Shehecheyanu: Jewish Identity, Connection and Hope after October 7

Peoplehood 30 X 40 mixed media on canvas

Three years ago, on the day the world changed, I was in Utah for a Bat Mitzvah. As the service began, we knew something horrible was unfolding in Israel, but no one could have imagined just how bad it was, nor how all of our lives would never be the same. By that evening, as the celebration part of Bat Mitzvah commenced, we experienced that uncanny feeling which would become a defining feature of Jewish life after October 7: we danced and celebrated while crying and mourning. 

As a Judaica artist specializing in ketubahs, tallitot, and other Jewish ritual objects, I am often given a front-row seat to moments of profound Jewish joy: weddings, B’nai Mitzvot, conversions, and other milestones of Jewish life. Since October 7, those moments have taken on a depth of meaning I could not have anticipated, including my own oldest daughter's Bat Mitzvah which was only weeks after that day.

Through it all, I longed to be in Israel. I hadn’t been able to visit in a long time, and Israel has always been central to my Jewish identity and woven into the story of our family. I met my husband in Jerusalem, spent many magical weekends on kibbutzim in the Gaza envelope, and our first daughter was even born in Israel. Being so far away as the horrific war unfolded, while also witnessing the explosion of antisemitism and antizionism all around, left me with an overwhelming desire to return: to be there, to reconnect, and to participate, even in my own small way, in the country’s recovery.

In December of 2025 I traveled to Israel for the first time since the start of the war on a Birthright volunteer trip organized in partnership with the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles.

It was an immensley powerful trip, I wrote about it in the Times of Israel.

One of the most memorable moments for me happened while we were volunteering in Kiryat Shemona near the Lebanon border. It was a place that had been evacuated and hard hit during the war. In order to try to entice residents to come back and settle there again despite the challenges, creative pioneers were opening a small magnet school for gifted kids. Our task was to clean and set up the classrooms to be welcoming and inviting for the students who would be arriving in a week's time. 

It was then that director looked around and said "I hear you have someone here who is an artist?" 

I nearly jumped out of my seat with excitement. She asked if there was any chance that I could paint a "quick mural" that could inspire the kids. She didn't have paints, or a ruler, or basically any of the supplies you need for a mural. I was given a permanent marker, a pencil, and some paper for me to sketch on. Challenge accepted! 

The mural was ready for the students to color upon their arrival. Using my art skills to contribute to one little corner of Israel's recovery was an absolute dream come true. 

When I  came back to the studio after the trip to Israel feeling profoundly changed, I found myself creating with a new urgency, as though the work had been waiting to come out.

Named for the Jewish blessing of gratitude for reaching a new moment in time, the Shehecheyanu Collection reflects my experience of arriving at this moment in Jewish history.

This body of work is an exploration of the complexity of Jewish peoplehood: the simultaneous experience of collective grief, fear, pride, love, and joy that has shaped the years since October 7, both in Israel and in Jewish Diaspora communities.

As Mijal Bitton wrote just weeks after that dark day, “That pain you’re feeling is peoplehood.”

I have come to understand that the joy we feel is peoplehood too.

My mixed-media paintings on aluminum panels use fragments to build something whole, finding joy, meaning, and hope amid what has been shattered.

The mosaic-like quality of the collage is intentional: individual pieces remain visible, yet together they form something greater and unexpectedly beautiful. Much like we break glass beneath the chuppah, they remind us that even in our greatest moments of joy, we carry our pain with us. The ability to hold both at once is a defining paradox of the Jewish experience.

Sukkat Shlomecha 22 X 30 mixed media on aluminum panel 

The chuppah tallit in this piece is made from scraps of masking tape marked with the number of days the hostages had been held in captivity—numbers that Jews around the world wore on their clothing as a daily act of remembrance and solidarity, inspired by the extraordinary strength and wisdom of Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh was murdered in captivity after surviving 330 days as a hostage.

Recurring poppies, which bloom at the Nova festival site and also in Southern California, where I live, represent both profound loss and enduring renewal.

For me, these works speak to the experience of a people carrying what has been broken while continuing to create, connect, hope, and heal. 

As Rachel Goldberg-Polin said, “There is a time to sob and there is a time to dance, and we have to do both right now.” This collection lives in the space between the two.

Shehecheyanu: Jewish Identity, Connection and Hope after October 7 will be on display in the Edith and Robert Zinn Art Gallery October 28 - December 14. I will be there on Sunday, November 15 to teach a workshop and do an artist meet and greet. If you are in Houston, please come say hello on Sunday, November 15 from 5:30-7:15.