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Dear Friends,

Raina and I have been doing some traveling. Earlier this week our ship docked in St. Kitts. We could have stayed onboard and enjoyed the quiet of the port day once most other passengers had gone ashore. We could have found a beach, soaked up the sun, and eased ourselves out of a Northeast winter that has already gone on too long for my taste.

But Raina had a different idea.
And, as is so often the case, it was a good one.

We took a small ferry to the island of Nevis. No map. Just a plan and a willingness to wander. We got lost more than once. Eventually, thanks to the kindness of local students, we arrived at a small Jewish cemetery in Charlestown dating back to the late seventeenth century.

It is a quiet place. Fewer than two dozen visible gravestones remain, some inscribed in Hebrew, English, and Portuguese. They are reminders of a Sephardic Jewish community that once thrived there. Scholars believe many more Jews are buried there in unmarked graves. The synagogue they built is long gone. The community dispersed centuries ago. All that remains is the cemetery.

Names carved in stone. Lives lived far from where their ancestors began. A Jewish story carried across oceans.

Later, as a local resident finished giving us directions to the birthplace of Alexander Hamilton, he added simply, “Don’t miss our Jewish cemetery.”

Our Jewish cemetery.

For him, and for the people of Nevis, there is something meaningful about caring for the memory of a Jewish community that no longer lives there. Honoring that past says something about who they are today. And it was reflected in the kindness of each person we asked to help us with directions.

And yet, for us, Jewish memory cannot stop at remembrance alone.

Judaism has never been about memory without responsibility. We are commanded not only to remember, but to guard and to build.

A cemetery honors what was.
Living Jewish life creates what will be.

If all we do is preserve memory, we become caretakers of history.

But when memory shapes our present and drives our commitment to the future, it comes alive.

The people of Nevis tend a Jewish cemetery because they understand that memory matters.

We are called to do more. We are called to build Jewish life so that future generations will have memories of vibrant synagogues, meaningful learning, deep community, and lives infused with purpose.

The past matters. But it is only when the past inspires action in the present that our memory, our history, and our story truly live.

Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Daniel Cohen