PAST BLOG POSTS

July 2025:

The Divine Connection Between Humans and Animals

Recently, I experienced Equestrian Therapy. There are several types of equine-assisted therapy that make use of horses to help promote mental health. My experience focused on processing grief.

Equestrian therapy encompasses various modalities; each tailored to specific therapeutic objectives. At its core, the practice involves individuals interacting, grooming, riding, or simply being in the presence of horses. The therapy is guided by trained professionals, such as occupational therapists, physical therapists, psychologists, or specialized equine-assisted therapy practitioners to ensure a safe and effective experience.

The foundation of equestrian therapy lies in the therapeutic qualities of horses. These breathtaking animals are intuitive, and sensitive to human emotions and behavior. Their ability to mirror and respond to a person’s emotional state provides a unique platform for self-reflection, emotional regulation, and personal growth. Horses are also large, powerful animals that can easily get spooked. Despite my trepidation, it was a good experience that brought a lot of strong emotions to the surface, including a healthy dose of fear and awe.

And canine therapy, akin to equestrian therapy, harnesses the unique emotional and physical connection between humans and animals to foster healing and personal growth. This therapeutic approach involves guided interactions with trained therapy dogs, under the supervision of qualified professionals.

I grew up with a Russian Wolf Hound, several Great Pyrenees, Lhasa Apsos, and Boston Terriers. My mother, who bred, groomed, trained, and showed these champion dogs, taught me the joy and responsibility of animals but also never let me or my siblings forget the power and instincts that rule them.

Personally, I am more of a cat person, but they too have taught me about reading body language and respecting their space. The affection between us was earned through acts of kindness that built trust and grew into love. The relationship between humankind and animals is a gift.

In Judaism, there is a concept about the potential for people to do good or evil in the world: the Yetzer Ha Tov (the good inclination) and Yetzer Ha Ra (the evil inclination). I have often compared the Yetzer Ha Tov to its human caretaker and the Yetzer Ha Ra to a horse. Though the horse is not evil at all, it is a living being with great strength, instinct, and a complete inability to see or understand the damage it could do to a human if the person gets in the way of unbridled emotions like fear or anger. They just react. I think this is true of most animals, including humans.

The human caretaker is also not inherently good, but they can be good, they can choose to be kind, nurturing and respectful of the lives around them. We are not as physically strong or as fast as a horse. We don’t function on instinct alone but on crafted plans, far-reaching dreams, ingenuity, and self-reflection.

We are capable of so much but, like Equestrian Therapy, we can do so much more together. The balance of the Yetzer Ha Tov with the Yetzer Ha Ra is the goal. It is the force of physical and raw with the tender and thoughtful. We bring those things out in each other. With the horse, the caretaker can travel great distances quickly and touch the raw beauty of naked emotion and, with the caregiver, the horse can live a longer, healthier life.

This is the gift of the animals in our lives – they make us better humans if we choose to love, respect and protect. They come alongside us in our grief and loneliness while showing us love and affection. They are our companions in play; they are our teachers, and they truly make our world a better place.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

June 2025:

I turn my eyes to the mountains; from where will my help come? Psalm 121

As I begin writing this blog for the 3rd time today, I am faced with the question of what it is meant to do. I believe that it is not a place where the rabbi talks about their political beliefs. However, it is a place where we can acknowledge that our political beliefs, our peoplehood, our existence, and our actions have the potential to become polarizing in our community and across the world.

We should recognize that Jewish communities are facing challenges again. The recent violence against Jewish people is not only concerning but impacts us all. Such violence can lead to fear and discourage open dialogue.

I write this blog with the intention that it will be a place of comfort; a tool for coping with tragedies, frustrations, hurt, and also a place to find inclusion and celebrate our peoplehood. The first step towards comfort is to acknowledge the discomfort.

I have come to realize, in the year that I have held my position of Jewish Community Chaplain, that the values, skills and manifestations of this work can all find a home under the umbrella of comfort. Comfort consoles the brokenhearted, comfort officiates the service no one else would, comfort comes when you call and meets you where you are, literally.

