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Why your synagogue, and mine, needs a pickleball court
(JTA) — The weekday minyan at my synagogue has been moved from the sanctuary to its airy social hall. And whenever I attend I have the same lofty thought: This would make a great pickleball court.
Pickleball, the subject of countless breathless articles calling it the fastest growing sport in America, is essentially tennis for people with terrible knees. Players use hard paddles to knock a wiffle ball across a net, on a court about a third as big as a tennis court. It’s weirdly addictive, and because the usual game is doubles and the court is so small, it’s pleasantly social. I play on a local court (I won’t say where, because it’s hard enough to get playing time), where a nice little society has formed among the regulars.
“A nice little society among the regulars” is also how I might describe a synagogue. Or at least that’s the argument I fantasize making before my synagogue board, in a “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”-style speech that will convince them to let me set up a net in the social hall so I can play in the dead of winter. I dream of doing for synagogues and pickleball what Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionist Judaism, did for shuls and pools: He popularized the notion of “synagogue-centers” that would include prayer services as well as adult ed, Hebrew schools, theater, athletics and, yes, swimming pools.
I might even quote David Kaufman, who wrote a history of the synagogue-center movement called “Shul With a Pool”: “Kaplan was the first to insist that the synagogue remain the hub from which other communal functions derive. Only then might the synagogue fulfill its true purpose: the fostering of Jewish community.”
Alas, the title “Mordecai Kaplan of Pickleball” may have to go to Rabbi Alex Lazarus-Klein of Congregation Shir Shalom, a combined Reform and Reconstructionist synagogue near Buffalo, New York — which knows from winter. Last week he sent me a charming essay saying that his synagogue has begun twice-weekly pickleball nights in its social hall. About 40 members showed up on its first night in November, and it’s been steady ever since.
“When my synagogue president presented the idea during High Holy Day services, many of our members rolled their eyes,” Lazarus-Klein, 49, wrote. But the rabbi counters by citing Kaplan and paraphrasing one of his forebears, Rabbi Henry Berkowitz, a 19th-century Reform rabbi who encouraged synagogues in the 1880s “to create programming related to physical training, education, culture, and entertainment to help better compete with social clubs. Over the years, synagogues have experimented with all types of sports activities including bowling, basketball, and, more recently, Gaga. Why not pickleball as well?”
Lazarus-Klein also told me in an interview that his synagogue doesn’t do catering, so the “social hall just sits empty except for High Holidays or bigger events.”
“Our buildings were built for just a few times a year. It’s a shame,” he said. “We have tried as a congregation to get our building more use. We rent to a preschool, we have canasta groups, we have adult education. But for large swaths [of time], especially the social hall is just completely empty.”
Lazarus-Klein wrote that the pickleball sessions have attracted regular synagogue-goers, as well as “many others who had never been to any other synagogue event outside of High Holy Days.”
The players also cross generations, including the rabbi’s 9- and 12-year- old sons and congregants as old as 70. “With a little ingenuity and a few hundred dollars, our empty social hall is suddenly filled several nights a week.”
I offered the rabbi two other arguments for in-shul pickling. First, hosting pickleball honors the spirit of any synagogue that has “Shalom” in its name: By bringing the court under its roof, the synagogue avoids the turf battles between tennis players and picklers that are playing out, sometimes violently, in places across the country.
And I shared with Lazarus-Klein my obsession with the synagogue as a “third place” — sociologist Ray Oldenburg’s idea of public places “that host the regular, voluntary, informal and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work.”
“That’s a great way of thinking of it,” said Lazarus-Klein. “I think our membership does kind of use it that way. It’s another base, not where they’re working and not where their home is, where they can feel at home.”
The “shul with a pool” has long been derided by traditionalists who say the extracurriculars detract from the religious function of synagogues. Kaufman quotes Israel Goldstein, the rabbi of B’nai Jeshurun in New York, who in 1928 complained that “whereas the hope of the Synagogue Center was to Synagogize the tone of the secular activities of the family, the effect has been the secularization of the place of the Synagogue…. [I]t has been at the expense of the sacred.”
Lazarus-Klein, who was ordained by the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. argues that there is sacred in the secular, and vice versa.
“I think a synagogue is a community,” he told me. “A community is a place that supports each other and it’s certainly not just about Jewish ritual, right? It’s about being together in all different ways. And the pickleball just really expands what we’re able to offer and who we’re able to reach.”
Kaplan, I think, deserves the last word: The synagogue, he wrote in 1915, “should become a social centre where the Jews of the neighborhood may find every possible opportunity to give expression to their social and play instincts. It must become the Jew’s second home. It must become [their] club, [their] theatre and [their] forum.”
It must become, I know he would agree, a place for pickleball.
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NATO Alliance Considers End to Annual Summits
US President Donald Trump holds a bilateral meeting with NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte at the World Economic Forum (WEF) in Davos, Switzerland, Jan. 21, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst
NATO is considering ending its recent practice of holding annual summits, six sources told Reuters, a move that could avoid a potentially tense encounter with US President Donald Trump in his final year in office.
