As published in TAPInto SOMA. Last week’s public statement condemning the removal of the Israeli flag from the exterior of one of our town’s synagogues was one visible example of the often unseen work of our elected officials do on behalf of our community.

I didn’t mean to freak out. Especially just a day after I’d sent out a message encouraging us all to keep calm. Nonetheless, when an unmarked white van pulled up in front of my home a few days ago, I noticed my heart beat

Surprise, and no surprise: the Israeli flag was taken down from our building by vandals at some point this past weekend. It was up over Shabbat, and when I stopped by this evening after a weekend away, I saw that it had been torn

I just ate my third slice of a cake that ended up on our counter despite my protestations that I’m off sugar. Which I am, or was, a little regimen I adopted from Purim until Pesach (Passover), or at least that was the idea,

We enter Purim tomorrow night in a moment of profound uncertainty, with the war unfolding in Iran heavy on our minds and hearts. Missiles are raining down on Tel Aviv; as I write one 40 year-old woman has died and others are injured. The

Yesterday I got on the wrong train. No, that’s not right at all. I got on the right train, only then it went to the airport, so it was the wrong train after all. As the inimitable Kathryn Shultz has written with wonder: the

I was all set to send out a sweet message of hope, of kindling light in the darkness, adding light to the world, all that good-vibes Chanukah stuff. But now, before the earth has rotated around enough for us to be kindling our first

This morning as I handed Eloise a plate of pancakes—because sometimes I actually do have my act together early and pancakes on school days can happen, and actually they were oladushki, which as all y’all from the FSU will know are cooked in oil