RENANA BROOKS
Lord our God, lay us down in peace and raise us up again to life our Sovereign, and spread over us your canopy of peace.
~ Traditional Liturgy
oukak ubhvk-t wv ubchfav ohhjk ubfkn ubshngvu lnuka, fx ubhkg aurpu
Becoming a rabbi was a childhood dream— but for most of my life, I could not imagine it as a possible reality. It was a private dream, luminous but distant, something I could admire without believing I could inhabit. I could picture the calling; I could not yet picture myself allowed to live it.
My parents taught me Jewish commitment: not as a slogan, but as a practiced love— of text, of responsibility, of showing up for community. My sister Betsy and my brother Bob z’’ l taught me to love learning itself, to make curiosity and discipline into a daily way of being. Those early lessons became the quiet architecture of my life.
I followed my love of learning to Princeton, where I discovered the pleasure of sustained thought and the courage to return to difficult questions. In Israel, immersed in yeshiva study, the dream of the rabbinate reawakened— yet it still felt unreachable. I chose a path that seemed concrete and possible: I became a psychologist. I loved that work deeply— the rigor, the listening, the privilege of being trusted with another person’ s inner world. It trained me in presence, humility, and the sacred craft of accompaniment. it is a demand to rebuild a life that can hold truth. In that tender time, I found AJR. It felt like recognition: a place where the strands of my life could become one story. I learned Torah, Talmud, Jewish philosophy, history, and leadership— and, beyond knowledge, how to stand with people across the arc of human life, from rupture to repair.
I also carry the gift of my lifelong friends— steady souls who have known me across decades, who show up without fanfare, who hold joy and grief with equal faithfulness.
I stand here now ready to enter the world as a rabbi: grateful, humbled, and astonished that a childhood dream has become a lived vocation. Alongside my children, my family, my teachers, and my friends, AJR has made my journey not only meaningful, but— against all expectation— joyful.
Then I became a mother. Nothing has ever mattered more. Loving my children— their vitality, their curiosity, their fierce attachment to life— has been my greatest joy and my most enduring source of meaning.
When my husband died suddenly, life divided into before and after. Grief is not only sorrow;
AJR 2026 7