Trump‘s administration has engaged repeatedly in scathing criticism of many of the US-led defense alliance‘s 31 other members, most recently berating some for not providing more assistance to US military operations against Iran.
The frequency of NATO summits has varied over the alliance‘s 77-year history but its leaders have met every summer since 2021 and will gather this year in the Turkish capital Ankara on July 7 and 8.
But some members are pushing to slow the tempo, a senior European official and five diplomats, all from NATO member countries, told Reuters.
NATO MEMBERS LOOKING FOR LESS DRAMA AND BETTER DECISIONS
One diplomat said the 2027 summit, to be held in Albania, would likely take place that autumn and NATO was considering not holding one at all in 2028 – the year of the US presidential election and Trump’s final full calendar year in office.
Another said some countries were pushing to hold summits every two years, adding that no decision had been taken and Secretary General Mark Rutte would have the final say.
The sources spoke on condition of anonymity to discuss internal NATO deliberations.
In response to a query from Reuters, a NATO official said: “NATO will continue to hold regular meetings of Heads of State and Government, and between summits NATO Allies will continue to consult, plan, and take decisions about our shared security.”
Two of the sources mentioned Trump as a factor but several said broader considerations were at play.
Some diplomats and analysts have long argued that annual summits create pressure for eye-catching results that distracts from longer-term planning.
“Better to have fewer summits than bad summits,” said one diplomat. “We have our work cut out for us anyway, we know what we have to do.”
Another said the quality of discussions and decisions was the true measure of alliance strength.
TRUMP CASTS LONG SHADOW OVER NATO MEETINGS
Phyllis Berry, nonresident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council, wrote: “Reducing high-profile summitry would allow NATO to get on with its business and dial down the drama that has marked many recent transatlantic encounters.”
In an article published on the think tank’s website last week, she noted that NATO held only eight summits during the decades of the Cold War. She described Trump’s first three NATO summits in his first term as “contentious events, dominated by his complaints about low allied defense spending.”
Last year’s summit in The Hague was also largely shaped by Trump’s demand that NATO members boost defense spending sharply to 5% of GDP – a target they accepted by agreeing to spend 3.5% on core defence and 1.5% on broader security-related investment. The mere fact that it ended without major drama was considered a success.
This year’s gathering also looks set to be tense.
After NATO allies refused to give him the support he was demanding in the Iran war, which he had begun without consulting or informing them, Trump openly questioned whether the US should stand by NATO’s mutual defense pact and said he was considering leaving the alliance. Months earlier, he had laid claim to Greenland, an autonomous territory belonging to fellow NATO member Denmark.
At the 2018 summit, Trump threatened to walk out in protest at other NATO allies’ low defense spending.
“Had he made good on his threat to leave in protest, we would have been left to pick up the pieces of a shattered NATO,” Jens Stoltenberg, NATO’s secretary general at the time, wrote in a memoir published last year.
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When a Jewish Icon Moves to Israel for Her Safety: A Warning Sign for the Netherlands
A view of the Concertgebouw building in Amsterdam, Netherlands on Aug. 26, 2024. Photo: Jakub Porzycki via Reuters Connect
The reported decision of Dutch singer Lenny Kuhr, a beloved cultural figure and winner of the 1969 Eurovision Song Contest, to relocate to Israel should prompt serious reflection across the Netherlands.
When a Jewish public figure feels compelled to leave because of hostility, intimidation, or fear, it is not merely a personal decision. It is a warning sign about the health of Dutch society.
For generations, the Netherlands has cultivated an international reputation for tolerance, openness, and civic decency. It is a nation admired for democratic values, free speech, and social stability. Yet no society is immune to the resurgence of antisemitism, and recent years have shown that the Dutch exception is not guaranteed.
Across Europe, Jews are reporting increased harassment, threats, vandalism, and social isolation. The Netherlands is one place where this is happening. What often begins as political hostility toward Israel can quickly spill over into open hostility toward Jews. Online abuse becomes street intimidation. Campus activism becomes exclusion. Political rhetoric becomes a license for prejudice.
This is especially dangerous because it often hides behind respectable language of “anti-Zionism,” “human rights,” or opposition to Israel. But usually, this goes much deeper and becomes (or reveals itself as) a hatred of Jews.
Dutch directness is often celebrated as a cultural virtue. But there is a profound difference between candor and cruelty. When “speaking plainly” becomes an excuse for abuse, society loses an essential moral boundary. Free expression must never become a shield for threats or dehumanization.
The same is true in politics. Consensus culture has many strengths, but it can also create hesitation in moments that require clarity. When antisemitism rises, leaders cannot afford ambiguity. They must name it, confront it, prosecute it, and isolate those who spread it.