So, in times like these where do we find comfort? We find it in each other. We have passed down traditions from generation to generation, because we have learned that ritual is comforting. When someone dies, we observe Shiva (a set period for mourning) for the first seven days because we know your world will never be the same and you need that time of pausing to enter into the change, to enter into grief. When we say the mourners Kaddish, we say the prayer standing up, with a group of people who will repeat a single line in response to the mourners re-counting of its entirety. This is because it is comforting to have your pain acknowledged by your community. Each year after the death of a loved one, we say this same prayer and light a candle at the yahrzeit (anniversary of the day of death) because it is a comfort to remember the ones we love and have lost.

Comfort is not only found in sadness, but also in what brings us joy. Comfort is in the safety of home, beloved pets, the foods of the holidays, the beauty of nature, a great song, a hug from someone you love, a kind word from a friend or a genuine smile from someone you don’t even know.

Comfort is found in the fact that today the sun will set and tomorrow it will rise because nothing lasts forever, not even grief.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

May 2025:

We Will Remember

Twenty years ago, I lived in Israel, specifically Jerusalem. My friend Bracha and I studied at Pardes that year, and on one particular day we took a bus to Haifa and visited the beaches. The sand was so soft and fine, and the water was so clear. Standing there I knew that these were the same beaches that my grandfather, Ernest Isaac Rensin, wrote about in his journal (in fluent Hebrew script) when he lived in Haifa. Perhaps he even once stood in the exact spot where I stood, my feet in the faded imprint of his feet.

His father Bernhard, a.k.a. Berl, Bear, Dov and his mother Sophie fled Nazi Germany and bought land in Haifa. My grandfather was 10 years old in 1933 when he came to Haifa and he lived there for 8 years before coming to New York in 1941. By the time he died in 1995, he had lived in three countries — Germany, Israel and America. His father came from Russia and lived in four countries before his death. The Rensin name goes back to the 1800’s, but I was told by a professor who studied surnames that it was probably Aaronson. If you say the two names together you can hear the connection. The Rensins are an Ashkenazi family, described as such because Jews were rarely embraced by the local government and more often than not deemed “the other”. A German Jew or a Russian Jew is not simply a German or a Russian. They are the other because they come from somewhere else historically even in the country of their birth where they were often denied citizenship.

On that day in 2005, my friend and I returned to Jerusalem by bus, but just outside the city, as the sun started to go down, the bus pulled over to the side of the road. All the soldiers and several civilians including Bracha and I got out and stood in silence. It was Yom HaZikaron and the siren could be heard from the city, even at a distance, signaling to us that the day of remembrance for all who had died in war had begun. It was a powerful moment, the kind you remember for the rest of your life.

Passover calls us to remember the biblical story of our birth as a people, our exit from slavery, and our return to the land of Abraham. Then Yom HaShoah reminds us of the horrors of the Holocaust, preceded by pogroms, expulsion from Spain, persecution all the way back to the destruction of the 2nd temple in the year 70 that began the diaspora. Yom Hazikaron brings us to this century honoring all who died in the reestablishment of the land of Israel and all who have died to protect Israel since. This is who we are, we are a peoplehood that remembers. We remember biblically, historically, communally and personally.

We remember as a way to voice our grief, but we also remember as a way to honor those we have lost, and to recall our purpose as a people. We are supposed to be a light among nations, each of us a star in heavens of an infinite universe. My grandfather survived to marry, have two sons, work for Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) where he helped to build the communication system on the satellite that went to Mars. Years after his death his work helped us see the landscape of Mars through the eyes of this robotic wonder. His light in the heavens was not another sun across the universe but the light of a satellite seeking knowledge past that which a single lifetime could not provide. For me, my grandfather hung the moon and placed the stars.

He did not live long enough to see me go to Israel or become a rabbi. I was 19 when he died and I hadn’t even formulated the questions I would ask him today, but his journals are waiting for me to translate, to take me back to the land he knew and loved, the land that saved his life and therefor enabled mine.

