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As the High Holidays approach, once again I am reading S.Y. Agnon’s Days of Awe. As much as the book means to me, though, the person who gave it to me means more.

In theory, no one wants to be that person who can’t let go, who refuses the request for forgiveness. But is it really possible, or even right, to forgive everything?

Earlier this week, we marked the first day of the Hebrew month of Elul when it is customary to take stock of our actions and behaviors in an effort to do better in the year to come.

For children, traditions and rituals are significant; they provide predictability, support, and familiarity, while bringing families together and creating unity and a sense of belonging.

Aside from a date, what can these two events possibly have in common? Strange as it may seem, there are a few points of comparison.

If, as the Talmud tells us, the blasts of the shofar are meant to remind us of crying, (Babylonian Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 33A – specifically of Sisera’s mother – but that is another subject!), then I would offer the following.

A deep spiritual life is hard to find. While opportunities abound for spiritual connections (yoga, meditation, retreats and the like), for most of us it doesn’t come easy.

I can't seem to find a starting place in writing my reflections of Rosh HaShanah. It has become a tangled ball of string, and I’m not able to coax out a single strand. I thought about starting at the end.  I could, but I don't know what that is either.

After 10 weeks of swimming, biking, walking at the ocean's edge, and rationalizing that it's too hot for tennis, Saturday night Selichot services appear on my calendar as the call back from the freedom of su