The assumption that there is only one path to true and perfect joy, especially when one makes that claim in the name of God, or any other redemptive scheme be it religious or political, has a rather deadly track record in human history.
Seder rituals can be tools of well-being and resilience that we can call up whenever we feel the need for strength or joy.
That is what it feels like to be a communal servant right now. Not broken in one place. Broken into pieces, each one flying in a different direction.
April 1st, 2024: the day my mind rebelled against my body stubbornly insisting that I was fine, when, in fact, I was an April Fool.
I returned feeling grateful for the opportunity to touch the lives of those who touch so many other lives, often at moments of intense crisis.
When you feel your heartstrings tug at the suffering of the world, can you ask: Who is doing this work already? How can I support them?
In just ten short weeks, our family has evolved from being consciously minimalistic to one that is drowning in baby paraphernalia.
Jewish texts and our ancient stories work their magic when we can see parts of our own stories embedded within them.
I’m learning by proximity—by being slowed down in rooms where time is treated seriously, where patience is a discipline.
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?