As we move from grief to joy, from Yom Hazikaron to Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel’s Independence Day) we can remember every year that the flag has waved, that Hebrew is spoken, and that our homeland is once again a place for Judaism to grow and thrive. We can do this because we never forgot, we held in our collective hearts the land of our forefathers.

We remembered then, we remember now, and we will continue to remember in the hearts and minds of our children and that is how we will survive.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

April 2025:

Passover and the Renewal of Spring

Passover is just around the corner and here in Oregon the cherry blossoms are blooming, and the gentle rainfall welcomes all the new flowers of spring. This is a time for renewal.

In some homes, the preparation for Passover will include a deep cleaning associated with removing all chametz. What is chametz? The short answer: leaven grains. The long answer: personal or communal traditions dictated by a family’s branch of Judaism, customs and cultural influences. 

Often, the process of removing the chametz inspires, requires, or coincides with a spring cleaning. It is a time to reassess the value and usefulness of things in our home, and on a broader scale, the things in our life. It is a kind of pruning; keep and clean those that are working and let go of those that aren’t.

I have always found it fascinating that an organism as remarkable and beautiful as a plant is unable to stop directing its resources toward a dead branch or leaf, to the detriment of its overall health. We then, the gardeners, are left to prune the plant and help redirect its reserves to the thriving parts, which in turn helps the plant grow and produce. Still, the plant also needs good soil, sunlight, clean air and water. How different are we from these plants? We need healthy food, sunlight, clean air and water.  And we sometimes put all our effort into things that are not good for our overall health.

At the Passover seder, we retell the story of our exit from Egypt. We learn about slavery, oppression, abuse, and the power to be freed by working together. Our exit required courage and resilience. It took time and great force to break from pharaoh’s rule. Life in the desert after was not easy, but we were free. Free to grow and direct all our efforts towards a better life.

Like a plant, it is often difficult to see or admit what isn’t working in your life. Like the search for chametz, it takes some deep digging and reflection to uncover all the “crumbs”. Yet, the work is worth the freedom, the possibility for renewal and the promise of all the beautiful blooms your garden can offer.

Chag Sameach,

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

March 2025:

When there are no words

Sometimes there are no words, no words that can bring comfort, no words that can heal, no words to express the pain you feel.

In the book of Job, one of the stories written in the TANAKH, we learn about a man who loses everything. He loses his family, his wealth, his home and his health. Some commentators think this is a book about a man being tested. Job was a good person, and terrible things happened to him, but he never abandoned his devotion to God. He does, however, question God, and he wishes that he was never born and even prays for his death on account of his suffering.

Job’s friends come to him to comfort him, and because they believe that human suffering only happens to those who bring it upon themselves, they argue with him and try to get him to confess his guilt. That way he might atone and be done with his suffering. Job refuses and professes his innocence until, at the end of the book, God comes to answer Job. God leaves Job with an unsatisfying answer; humans are not capable of understanding the reason behind the suffering of the innocent.

This book contrasts with the rest of the bible because it asserts that human suffering is not necessarily deserved. It tells us that believing that all suffering is deserved will cause people to find fault where there is no fault and that ultimately there is no real way to understand the meaning of suffering because it is beyond human comprehension.

“When they saw him from a distance, they could not recognize him, and they broke into loud weeping; each one tore his robe and threw dust into the air onto his head. They sat with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights. None spoke a word to him for they saw how very great was his suffering”- The Jewish Study Bible JOB 2.12-13

From these verses, the Jewish practice of sitting shivah is derived. The custom in a house of mourning is that the visiting friends and community wait until the mourner is ready to speak before speaking of the departed themself. This is because sometimes there are no words. Often the greatest act of compassion is one of silence presence.

When we reach for words and platitudes, they can undermine the suffering of an individual whereas silent companionship provides the comfort of not being alone. It is what is passed through touch and is seen in each other’s eyes that can convey what words will never be able to fully express.

About a month ago, I stood under an awning watching the rain with a friend in mourning for the loss of his wife. We talked about the power of being a witness to another person’s pain. He said in these last months he has learned that it is not just about bearing witness to pain but also to joy and in a broader sense to other peoples’ lives at large.

