Am I Dreaming?

Rabbi Andrea Kulikovsky reflects on her journey to becoming the rabbi of the Ark Synagogue, exploring themes of identity, faith, and community. She discusses her experiences as a Brazilian woman with a mixed heritage, and how her grandmothers' teachings and her own perseverance led her to the rabbinate. The sermon touches on the idea of shmitah, or rest, and how it relates to her own path. Rabbi Kulikovsky also shares her vision for her role in the community, emphasizing the importance of being true to oneself and bringing joy, creativity, and resilience to the sacred space.

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What is Kolot: Voices from The Ark Synagogue?

Welcome to Kolot, the podcast of The Ark Synagogue, a bold, experiential and caring Progressive Jewish community in Northwood, London.

Through sermons, reflections and conversations from across our community, Kolot explores Jewish life, learning and values in the world we live in today. Rooted in tradition and open to new perspectives, these episodes bring together voices that inspire thought, connection and belonging.

Whether you are Jewish, exploring Judaism, or simply looking for meaningful reflection, you are warmly welcome.

To learn more about The Ark Synagogue, visit arksynagogue.org.

Sometimes I ask myself: am I dreaming?

It’s a question that returns to me again and again — especially when I stand here, on this bimah, and look out at all of you. And today, more than ever, I feel it.

Because how could it be that a girl born in Brazil, the granddaughter of two German Ashkenazi Jews, an Italian Catholic, and a native Brazilian, is standing here today — as your rabbi?

I was raised between worlds. Between traditions. Between stories.

My grandmothers — strong, determined women — taught me two things: to fight for what I believe in… and to have faith. My mother taught me something just as important: never to give in.

And somehow, even in that mix of identities, I always knew who I was.

I am Jewish.

But becoming a rabbi? That was not part of the dream. Because first, I didn’t know women could be rabbis. And when I discovered they could, I didn’t believe that I could be one. It took me twenty years to return to what my grandmothers had already taught me: to believe — and to fight.

And so I did.

With the love and support of my husband and my children, I followed that calling. It was not an easy path. It meant crossing an ocean, retracing my grandfather’s footsteps. London was part of his journey as he fled Germany, on his way to Brazil. And here, in London, I found my way to the rabbinate. A path I believe he would have loved.

So today, standing here, I ask again: am I dreaming?

So I close my eyes, I take a breath… I open them again… And I realise:

I am not dreaming.

I am living a dream.

When we were preparing this service, we chose to read part of the weekly Torah portion about blessings. Because what could be more fitting for a day like this?

And yet, as I studied the whole portion, it was not only the blessings that stayed with me, but also the teaching of shmitah. That every seventh year, the land must rest. A Shabbat l’Adonai — a sabbath for God. After years of planting, striving, building — the land is asked simply to be.

Now, I must confess: the maths may not be perfect… But the spirit of it speaks directly to my heart.

For seven years, I studied to become a rabbi. And now, I arrive at a different kind of year. A year not only of doing, but of becoming: learning how to serve, listening, and growing roots here, with you.

My own Shabbat l’Adonai.

Because, in truth, my relationship with this community did not begin today. We have been… dating. Long before I arrived in London, there were moments that were already connecting us.

Perhaps it began in Jerusalem, in a conversation with Rabbi Lea. Perhaps through my work with the Reform Movement in Latin America. Or during the pandemic, when I would join you online, contribute, and begin to feel — even from afar — that something here was calling me.

And then, during my interview week for the Leo Baeck College, I came. I stood on this bimah. I sang with you. I was blessed by you.

When I moved to London some months later, this community became a place of refuge for me — a place of prayer, of warmth, of soul.

So when the question came — would you work with us? — I tried, truly, to respond with professionalism. But as soon as I put down the phone… I was dancing. I was singing. I was overflowing with joy.

Because once again, I thought: this must be a dream.

In rabbinic literature, there is much discussion about dreams. The rabbis teach that a dream is like a letter — and its meaning depends on how we open it, how we read it. And I have come to understand that being here, with you, is a letter to myself. It’s a reminder — to believe, to keep opening what life places before me, and that some dreams are not meant to be questioned — only lived.

And I can assure you: this is a good dream.

Perhaps even too good — the Talmudic rabbis, who were mostly concerned with bad dreams, might find it rather uninteresting!

But when I first arrived in London, something in me felt… lost.

In Brazil, I knew exactly who I was. As one of only a small number of women rabbis, I carried a clear sense of purpose.

Here, in London — I became simply one among many. Which, of course, is a blessing. But it is also disorienting. I began to wonder: what is my role here? What can I bring? Am I needed?

It was this community that helped me find the answer. Because here, I discovered: I am called to be fully who I am.

I am called to bring my whole self — my Brazilian soul — into this sacred space.

To bring creativity, resilience, colour, music, joy. To bring questions and celebration. To bring what we call o jeitinho brasileiro — the ability to find a way, even when the path is unclear.

To see the glass half full. To choose life with warmth, with courage, with hope. To smile.

To stand here today, as your rabbi — in this beautiful community — is not just a dream I had. It is a dream I never even dared to dream. And yet, here we are.

Together.

Not just dating anymore… But building something real. Something lasting. Something sacred.

As I was preparing this sermon, a song kept playing in my mind. It’s a Brazilian samba called Advice. And I realised… it says everything I want to say.

Let go of what weighs you down.
Lift your head.
Face what is difficult.
And trust that every experience can teach you something.

Do not dwell on what has hurt you.
Because life still holds the possibility of love, of joy, of renewal.

Fight for what matters.
Give yourself only to what is worthy.
And above all — choose to be happy.

Today is not a day to dwell on the struggles.

Today is a day to recognise that even what once felt like a curse can become a blessing.

I have planted. I have struggled. I have grown.

And now, together with you, it is time to celebrate — and to build something filled with joy, meaning, and yes… perhaps even a little Brazilian soul.

So I return to my question:

Am I dreaming?

No.

I am exactly where I am meant to be.

And for that — for this community, for your trust, for your welcome — I am deeply, profoundly grateful.

Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for embracing me as your rabbi.

This is my living dream.
This is my truest blessing.

Obrigada!