.
So many people have come up to me after.
One woman—who wasn’t Jewish—said she just happened to walk by.
She heard me say “close your eyes,” and she did.
She listened. She wept.
She said, “I didn’t understand the language. But I knew it was holy.”
A Jewish man told me it had been over 20 years since he’d been to shul.
But out here, standing in the wind, in a circle of strangers—he felt something real.
And maybe that’s what we’re all searching for.
Not polished religion. Not obligation. Just a place to feel. To connect. To be Jewish in a way that’s alive.
These gatherings aren’t services in the traditional sense.
They’re a response. A breath. A heartbeat.
A way to say: I’m still here. We’re still here. And Israel is still in us.
I don’t know how long we’ll keep doing them.
Every time we raise our voices into the wind,
Every time someone new finds their way back—
Those are stories that stay with me.
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Want to join us under the open sky?
Sign up to find out where the next Outdoor Shabbat will be.
All are welcome. Even dogs.
