Why I Still Dare to Raise a Jewish Child
The number of mornings that I wake up, look at my sweet Zusha, and feel that I am betraying him by raising him as a Jew keeps growing: Have I condemned him to a life of trauma because he is Jewish?
The number of mornings that I wake up, look at my sweet Zusha, and feel that I am betraying him by raising him as a Jew keeps growing: Have I condemned him to a life of trauma because he is Jewish?
Recognizing we can rely on others is not always society’s definition of “strong.”
Our strength as individuals does not come from having all the answers or skills.
In a time of deep unrest, in a time when the problems are so big I don’t feel I can do anything, we can do this.
We continue to seek out the best way for all members of our congregations to find their roles and unique voices within the framework of our communal prayers and rituals.
Our greatest spiritual innovations ahead may just come from the moments of our deepest pain.
It is my hope that every adopted child grows to know and honor that they belong to at least two families—the family of their birth and the family of their upbringing.
In the middle of a heated conversation about the world, she told me I needed to cut ties with my Jewish friends.
Perhaps we’re not as nice as we might think. If it feels good to help others, does that make the act less altruistic?
And sometimes we have to follow God’s way and be the one to extend our hearts and hands.
Part of what it means to be human is to be uncomfortable, to be miserable, to be upset. It doesn’t feel good, but it is what allows us to feel.