ArticleContributorColumn

It’s only once you’re mature and important and special that you understand the shame of being a sinner

Fifteen minutes left of 5777. This quarter of an hour has been planned, written in parchment, last Rosh Hashanah

I stand there with my years’ worth of baggage. Praying for another year

Can I, too, be created anew? Perhaps I can tap into the power of the day and become a new creation, sans impatience

It hovers around the room, this helplessness, this vulnerable, horrible loneliness that makes us all so human

This year I’m not looking for much at all, thank goodness. You know, just health, happiness, sustenance. The usual