Over the summer, I had a bit of a crisis. It didn’t just happen overnight, it had been bubbling over the last several years. I spent much of the past year reflecting deeply on my rabbinic and personal journey, thinking about the tremendous upheaval from the Covid era, the overwhelm of the October 7th War. Little of the Judaism in my life felt meaningful. What was this all for? Why spend all of this time, money, energy? Who cares? Something felt broken. I kept asking these questions...

Barely a few weeks ago, we didn’t just remember the Exodus. We were asked to see ourselves as though we had left Egypt. Lirot et atzmo, to imagine it as part of us. This line has always called out to me. It is a reminder that: Memory isn’t passive in Judaism. It’s active, alive, arriving. Memory creates a kind of pressure in us. An ongoing request from the past on our present. Today is Yom HaShoah, and we’re asked to remember again. But not in the soft, distant sense. We light candles. We say...

By the time you read this, you might already be elbows-deep cleaning and kashering a cooking pot. Or sweeping under furniture and finding unexpected Cheerios. Or feeling the low-key internal panic about meal planning. That’s how this season goes, right? Passover has this power to take up mental, physical, and spiritual space, not just on our counters and in our cabinets, but also in our bodies and minds. It holds both the past, the present, and the future all at once. There’s memory, there’s...