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Yom HaShoah is a day filled with paradoxes.

Seven candles are lit on the candle table on the bimah at our congregation on Yom HaShoah, the day of Holocaust Remembrance for victims and heroes of that challenging and tragic time in human history.

The sight of neo-Nazis parading through Lithuania’s capital city in an unsanctioned march sent chills down the spines of many people both inside and outside this small Eastern European country – and rightfully so. Public expression of hatred in a land with a horrific Holocaust history is cause for alarm.

I sense the existence of one Am Yisrael – one Jewish people – on Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day).

In the game “Truth-or-Dare,” I choose “truth” nearly every time. I’m not much of a dare-taker. Thus, if you and I were playing “Special Edition Truth-or-Dare: High Holy Days,” I would confess that the prayer Avinu Malkeinu provides me with both my second-favorite liturgical moment and my second-greatest pet peeve of the year’s liturgy. (Note: Even though I may have to repent for it, I will leave you in suspense about my favorite liturgical moment and my greatest liturgical pet peeve. Also, “Special Edition Truth-or-Dare: High Holy Days” is fictional, although I hereby declare copyright in the event Mattel or Hasbro comes knocking at my door.)

Each year on Yom Kippur, I join my congregation is reciting the Ashamnu, an alphabetic acrostic of sins for which we repent. And each year, it occurs to me that most of the sins named in the Ashamnu don’t hit me in the heart I’m beating – and so, I wrote my own version of the prayer.

I have a hard time believing that, however good the intentions may be, typing "Please forgive me if I hurt you" into our browsers can create change.

If posting an apology online serves as a starting point for follow-up conversations, I say go for it. How could that ever be a bad thing?

I vowed that if Israel survived, I would never again abandon my people, never again be indifferent to Israel’s fate.