10/09/2025
Shlichut in a Box
Read a blog post below, written by Ella Caspi, as she reflects on the past two years serving as Cleveland's community shlicha (Israeli emissary):
Rosh Hashanah, then Yom Kippur. October 6, and then the seventh. Renewal, then disruption. What a time to be around. A time to rethink and reflect.
10 am Cleveland time
October 6, 2023
I landed in Cleveland for the second time. This time, not as part of a delegation of 19 Israelis coming to be camp counselors, but to begin a new journey with this incredible community. I still remember that first day. The air was warm, the sun was shining (crazy, right?), and I was very excited to carry shlichut in a box.
Before coming to shlichut, I put some things I needed and wanted to bring with me in a box. I carried this box with me, picking inside during what I thought was the longest El-Al flight from Tel Aviv to Newark, then to Cleveland. I checked that nothing moved, fell, or was missing. This box was full of hopes, dreams, beliefs, and excitement. Everything felt new, alive, waiting to be opened.
3 am Cleveland time
10 am Israel time
October 7, 2023
“Israel in war.” My phone lit up with messages I couldn’t process fast enough. In a matter of minutes, the box I was holding shifted. What had felt light and joyful suddenly became heavier, filled with grief, fear, and confusion. I hadn’t yet found my footing here. I couldn’t get a hold of any loved one in Israel. There is no cell service in shelters and safe rooms.
Sitting in front of the news, seeing big words on screen that made no sense to me. How is it real? Maybe it’s just a matter of a few hours, a few days. The horror in people’s voices. Unable to capture the scale of anything going on.
That was the beginning of my shlichut. Not a gentle unfolding, but a crash into reality. And yet, in that crash, I discovered something powerful: this box was never meant to be held alone. Over time, I saw people around me holding the same box. Willing to help me carry mine, making sure this box is safe, and so do I.
Over these two years, that box has changed. It has stretched and reshaped itself, sometimes overflowing with pain, sometimes with pride, and often with both at once. It has taught me that shlichut is not just about what I bring, it’s about what we carry together.
And I am still holding this box. Not alone, but with all of you. With this community that has walked beside me in heartbreak and in celebration. In the moments when everything felt like it was falling apart, and in times of finding little and big moments of joy. Some days it was heavy, weighed down by news from Israel and the pain of loss. Other days it was light, bursting with nachat and joy from moments of celebration, connection, and learning.
This box keeps reminding me that shlichut is not static. It’s alive, shifting with the seasons of the Jewish year, with the rhythm of life here, and with the constant pull from Israel. Rosh Hashanah came again, then Yom Kippur, and I felt the cycle turning differently. Not only because of the calendar, but because of where I stood: between here and there, carrying stories, questions, and hopes back and forth.
And maybe that’s the point. Shlichut is not about carrying a perfect, polished gift to unwrap. It’s about opening the box together, even when what’s inside is messy, even when it hurts. It’s about choosing not to close the lid when things get complicated, but instead leaning in, holding it together, and letting it shape us.
As I step into my third year of shlichut, I carry this box forward with excitement. With gratitude. With deep hope for what we will continue to build together in the year ahead.
Shana Tova. May this be a year where families are reunited, where every person feels safe where they are, and where we can all live as beaming hearts, together.
