Snow days can be fun; not so this kind of cold. It was colder in Chicago this week than it was in the North Pole.
As we witness public figures dismantled by the revelation of ugly episodes from their pasts, we parents must distill these events and their aftermath for our children.
On Shabbat a group from Physicians for Human Rights Israel, the only Israeli non-profit allowed to enter Gaza, goes to the West Bank to offer a mobile medical clinic.
Eventually, I felt as if The Holy Blessed One had nudged me out of my rest, telling me that I’d stayed there long enough: that my destiny as a Jew awaited me.
The “Days of Awe” is a good name for the High Holiday season because when we are in awe of something, that's a good thing, but I like “Awesome Days” so much better.
On a recent Shabbat, I spent the time with friends in the park. Within a few steps of our blanket, we watched people from every corner of Jerusalem spend the afternoon.
When a non-Jewish acquaintance asked me: “Are you a practicing Jew?” I answered “Yes,” but the question got me thinking about what it means to be a practicing Jew.
The poet Yehuda Amichai writes: I don’t want an invisible god... I want a god who is seen... , so I can lead him around and tell him what he doesn’t see… ... In this week’s portion, Ki Tisa, we reconnect with this unfinished storyline at the beginning of Exodus 32. While Moses tarries atop Mount Sinai, the people down below are losing their patience: