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Each year, the voice that speaks to my soul about the contrast between the inward focus of Yom Kippur and the outward thrust of Sukkot grows louder and louder.

Inspired by Yom Kippur services in 5778, this poem reflects one writer's view of the most holy day in the Jewish year.

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.

This is not going to be a sad story, I promise. But it does start out with the process of going through my parents’ condo after their passing.

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.

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