In Judaism, we are asked to sit with the mourner, but we are also asked to visit the sick, to rejoice with the wedding couple and to be witnesses at baby namings. We are asked to show up for each other — not with words, but with our presence.

Last month we learned about the fate of the Bibas children. After months of hope that they might still be alive, we were faced with the grim reality of a horror beyond words. On Sunday night members of the Portland community, (some who have been meeting for the last 70 weeks to stand in solidarity with the hostages), both Jew and non-Jew gathered to see the Morrison bridge lit up in orange to bear witness to our collective grief for this family. While there were words, songs, flowers, candles and rocks for remembrance it was ultimately an act of witnessing.

We grieve with you. We are here, and there are no words.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

If you are in need of spiritual care, you can contact me at:
661-644-4614 (Mobile)
503-226-7079 x740 (Office)
rabbisarah@jfcs-portland.org

February 2025:

Shabbat and a Happy Healthy Heart

February is heart month, a time when we evaluate our heart health. We all know that diet and exercise can help a heart stay healthy, but it turns out that happiness also contributes to a healthy heart. Some even believe that those who are more satisfied with their life are less likely to get heart disease or have a stroke. I am not a doctor, but I absolutely believe that cultivating happiness and maintaining a work-life balance is one of the reasons that Jews celebrate shabbat every week.

Most Americans spend their lives working jobs to support themselves and their loved ones. In today’s world the average person works about 12 jobs in their lifetime. Many of us have incurred massive amounts of debt to get the degrees and schooling required for the jobs we do. We often spend more time at work or working than we do at home or in more leisurely pursuits.

The hours we give to our job are hours of our life, which means that we spend our lives at which ever job we choose. Some people are self-employed, and some are stay at home parents or caregivers. Whatever work you do it takes a toll on your heart, physically and emotionally. If you imagine that you have ten golden coins, 1 for each 5-10 years (depending on your final lifespan) to spend, where and who you spend those coins on becomes more important.

The families we create, the friends we have, the places we volunteer, where we go to school and all the hobbies and hours alone or with pets are some of the other places where we spend those precious coins.

I hope that you are lucky enough to have a job that is spiritually rewarding, where the good days make it worth the bad days. I hope your job has regard for your time and respects your boundaries. I hope your co-workers inspire you and the people you work for value and appreciate you. If that is not the case, then it is even more important to make that time away from work time well spent.

Judaism teaches us that we must balance the work we do with the rest we take. We learn that shabbat should not just be about stopping the toil of the weekdays but pursuing joy. However you find renewal, wherever it is that joy greets you, whenever you feel peace and satisfaction, know that your heart thanks you.

This month take the time to find happiness, try a new heart-healthy recipe, take a walk with a friend in the rain, fall in love with a good book, spend time with your pets, make art, listen to music, dance. At least once a week put all that work on the shelf and breathe because there is so much beauty in the world that we will never see if we don’t stop and listen to the sound of our own heart.

For this Friday and every Friday, Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

January 2025:

Reimagined Resolutions

December 2024:

Tradition and Change

Holidays are wonderful, but they can also be a lot of work, a source of stress, and a test of patience. For people who have lost a loved one it can be an emotional roller coaster of bittersweet memories or harsh realities. No matter who you are, a day will come when someone is missing from your holiday table.

Sometimes, someone’s death can mean the breakdown of a family held together only by that person. Their passing might also lead to new traditions and even turn the holidays into a time of comfort where their memories are shared. People die and children are born but what often stands the test of time beyond a person, a family or a generation is the food of their heritage.

My mother once told me you can always spot peasant food: cheap ingredients and lots of work. Sounds like latkes to me. Holiday foods are steeped in tradition, both religious and personal. The oil that sizzles the latkes tells the story of Hanukkah, while the recipe itself reveals the history of the cook and their family.

There is a story about a family where they always cut the roast in half, but they don’t know why. When the daughter asks her mother she says, “because that is how my mother did it.” So, the daughter asks the grandmother, and she says, “because that is how my mother did it.”  So, the daughter asks her great-grandmother, and she says, “because the only pot I had was too small for the roast.”

