Before the Seder, a Thank You — and a Truth
A Passover note from Cheryl on Sunday's Bridges of Hope evening — the talent on that stage, an honest word about how AIC actually gets built, and a seder-night ask to help sustain the work.
In this issue: A Passover note from Cheryl on Sunday's Bridges of Hope evening — the talent on that stage, an honest word about how AIC actually gets built, and a seder-night ask to help sustain the work.
Shalom, my friend,
Tonight we sit at the seder table and tell the oldest story we have — that we were slaves, that we chose freedom.
On Sunday night, we chose again, with an extraordinary event: Bridges of Hope — bringing together Jews, Christians, Hindus, Muslims, Atheists, Persians, Israelis, Americans, Canadians, and more, and flying some remarkable talent into Atlanta.
Ghazal Mizrahi sang in languages half the room had never heard and stopped every one of them cold. JoDavi — Joshua Washington — brought soul music from the deepest place a person can bring it. Mustapha Ezzarghani stood on a stage in a synagogue as a Moroccan Muslim and told the truth about what his world did to its Jews. Tehran Von Ghasri had us laughing so hard we forgot we had armed security at the door. Caleiv Jean performed music born from a path most people would never have the courage to take. George Rishfeld, at 86, stood up and reminded us why we can never stop telling the story. And Surinder Dhar spoke about what happens when the world looks away from ethnic cleansing — because he lived it.
We dedicated the evening to the memory of Olga Meshoe Washington, zichrona livracha — Joshua Washington's wife. Olga was a South African attorney, a Christian Zionist, and one of the most courageous voices for Israel and the Jewish people in the world. She spoke at the United Nations. She built bridges between Black South Africa and the Jewish state. She died in January of last year, leaving behind two young sons. Joshua was on that stage fifteen months later. He chose to be there. That tells you everything about the kind of people who were in the room Sunday night.
Now the part that's harder to write.
I am not writing this to complain. I am writing it because you should know: AIC has no endowment. We have no grants. We have no institutional patron. We have a core, committed group of volunteers. We have me, working full time without a salary since 2018, and a community that either shows up or doesn't. On Sunday night, the community showed up. The institutions did not.
The attendees were wowed, and it was clear: we build support for Israel and for Jews, from within our community and beyond it.
And while I'm being honest — none of this works without my husband Steven, who has been the sole breadwinner of this family while I do this work unpaid, and who has never made me stop. Our sons are in college. They have watched their mother run out the door at a moment's notice for eight years — to organize a rally, pick up a speaker from the airport, pull an event together with only hours to spare — and they show up for me every time. The mishegas is real. So is their support. I want them to know I see it.
The Haggadah tells us to search for chametz before Pesach — to find what is puffed up and hollow and remove it. There is institutional chametz in Jewish communal life: organizations that look impressive from the outside but are hollow when you need them, brands that swell with self-importance but produce nothing when a grassroots organization in Atlanta asks for help putting armed guards at the door of a synagogue so families can hear a Holocaust survivor speak.
But here is what I want you to carry into your seder tonight: the room was full anyway. The music was extraordinary. The stories were real. The security was there. This community — your community — made it happen without a single institutional hand on its back. That is not a failure. That is proof of what we are.
AIC is not going anywhere. There is more coming.
Tonight, tell the story. And when you get to the part where it says "in every generation they rise against us," remember that in every generation, someone rises to meet it. That was Sunday night.
Regardless of what you're celebrating, I hope you find this season one of hope, unity, and peace.
Chag Pesach sameach. Am Yisrael chai.
— Cheryl Dorchinsky, Executive Director
AIC has no endowment, no grants, and no institutional patron. Sunday night happened because this community built it — the volunteers, the resources, the hands that show up. None of it happens by accident, and the work ahead needs you: not the next person, you.
This Pesach, rise up with us. Give. Your support funds the events, the speakers, and the armed security that let families gather safely to hear a Holocaust survivor speak. Give your generous support to AIC.
MITZVAHS THAT FLOAT
Sharing is caring, in Atlanta
A kosher duck passed along in Atlanta — one small kindness handed to a stranger. That is the whole revolution: joy you can hold and give away. If hate can go viral, why can't love?