Dear JCC Indianapolis Members and Friends, 

In recent days, we have witnessed images of hostages returning home — scenes that have gripped the Jewish world and stirred something deep within all of us. The faces of those coming back to their families after two years of living in hellish captivity remind us that return is sacred, how powerful love is even in the midst of unimaginable fear, and that Am Yisrael Chai (the people of Israel will live) continues to sustain our peoplehood.

Yet our hearts are also heavy, knowing that some lives have been cut short and some bodies have not yet been returned. Even as we witness moments of relief, our hearts remain broken by the incompleteness of it all. The Jewish story, after all, has always held both joy and heartbreak side by side.

That idea of return has been very present for me personally. While what I’ve experienced is, of course, very different from the unimaginable suffering of those held hostage and their families, the notion of return — to people, to community, to memory — has weighed heavily on my heart.

It’s 6:30 am Friday where I am writing this. My family traveled back to Birmingham, our hometown, earlier this week to mourn the sudden loss of my husband’s mother. Amid the grief, I was struck by the steady rhythm of community — friends showing up, family offering to share meaningful memories, former colleagues and friends across the country reaching out with a call or text expressing condolences. 

Yesterday, I also made a stop at the JCC where my own journey began — the first JCC I ever led, and the one where I figuratively and literally grew up. I had the chance to reconnect with some of my original team, people who taught me what community leadership really means: showing up, lifting others, building something that lasts beyond us. Standing in that familiar place, I felt the full circle of it all — how each chapter of our lives prepares us for the next.

Here at JCC Indianapolis, we carry our own unique and impactful legacy forward every day. We are a place people return to — when they need connection, support, or simply a reminder that they are not alone. We hold one another through celebration and sorrow, transition and renewal.

As I reflect on the deeply moving images of those returning home, and on my own (very different) return to a place that shaped who I am, I’m reminded that the truest expression of community is presence — showing up for one another, even when words fall short. That is what our JCC stands for. That is what we build together — a community that endures, that holds, that welcomes each return with open arms and unwavering hope. It reminds us that belonging is not something we outgrow — it’s something we return to, time and again.

With gratitude, hope, and wishes for a peaceful Shabbat, 

Sam Dubrinsky