When those foods you grew up with don’t happen it can feel like the holiday didn’t happen, even more so when someone you love is missing. Sometimes the person missing from the table is you and that is ok too. There are years and there are times when the best thing you can do for your own health is to choose not to be a part of your family.

We can choose the family we have, not the one we are born into or even the one that raises us, but it isn’t true that you should withstand abuse for the sake of family. A healthy family doesn’t allow continuous abusive behavior. I think it is important to know that you have a right to put the wellbeing of yourself and your children first. In fact, I would say it is not just a right, it is an obligation.

We should not be so afraid of change that we don’t ask why or venture to do things differently. Sometimes, it is as simple as a change to the recipe or creating a new tradition but other times it is a change in how you live your life and who you choose to share that life with.

This Hanukkah I hope you take the time to dedicate yourself to your own wellbeing, the people you love and fry a few latkes…or air fry, that counts right?

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

November 2024:

Life, Death, and Everything in Between

As a rabbi in the position of community chaplain I see death, sickness and grief as often as I see birth, healing, and joy. I officiate as many funerals as I do weddings. I get to be with people during some of the most important and transformative times of their lives. I use my personal and professional experience and years of education to help facilitate these important life cycle events. This summer I officiated 5 weddings and 4 funerals. Last week I visited the hospital to counsel several sick patients and to welcome into the world my twin niece and nephew. In each experience I came alongside a different family amid profound change.

Last week I joined my co-facilitators, JFCS’s Missy Fry and Doug Ruth, whom are both Licensed Clinical Social Workers, and I ended the 8-week run of the grief group, Walking Beside You. This group was specifically for people who have lost their spouses. The people who attended have all had their lives changed beyond measure. They found deep comfort in each other, comfort in the fact that others had survived the same kind of loss, and comfort in the ability to talk through some of the questions and issues that have come from their specific kind of loss. After 8 weeks it was sad to see the group end, but it was also good to see how much connection, comfort and healing happened.

I was thinking about the loss these individuals were experiencing when I ran into a man whose wife was a patient of mine two years ago. I was with them both when she died. I remember how much grief there was and how even though she was relatively young, her body racked with ALS, had shortened her life.

The man was now engaged to a woman who had a few years before lost her husband. They asked me to officiate their wedding, that will happen later this month, and I agreed. They told me that they found in each other a healing love. They found a safe harbor for memories and a place to explore who they are now. With deep gratitude they started to say to each other “we get to do this” because they get to keep living and loving. They talked about how their spouses are a part of who they have become, and they bring all of that with them into this new beginning together with thankfulness.

What I have learned about grief is that when the heart is ripped open from loss, it gains the ability to grow even bigger. There is no question that it is painful but if you allow yourself to feel the pain and grow with the pain it will become bearable. Eventually, you will grow into the person you are now, because you will never be who you were before you felt this kind of loss.

The pain of loss leaves the heart open, filled now not only with the love you knew (because that love never goes away) but with the capacity for deep empathy and compassion. Loss is the fertilizer from which empathy and compassion grow, it is the basin where wisdom can emerge, and new love can find fertile ground to flourish. For the heart to grow after loss it must be nurtured.

Last week my brother and sister-in-law’s twins were born. It is with great joy that my family welcomes these two new lives into the world. After so much personal loss it is such a gift to see these two beautiful babies bring change and new hope. It is awe inspiriting to see new life and know that within those tiny bodies is all the information about how they will grow and develop. They will be nurtured, loved and, over time, they will show us who they are.

We will all have times in life where we feel powerless, where we are forced to experience a change we did not want, and all must eventually experience loss. Yet life moves forward, days pass and love will come again. Children are born, couples are united in loving unions, love grows and thrives, and as is stated in Ecclesiastes 1:9, “there is nothing new beneath the sun.” So live while you can, cry when you need to, and love as much as your heart will let you; because this too will pass, this too will change.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

October 2024:

The Days of Awe

This Rosh Hashanah, as I dipped my apples into honey, I reflected on the nature of both items, what they represent, and how they are very much like the Jewish people.

