The Star She Put Back On

This is the story Matt, Alli, and Charlie Seigel shared on Yom Kippur morning at Congregation Or Ami, together with Benny Seigel and Randi Seigel — three generations on what it means to inherit a Jewish home, to fear it, and to choose it: a taunt on a childhood ballfield that Matt never forgot, the grief that led Alli to find her way home to synagogue, and the star Charlie once took off, and later put back on.

Matt: G'mar tov. We've been talking a lot about family, and how Judaism is passed from one generation to another. And with that, Rabbi Paul asked our family to share a little about our Jewish journey today. Which is a pretty big thing to try to explain in a few minutes. But we're going to give it a go.

As Rabbi Paul mentioned, I serve on Or Ami's board. And, believe it or not, I come from a pretty long line of synagogue board members. My grandfather was president of two Reform synagogues. Both of my parents served on synagogue boards and helped build the Jewish community my brothers and I grew up in. So I come from people who didn't just belong to Jewish communities — they helped build them.

But, for me, inheriting Judaism and actually feeling connected to it were always two very different things. So let me take you back to when I was just a little bit younger…

I'm 10 years old, playing baseball right here in Westlake Village, California. One Saturday morning, a teammate asks why I wasn't at practice the night before. I tell him my family had been at Shabbat services. He says, "You're Jewish?" I say, "Yeah." And he says, "Oh, I don't really like Jewish people."

I'm standing there embarrassed. Angry. And, strangely, ashamed. Like most ten year olds, I wanted so badly to fit in. And suddenly there was this part of me that could make somebody think less of me. Nothing else happened. We played baseball. I went home. But I remember so vividly wishing I had never said anything about being Jewish. I think it was the first time I understood there was a part of me I might want to keep to myself.

I loved the family, traditions and community that came with being Jewish. But now I was questioning it too. And through my teens and twenties, I started searching for something deeper. Across religions. Temples. Mountaintops. Yoga studios. And somewhere along the way, I fell in love with a Jewish girl. That was Alli.

Not long after we started dating, we went to Israel with a group of Jewish young adults. And somewhere on that trip, things started to come together. We were falling in love. And I was beginning to fall in love with Judaism in a different way too — less as something I had inherited, and more as something I wanted to understand, choose, and build a life around.

Alli: I'm Alli. And I have some pretty serious Jewish roots. My dad's parents were Holocaust survivors. My mom was raised in an Orthodox home, where my grandfather also served as president of his synagogue. So Judaism was not exactly an elective in my family.

Coming home from that Israel trip Matt mentioned, I had this vision of the Jewish family we wanted to build. Holidays. Community. Meaning. Spirituality. Shabbat dinner every Friday night. Kids who felt connected to something bigger than themselves. And then the kids came, and life happened. We got busy, exhausted, and that big picture vision got put on the back burner.

We joined a local synagogue for a short time. Beautiful space, good people. But we never quite found that deeper connection we were looking for. Eventually, we found Congregation Or Ami. We showed up to Tot Shabbats, the High Holy Day Family services. Something felt different here. It clicked. We kept coming back.

But we still hadn't joined. I don't think we understood yet what it meant to really need a Jewish home. And then, in 2020, during the early days of Covid, my sweet mom passed away. She had quietly been battling cancer for almost five years. And then suddenly, she was gone. It felt like the world stopped.

I didn't know what to do or who to call. I had a light friendship with Rabbi Julia Weisz, Or Ami's previous associate rabbi, through the tot shabbats and a local gym class we both brought our kids to. I desperately needed support. So I reached out. Rabbi Julia responded immediately. She told me Or Ami would be there for our family — she'd lead a memorial service, help us through it all. That Rabbi Paul would guide us through the nights of shiva with wisdom and warmth. During the hardest moments of my life, these rabbis showed up for us in ways I didn't even know I needed.

These rabbis — from a synagogue we hadn't even joined yet — just kept showing up. They didn't let us feel alone. That was the moment everything changed. Or Ami stopped being a place we liked. It became our Jewish home. And we knew this congregation — with this example of selflessness — was where we wanted our family to be.

Charlie: Hi, I'm Charlie. For most of my life, being Jewish was just part of who I was. It was family. Holidays. Congregation Or Ami. And then October 7th happened. For the first time in my life, I was scared of being Jewish. I asked my parents to take the mezuzah off our front door. I stopped wearing my Jewish star. And hearing my dad tell that baseball story, I understand that instinct to think maybe it would be easier if people didn't know I was Jewish.

At the same time, I was getting closer to my Bat Mitzvah. I was preparing for this moment where I was supposed to stand up and say: this is who I am. And suddenly, I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

For my Bat Mitzvah project, I wanted to do something about antisemitism. Because theater is how I tell stories, I wrote and produced a play called Never Forget, using Holocaust testimony. Along the way, I connected more deeply with my great-grandfather Abe, who survived Auschwitz, using his testimony my mom recorded before he died. He said: "I'm not a hero. I'm just lucky. Lucky to have survived. But I'm here today." His story became part of my play, Never Forget.

We performed it at Or Ami and throughout the community, raising thousands of dollars for Holocaust education. But the biggest thing that came out of Never Forget wasn't the money. It was what changed inside me. I was the girl who had asked to take the mezuzah off the door… and I became the girl who put her Jewish star back on. And I wear it now. Not because I'm never afraid. But because I don't want fear to decide who I am.

Matt: Rabbi Paul talked earlier today about what we pass from generation to generation. Like him, I've learned it doesn't move in only one direction. Our grandparents leave things in us. We try to give our kids something they can carry. And then our kids teach us too.

My parents gave my brothers and me a strong Jewish home. Now my mom Randi has found her way into synagogue life here. Our son Benny is eleven and beginning his own Bar Mitzvah journey. And somehow I'm serving on the board of a synagogue, just like my grandfather once did. What we build for one another matters. For our family, Or Ami was here before we knew we needed it. It showed up when we did. And now it's helping us build something for our kids.

So part of our responsibility is making sure this community continues to be here. For the families who haven't found it yet. For the person who doesn't think they need it yet. For the child who may someday need to be reminded that there's nothing about who they are that needs to be hidden. Because none of us knows which part of what we build today will become the thing that helps someone else find their way tomorrow.