Jewish citizens should never have to wonder whether their future is safer elsewhere. They should never need to hide symbols of identity, avoid public spaces, or explain away hatred as the cost of living in a pluralistic democracy.
The departure of a well-known Jewish Dutch figure should therefore be seen not as an isolated story, but as a national test. If even prominent, admired Jews feel unsafe, what message does that send to ordinary Jewish families, students, and elders?
The Netherlands still has time to choose a different path. It can reaffirm that antisemitism has no place in Dutch life. It can protect Jewish institutions, enforce existing laws, educate younger generations, and draw a bright line between legitimate political disagreement and hatred toward Jews.
If it fails, more Jews may conclude that their future lies elsewhere. And that would not only be a tragedy for Dutch Jewry. It would be a tragedy for the Netherlands itself.
Sabine Sterk is the CEO of the NGO Time To Stand Up For Israel.
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India and Israel Have the Same Response to Terrorism: Why Is Only One Treated Differently?
India’s prime minister, Shri Narendra Modi, addresses the gathering at the Indian Community Reception Event at the Singapore Expo in Singapore on November 24, 2015.
As Israel recently celebrated its Memorial and Independence days back to back, we were reminded that statehood comes at a cost, both on the battlefield and in ordinary moments shattered by terror.
One year ago in Pahalgam, India was confronted with that same reality — yet again.
Terrorists from across the border in Pakistan infiltrated Indian territory and killed 26 men in front of their wives and children. It was not an isolated act of violence, but a deliberate strike on civilians, designed to fracture trust and deepen fear.
I remember sitting in a café in Jerusalem when the news broke. My Israeli friends immediately understood what had happened. Their reaction was not just sympathy, but recognition. They knew instinctively why India would have to respond decisively. Israel understands India’s need for a zero-tolerance policy toward terrorism — because Israel has lived it for decades.
India’s response through Operation Sindoor reflected this shared reality. Addressing the nation, Prime Minister Narendra Modi framed it not merely as a military action, but as a national commitment to fighting terror. He made clear that every terrorist attack would be met with a decisive response, with no distinction between terrorists and their sponsors. His words captured the shift with unmistakable clarity: “Terror and talks cannot go together … water and blood cannot flow together.”
India’s response also reflected deepening defense cooperation with Israel, including the integration of Israeli-origin precision systems and air-defense technologies developed through years of strategic partnership.
One of the most consequential shifts triggered by Operation Sindoor was India’s suspension of key aspects of the Indus Waters Treaty after the Pahalgam attacks. India had previously shared hydrological data with Pakistan on river flows and water levels vital to its agriculture. Following the 2025 attacks, this cooperation was suspended.
This also aligns with Article 62 of the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, which allows suspension under a “fundamental change in circumstances,” including sustained terrorism that undermines the basis of trust.
A parallel exists in Israel. Even amid conflict, it continues supplying water to Gaza. This mirrors India’s dilemma: how long can humanitarian resources remain separate from persistent security threats?
Beyond optics, the India–Israel partnership is most importantly an operational cooperation that saves lives and enables the dismantling of terror networks. Greater awareness of this reality is essential, as it is often overshadowed by simplified narratives that go unchallenged in global discourse. Terms such as “genocide,” “occupation,” or the casual labeling of democratically elected leaders like Narendra Modi or Benjamin Netanyahu as “terrorists” reflect this distortion.
What we have witnessed in the last 2.5 years is an information war, which is just as important as what happens on the battlefield.
Despite clear similarities between India and Israel in terms of threats and responses, global reactions differ sharply. Israel faces sustained criticism over the “Palestinian” issue, while India’s actions against Pakistan-based terrorism have drawn comparatively less sustained outrage.
As the prominent Muslim voice against antisemitism Soraya Deen has argued, the Palestinian cause has, in some contexts, taken on the role of a “sixth pillar of Islam,” capable of mobilizing mass sentiment across the world.
But another factor may also be at play: India has been effective in the information domain, communicating the operational success of Operation Sindoor with a focus on strategic outcomes rather than sensationalism, while simultaneously exposing Pakistan-based disinformation networks and strengthening public resilience through media literacy initiatives that help citizens identify and resist fake news. This is where Israel may need to look next. Intelligence and defense technology are no longer enough if they are not accompanied by clarity in communication.
India and Israel today stand on similar paths. Both face adversaries that exploit civilians, use human shields, and operate across borders. Both have security and response principles that emphasize surgical strikes, deterrence, and minimizing civilian harm. And both understand that this is not a battle they can fight alone. Greater intelligence sharing with allies in Europe and the United States, and a unified approach to countering terrorism — both physically and in the information domain — will be essential.
Because in the end, Modi’s words are not just a statement of policy, but a reflection of reality: water and blood cannot flow together. The real question is whether the world is willing to confront why those who fight it are judged by different standards.
Paushali Lass is an Indian-German intercultural and geopolitical consultant, who focuses on building bridges between Israel, India, and Germany.