The apple symbolizes who we, the Jewish people are, in this moment of time. It’s shape and taste have been forever changed by the events of October 7th. The ground in which it grew was fertilized by soil seeped in the blood of civilians, terrorists and soldiers. The rain that watered the trees was salted with our tears. The air that breathed life into the apple blossoms, was polluted with Jew hatred.

We feel grief as we remember those who used to glean the apples with us, now absent from our holiday tables. The sweetness of this year’s apples can’t help but be diminished.

By contrast, while the honey also reflects the time in which it was harvested, its nature is one of preservation. The oldest honey is 5500 years old and was found at a burial site in a ceramic vessel in the modern-day Republic of Georgia. Honey is flavored with ingredients that tell us about the culture and environment where it was created. It contains the ability to heal wounds, sooth spirits, build resistance to outside allergens, and reduce internal inflammation.

When we use the honey of our past, spiced with the resilience of our ancestors, we are reminded of where we came from. The bees that diligently worked to create this honey, did so together. This product of their shared labor sustained the whole community even in harsh times. The enduring sweetness reminds us that this too shall pass, and we will know joy again.

These days are still the days of awe. It is not yet Yom Kippur so it is still our obligation to fix and forgive what we can. However, not everything can be fixed and not everything can be forgiven. We will heal our wounds, soothe our spirits, combat hatred, and ease our internal struggles. I know this to be true because survival is what we do. The generations to come they will remember, just as we remember; and they will live, just as we live. Judaism will grow and as always evolve, but it will not fade away.

Our ability to renew each year is as fresh as the apple; the power of our perseverance is as sweet as honey.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

September 2024:

Reflections on Life’s Voyages

Chaplain’s Log Star date 9.5784

It is month two aboard the JFCS and the captain and crew have been welcoming. As the incoming Jewish Community Chaplain, I have been asked to write a blog to share mission activities, recommendations, and wisdom.

I have always loved Star Trek, not just because both grandfathers were aerospace engineers but because the human need to explore, question and understand often finds itself looking towards the stars. There in the stars we are confronted with how small we are in the universe and simultaneously how wondrous it is that we each exist as individuals.

In Star Trek the earth has found a guiding force of unity, there are regular attempts to disrupt the peace but, in general the problems of earthly existence are solved. According to Maslow’s Hierarchy of human needs when people struggle to receive the basic needs of safety, food, housing, rest, and health the need to survive dominates their existence. Only when those things are met can they move towards fulfilling the need for love, community, friendship, and intimacy. When those needs are met, they can give of themselves to help others meet their needs. It’s like the saying goes, “you can’t pour from an empty pitcher”.

The Jewish month of Elul starts at the beginning of September this year. Elul is a special time for the Jewish people because it is a time of deep reflection and change that precedes the High Holidays. It is a time where we can evaluate our needs and our ability to help other people. A time to check just how full our pitcher is and makes some choices about what we need/can do. Are you surviving? Are you thriving? Are you able to help those people who aren’t but want the opportunity to live healthier, happier lives?

I have noticed that it is often harder to ask for help than to give help. Giving is often its own reward, while asking for help can feel vulnerable and weak. The truth is we all need help sometimes and there is great strength in asking for help. Asking for help lets other people feed their soul by helping and doing the work they feel called to do. Asking for help means someday being able to not only give back but to understand what it means to need help and receive help.

So, this year as we move towards another Jewish New Year, I will continue to hope that someday our earthly problems will be solved, and we can “boldly go where no person has gone before” (even Star Trek still needs to work on somethings). Until then I will be here at JFCS waiting for your call, so I can help, when you need help.

Rabbi Sarah Rensin

CONTACT:

Rabbi Sarah Rensin
(503) 226-7079 ext. 740
rabbisarah@jfcs-portland.org

JFCS’ Counseling program can help as well. Our counselors provide compassionate mental health services to adults, children, teens, and families facing life’s challenges. For more information about JFCS’ clinicians and how to see a JFCS therapist, click here.