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As Yom Kippur, our only holiday which focuses on our relationship with God, fades behind us, I am reminded of a 2007 article I read in Newsweek.

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.)

It is for good reason that Jews close Yom Kippur — just before the blowing of the shofar — with the triumphant cry from the wonderful passage (First Kings, Chapter 19) in which Elijah vanquishes the prophets of Ba

For many Jews, the Yom Kippur fast is one of the hardest and most meaningful Jewish acts they will perform during the year.

Yom Kippur has concluded. The break-the-fast has been consumed, and the prayers about becoming the person we could be are now a memory.

The hard work is behind us.

We prayed, chanted, cried, healed, remembered, re-aimed our arrows of good intentions toward the target of new priorities, and reflected on trying not to deflect.

We focused.

Two specific events produced more Jewish pride than anything else in the turbulent decade of the 1960s: Sandy Koufax’s refusal to pitch on Yom Kippur in 1965, and not quite two years later, the Six Day War in June

In most ways, my observance of Yom Kippur won’t be much different than thousands of other Jews in pews across North America.

We’ll fast.

We’ll pray.

We’ll browse.