An Unexpected Messenger on Shabbat
I walked to Jerusalem's Ben Yehuda Street toward the end of Shabbat, thinking that I was going to wait on a park bench until Shabbat ended and the stores opened, in order to try to buy a Spiderman kippah for our son.
Big Thoughts over Brunch in Baka
Pre-Shabbat in Jerusalem is digestion time. On Friday mornings in my neighborhood of Baka, the main avenue teems with voracious brunch-devourers eager to squish a weekend's worth of consumption into one extended meal.
For Yom HaShoah: A Journey of Return and a Search for Bones
On Yom HaShoah, which falls on April 28, I will remember the six million Jews who died in the Holocaust – and I will be thinking about a little town in the northeast corner of Lithuania, and a white-haired man searching for a
Giving Meaning to Holocaust Remembrance
Much ink has been spilled since the release of the Pew Research Center survey on Jewish identity in the United States.
Yom HaShoah: A Call for Memory that Animates Action
Zachor. A powerful imperative to remember. An anthem in opposition to forgetting. A symbol of the Jewish approach to history: zachor, remember, remember as if you experienced it yourself.
Celebrating Commonalities: Why a Palestinian Muslim Sang at our Shabbat Services
One Friday evening, something remarkable and beautiful happened at my congregation. I’d never seen it before, but I hope I’ll see it many times again.
To Honor, To Bless, To Name
Recently I read about a newly published book that lists every single one of the six million people killed during the Holocaust.
How do Reform congregations commemorate Kristallnacht?
Kristallnacht, which literally means, “the night of broken glass,” occurred on the night of November 9, 1938, and marks the beginning of the Holocaust. On Kristallnacht, Jewish homes, synagogues, and businesses were destroyed by the Nazis and the streets in Germany and Nazi-occupied Europe were covered with glass from the shattered windows of synagogues, Jewish homes, and businesses.
How Each Shabbat Is a Eulogy for My Late Father
Each Shabbat, my eyes tear up when I sing the Kiddush. My dad would smile to hear my husband's baritone and our daughter's alto carrying on his tradition.