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This year at our Passover seder, I experienced something deeply powerful which I had not felt in the context of Passover before.

The title of a recent JTA article asks these two questions:

At the conclusion of Yom Kippur years ago, I attended a break-the-fast at the home of old friends. I loaded my plate with a bagel, lox, and vegetables and ambled over to a conversational group, where I stood munching and listening.

When I think of the word “hope,” one sentence comes to mind: Hope is a dangerous thing.

I don't remember where or when I first heard the statement, and I'm fairly sure it was intended as a warning, but the idea has stuck with me.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

We encouraged our daughter, Sydney Plovsky, who is a sophomore at Elon University, to read Torah during the High Holidays at her school; growing up, she had been a frequent Torah reader at Temple Emanu

A Major League Baseball committee proposed new rules last month for using instant replay to correct the mistakes of umpires – and I’ve been thinking about how much easier things would be if we could just apply those rules to everyday life.

Tekiah! Teruah! Shevarim! Tekiah Gedolah!

In the traditional liturgy, the special character of each holiday is particularly conveyed by the piyyutim (hymns, liturgical poems) that are recited or chanted on that day. Most of these piyyutim have been omitted in Reform liturgies since the nineteenth century, out of a sense that their Hebrew diction is too arcane and their theology too medieval. Yet, some of these poems have routinely been retained in Reform High Holy Day prayer books, particularly for Yom Kippur.