The sukkah is a practice of impermanence. Our homes, our bodies, our lives – they are all sukkot. They are temporary. Flimsy. They bend with the wind. They get soaked with rain. We decorate them with the harvest – with our own harvests. All of our best features: qualities, talents, learnings. These adorn the sukkot of our lives. They are beautiful. But even they, like the gourds and apples and palm fronds on a backyard sukkah, eventually compost.
Read moreTwo Podcasts
I was not feeling the sermon I had written. So I abandoned it in the moment and extemporized. (Eventually some of what I had written about came back in, but more authentically.)
Read moreRedigging the Wells (Rosh Hashanah 5777)
But knowing where we stand, knowing who we are, in a deep way? In a way that fills that vacuum? So that we have a sense of priority and of purpose. Compassion at the ready. Yes, knowing where we stand. That is surely something. That is surely medicine for our aching psyches.
Read moreFirst Jewish Lesson: Blessings of a Broken Heart
It's a good story. About how real we feel when we are brokenhearted, sometimes the most real we ever feel. And how close to God, how in dialog we can be, in those moments of suffering, in the moments when we groan.
Read moreMedicine, Mothers and Other Healing Devices
This is a practice that is not part of "official" Judaism, meaning the Judaism that is under the authority of men. It is a practice of our grandmothers. But as the 13th Century Spanish rabbi known as the Rashba wrote to his [male] colleagues, "we should not mock the practices of elderly women, for they are certainly founded in sacred origins, even if we have forgotten the reasons."
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