I am in Israel this week at the invitation of the JCC Association, traveling with a small group of JCC CEOs. We are here to explore Israel’s innovation and resilience, grapple with complexity and hope, and deepen our understanding of what it means to lead Jewish communities in relationship with Israel.

Before I left last week, on the morning of October 7, our staff gathered to remember the lives lost and to reflect on what that day still asks of us. As part of the ceremony, we spoke about the Jewish tradition of laying a stone at a grave. I mentioned that I would be visiting the site of the Nova massacre during my time in Israel. Before we left, the team gave me a rock inscribed with the words, “Aaron Family JCC of Dallas, May their memories be for a blessing,” and asked me to leave it at the Nova site.

I carried that rock with me to Israel and, on behalf of our community, brought it to the site of the Nova Festival, where so many young people gathered on October 7, 2023, for music and friendship, never imagining what was coming.

The rock itself is unremarkable. It is not precious or polished, but it carried a community thousands of miles away, one that wants the families, survivors, and people of Israel to know they are not alone.

Jews have long left stones at places of remembrance. Unlike flowers, stones do not wilt; they remain. They are a quiet way of saying that someone came, someone paused, and someone remembered. A stone does not need to be special; its meaning comes from the person who leaves it and the intention behind it.

Standing at the memorial, I looked at the photographs and names that mark the site. Each face was a life, a family, a circle of friends, and a future that should have unfolded differently. These young people had come to celebrate being alive and being together. On October 7, that celebration became a scene of terror, and their futures were taken from them.

When I set our rock down, I was leaving the name of our J in a place of unimaginable loss. Our staff could have written only a simple message of solidarity. Instead, they paired our name with one of the most enduring expressions in Jewish tradition. That inscription says we remember these young people. It says their lives matter to people in Dallas who never knew them and who will not let them be forgotten.

We cannot restore the futures that were stolen, nor can we undo the pain their families carry. But “May their memories be for a blessing” asks something of us. Memory becomes a blessing when it moves us to act, deepens our compassion, strengthens our commitment to Jewish life, and keeps us from taking community for granted. It becomes a blessing when we keep gathering, celebrating, and learning together, even when the world gives us reasons to pull away from one another.

That is part of the work of a Jewish Community Center. We talk a lot about programs, memberships, classrooms, and camps because those are the practical parts of what we do. Underneath them is a larger purpose: making a place where Jewish life is lived and passed on, where our children learn who they are, and where people know they belong. That work does not stop at our building. It connects us to Jews in Israel and around the world, to the people we remember, and to the people we stand up for, even when they are far away.

The rock will stay at the Nova memorial with our name on it. The responsibility it represents comes home with me, and it belongs to all of us. It will show up in how we welcome one another, care for our neighbors, teach our children, and keep Jewish life in Dallas visible and unafraid.

May the memories of those who died be for a blessing, and may that blessing be reflected in everything we do.