A poem:
"You pray for silkworms and butterflies.
Dance, and your twisting wrists chafe against shackles.
Sing, and grey moths escape your open throat."
There's something about the way Shabbat is Shabbat wherever I go.
Shabbat is a time of peace, but for an anxiety-sufferer, the quiet can be a struggle in itself.
The struggle of having opinions and hating politics wholeheartedly at the same time.
Children accustomed to hearing the booms of missile interceptions and air raid sirens, had witnessed something even more rare; lightening striking the earth right next to them!
It's too cold for anything longer than seventeen syllables.
Ask me about my favorite Shabbat experience and this might just be my answer.
How can a day that seems so hostile to creativity be the wellspring from which all creativity flows?
A stranger on a rooftop teaches Elizabeth how to keep Shabbat and keep her sanity.
Someone yelled at Yaakov for carrying coffee on Shabbat. Here's what he learned from the experience.