In the early decades of the twentieth century, when cities throbbed with modern anxieties and old certainties trembled, Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan would sometimes withdraw from his study and walk slowly through the garden. There, amid the restless ambition of a new age, he found himself drawn not to the towering trees, but to ladybugs. 

Kaplan sought a Judaism that could withstand the scrutiny of modern thought without surrendering its spiritual vitality. He believed that salvation was not a supernatural beneficence but the power of individuals within community to elevate life through shared purpose and ethical refinement. And in those ladybugs, he perceived a living parable.

He would watch how they gathered in small congregations along a sunlit branch, clustering not in chaos but in quiet coordination. They moved as though guided by an unseen covenant. Kaplan saw in them the dual rhythm of Jewish existence: the sanctity of the individual soul and the redemptive power of community. A solitary ladybug, bright and self-contained, could traverse a leaf with singular purpose. But in their collective presence—dotting the green expanse like living script—they transformed the garden into a tapestry of interdependence. Their communal clustering during colder seasons, their dispersal in times of abundance, mirrored the ebb and flow of Jewish history: exile and gathering, contraction and renewal.

Other connections ensued:  Just as the ladybug’s survival depended on attentiveness to its environment, so too did human flourishing depend on moral responsiveness to society. The insects’ patterned wings—each different yet harmoniously similar—suggested the importance of the individual. The ladybugs, in their wordless choreography, testified that redemption is woven from countless modest acts—from ingestion of an aphid to gathering upon a branch. Thus, in the gentle procession of red and black across green, Kaplan discerned a path to salvation: not in supernatural deliverance, but in the sacred art of living together.

May your Purim be filled with Joy and Salvation!

Coach K and the Meaning of Passover by Rabbi Mitch Smith

It was April 3, 2001, with Passover just a week away. The night before, Duke had won the NCAA Men’s Basketball Championship, beating Arizona two days after a semi-final game win over Maryland where they had been down 22 points in the first half. Coming a few years after back-to-back titles in the Christian Laettner-Bobby Hurley-Grant Hill era, this was Duke’s – and Coach Mike Krzyzewski’s – third championship.

Driving to work that morning, I was listening to basketball maven Billy Packer on the radio, and I heard him say something of which I took particular note. What he said was the following: “Now that Coach K has three rings to his name, any other coach looking to establish his own reputation will have to go through Mike Krzyzewski.”

A simple enough statement, but suddenly I found myself with a new insight regarding the Exodus, and perhaps the entire Torah.

"Of course," I said to myself, "that's exactly what Passover is about."

Did you miss our February 22nd pop-up Purim webinar? 

Our recording of "Let them have cosmetics OR How to become the Queen of Persia" with our Executive Director, Rabbi Elisheva Salamo, is now on our website: