Rabbi Karyn D. Kedar shares this poem to commemorate one year since the October 7 attacks. It is entitled El Malei Rachamim (“Merciful God”) after the traditional Jewish memorial prayer.CCAR Press has also put together a full collection of poems, prayers, and readings to mark one year since October 7. Download the collection here.
El Malei Rachamim
In blessed memory of you
hiding in the fields and bushes, and the joggers out for a run, and the moms and dads making breakfast for their toddlers in their kitchens, and the parents in their safe rooms, holding the door handles for hours, and the babies—innocent infants—and the grandfathers, and the grandmothers, and entire families, parents watching their children die, children watching their parents, and entire neighborhoods of young adults who were waiting to begin their lives, and you, the brave, throwing hand grenades back out of the shelters without doors over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, and you, the courageous, who ran towards the carnage to save who you could over again, and you who were trapped in hundreds of incinerated cars, and the fathers who frantically drove from the north to find their children who cried, Abba, they are near, and I’ve been shot, find me, and the friends who escaped but returned to rescue their friends and were killed, and you who were raped and maimed and mutilated, and you, who danced as the sun rose and will never see another sunrise and never dance again, and the hostages stolen, beaten, tortured, starved, kept in dark tunnels and family homes, and killed cruelly in captivity, and the young women who stood guard on the towers over Gaza and who watched from screens in darkened rooms showing us, warning us, and were ignored, and were slaughtered, and the civilian guard who held the line to the last bullet without help for hours, and the brave police who fought to the end, and the superheroes of the Israel Defense Forces, valiant, brave lions of Judah…
Your lives were brutally taken on October 7, 2023 and in the relentless aftermath. El malei rachmim, have compassion upon your souls, El malei rachmim, have compassion upon our broken hearts.
Rabbi Debra J. Robbins is the author ofNew Each Day: A Spiritual Practice for Reading Psalms, recently published by CCAR Press. In this interview, she discusses how this book differs from her first volume focused on Psalm 27, the musical accompaniments written to complement the daily psalms, and how readers can engage with psalms in their own lives.
What inspired you to write New Each Day?
The readers of Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27inspired and encouraged me to write New Each Day. It was so gratifying that people found the daily practice of reading Psalm 27 over a seven-week period so meaningful that they wanted to continue their connections to psalms and their spiritual experiences throughout the year. I felt Shir Shel Yom, the daily psalms of our tradition, might be meaningful.
What was the most challenging part of creating this book?
There were two challenging experiences in working on this book. First, it was important to make the introduction new and fresh while maintaining the core of the spiritual practice laid out in the first book. I was able to address this challenge by learning a lot more about other authors’ writing practices, and I was able to enrich the introduction by doing research about how the seven psalms were selected and understood across history. The second challenging experience was how hard some psalms are to understand and confront over and over again. I found this especially with Psalm 94 for Wednesday. I just kept reading it, writing about it, and trying to find inspiration in it for my life and our world.
Cantor Richard Cohn wrote and recorded nigunim to complement the written text of New Each Day. How does music contribute to the book’s spiritual practice?
As Richard and I write about in the book and as we’ve taught, music helps our minds and hearts encounter sacred texts in new and inspiring ways. The suite of nigunim build upon each other and come to manifest qualities of each day in the cycle. As he writes in the Composer’s Commentary, “the seven nigunim are offered as a scaffolding…the meaning or significance…will emerge organically…”
New Each Day is your second volume with CCAR Press; both focus on a psalm practice. How does this new book differ from Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27?
New Each Day is different from Opening Your Heart primarily because it provides an opportunity to read and write, and sit and sing, with eight different psalms (seven for the days of the week and for the start of each month) instead of only one psalm over seven weeks. The spiritual practice is the same, but the organizing structure is a bit more complex to navigate. I think we developed tools to help the reader easily make their way through each month. The Opening Your Heart app has a variety of musical settings for verses of Psalm 27, as well as prompts for writing, and photographs to accompany each Reflection for Focus. I hope someday we might have these resources for New Each Day as they have been very popular with readers.
How do you recommend that readers use New Each Day?
There are many ways to use New Each Day. It was designed to be used for daily practice, following the flow of the designated psalms throughout the week and then back again, with each new month punctuated with Psalm 104, and a thematic Reflection for Focus. It can also be used monthly, using only the Psalm 104 section, or it can be used as an anthology to explore and reflect on a range of emotional, spiritual, and intellectual ideas, all raised by the ancient psalms and deeply resonant with our modern world. I look forward to hearing more from readers about how they are using the book!
It’s been four years since the publication of Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27: A Spiritual Practice for the Jewish New Year by CCAR Press. I have not only been blessed to engage in this work myself, but I also have been able to share it with my congregation and students around the world, sometimes in person, and more often and regularly, online. As Elul’s 2023 season of reflection and renewal begins, I am preparing to see this psalm and myself as new, yet linked eternally to the past. This is your invitation to the practice.
The month of Elul begins on Friday, August 18, and with it the daily practice of reading Psalm 27 for seven weeks—from the arrival of the month to the close of the festival season on Simchat Torah. With only fourteen verses and 149 Hebrew words (roughly two hundred in English depending on the translation), it’s a psalm to savor. Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav understood the danger of the twenty-first-century binge when he wrote, “…But even if you are not motivated to t’shuvah”—the spiritual work of turning, changing, being at one with oneself, others, and God—“. . . the regular recitation of Psalms will lead you to awakening; you will come to the gates of t’shuvah and find the key to open its closed gates. In this manner you will attain complete t’shuvah.”[1] It does not matter if we read or sing, in Hebrew or English. What matters is that we engage with Psalm 27 slowly over the seven week season; in this way, the psalm holds the keys to open the gates of the heart.
At this season of the year, I try to be a strict adherent of the poet Wendell Berry’s advice, “Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air … stay away from screens…”[2] It’s not easy to stay away from the phone or computer screens, but I am successful in staying away from television screens. I don’t watch much TV to begin with, but there are times when I miss an entire season of a show and binge-watch it to catch up. The seasons of TV shows, going back to school, even vacation, have become linked to frenzied rushed behavior rather than an embrace of the unfolding evolution of seasons in nature or the healthy pace of this sacred High Holy Day season in our Jewish tradition. Each season of the year is different, just like each year is unique, and so too our experience with Psalm 27, year after year, or for the first time.
Opening Your Heart with Psalm 27 was published in 2019, and Season 1 began with celebratory singing and chanting[3] at each private reading and public gathering. Season 2 launched in Elul 2020 as the COVID pandemic pushed us apart. Words of Psalm 27 shared weekly online were a light and a salvation,[4] and in those moments we were not abandoned.[5]
The Psalm 27: Opening Your Heart app arrived in time for of Season 3 in 2021, bringing photographs, music, multiple voices, and gentle guidance to the sacred work. There were still enemies roundabout[6] and each day was chaotic[7] but from our Zoom boxes we saw God’s face[8] in each other; this gave us hope and courage to continue to wait[9] until we could be together in person again. By the start of Season 4 we were confident that we could make our way along an apparent path[10]; each of us and each word of Psalm 27 could be new each day.
And what to expect in Season 5? Surely the original characters of fear and doubt will reemerge from their hiding places[11], and alongside them, courage and hope.[12] Season 5 is also Season 1, meaning it doesn’t matter whether you’ve been reading the psalm for five years or fifty years. In this 2023 season, it is: fresh and new, an invitation to rest on a rock[13], seek shelter in a sacred place[14], lift the head and raise the gaze[15], to offer an offering[16] in song or deed, to seek out a new upright road[17] and to continue to wait and hope, to do the spiritual work and find the keys to open the heart in this new year.
Any season was and is a great time to begin the practice, and any day is great. It is never too late and never too early, and there’s no need to catch up or cram. This season is a gift of our tradition, a time to lounge and linger with the language of Psalm 27, finding in it the keys to open the gates of memory and tears, of gratitude and faith, of t’shuvah and transformation.
Liturgist and poet Alden Solovy discusses the challenge of praising God during a period of political distress and uncertainty.
A strangely festive undertone animates the weekly Saturday evening demonstrations against the so-called judicial reforms here in Jerusalem. I’ve attended many of these protests in the thirty-two weeks since they began in January.
The post-Shabbat protests outside the president’s residence have become a place to catch up with neighbors and friends, hear music, cheer for speakers, blow kazoos in call and response with a circle of drummers, and chant slogans with enthusiasm.
Most of the demonstrations across the country occur without incident, while some have been marred by police violence and attacks on protesters, typically when major news breaks about the government’s relentless attempts to eviscerate the Israeli justice system or when protesters seek out government officials at their homes or when they are out in the field on government business. Here in Jerusalem, the typical mood at the weekly demonstrations is a strange combination of upbeat enthusiasm and downbeat disappointment, anger, and fear.
This dichotomy is manifested by the costumes that some protesters wear. While some are humorous digs at the government—a clown on stilts and various wild animals, for example—others are deadly serious, like the women dressed as “Handmaid” characters from The Handmaid’s Tale, silently calling attention to the potential of the “reforms” to erode women’s rights.
Photo courtesy of Mike Sager
In spite of the onset of “protest fatigue,” people are still coming out to demonstrate. Each week, the protests take on a different tenor. Two weeks ago, around the country, the mood was more somber. In Jerusalem, the musical act was eliminated from the program in respect after a terror attack in Tel Aviv earlier in the day. We sang Hatikvah (“The Hope”), Israel’s national anthem, at the end of the rally and went home early.
The leaders have called the weekly protests a “festival of democracy”—a festival that comes hand in hand with dark fears for the future of the State.
Jews around the world will soon bring in the new month of Elul, beginning a forty-day period of introspection and change including the High Holy Days. Our traditional t’filah for Rosh Chodesh includes singing Hallel, psalms of praise and rejoicing.
How can we rejoice in the face of this deep fear, pain, and sorrow for the State of Israel? Much like the somber realities combining with the festive atmosphere of many of the protests, this year the traditional Hallel may need a more layered and nuanced set of emotions.
Two and a half years ago—in the heart of the pandemic—I asked a similar question in the context of COVID and the approaching Passover seders, during which Hallel is also recited. How can we sing Hallel with a full heart at socially distanced seders? I crafted an alternative called “Hallel in a Minor Key,” inviting singer-songwriter Sue Horowitz to compose music for the opening poem. Partnering with the CCAR, Sue and I offered the liturgy as a thank-you gift to the congregations, rabbis, cantors, and spiritual leaders who have used our work.
We offer this liturgy to you again in answer to a new question: How do we recite Hallel as we fear for the future of the State of Israel? You can download a PDF of the full liturgy, along with the sheet music. You can also download a recording of the music. Read about the spiritual and musical influences behind this liturgy in our original RavBlog post “Hallel in a Minor Key.”
We encourage you to add music or additional readings that would deepen the meaning of your worship. If you use this liturgy, we’d love to hear from you. Reach Alden at asolovy54@gmail.com and Sue at srrhorowitz@gmail.com.
I am the rabbi of a tiny community in the Rocky Mountains of Montana—the largest congregation in the state. Easily over eighty percent of our members have intermarried. Non-Jewish family members and friends are part of the life of my community.
B”Mitzvahs have become moments of interest to me. They are large gatherings with guests from all over the country. They obviously mean a lot to my families and their relatives, who almost always are excited to be a part of the service—and who cry no less than their Jewish family! They also are, by very nature, moments of commitment and exclusivity.
In thinking about a possible way for non-Jewish family members and friends to accompany, celebrate, and support their grandchildren, nephews and nieces, cousins, and friends, I wrote the following blessing.
Blessing for a B”Mitzvah by Non-Jewish Family Members
For generations, each member of our family has paved their own road.
Whenever we come together, we celebrate the vastness of our traditions, the depth of our stories, and the care that connects us.
On this day, you are taking upon yourself a heritage older than most others on this planet.
From this day on, you are a bearer of Torah, one of the sacred books of humanity.
We see that you are strong, wise, and ready to hold on to this book and make its teachings part of your own story.
We are proud of your pride in being Jewish.
We respect the respect you show for your heritage.
We love the love you feel for a people and a wisdom you chose for yourself.
Go, _______, find your own way. Take our blessings with you.
What is the Omer? What spiritual meaning can it provide for contemporary Jews? The seven weeks of the Omer offer an invitation to walk a spiritual path from constriction to expanse. On the holiday of Shavuot, we will explore seven spiritual principles: decision, discernment, choosing, hope, imagination, courage, and praying. Each one, powerful on its own, can be a sort of north star and illuminate a path toward personal and spiritual growth.
How do you suggest that someone who has never counted the Omer before get started? How can Omer: A Counting enhance their practice? For forty-nine days, or seven weeks, we take on a discipline, an obligation to mindfully enter the day, to be aware of its potential power to matter, to make a difference, to count for something. Awaken your routine with intention, with attention.
To get started simply begin or end your day with a moment of thought. Perhaps you sit in a beautiful place in your home, perhaps you leaf through a book that’s been inspirational to you. Perhaps you just take a walk or look out the window. It doesn’t have to be for a long time, even five minutes will do. And you say to yourself, today I make myself count for something good.
The book is divided into seven spiritual principles. How did you come up with these principles? What is their significance? I offer an original set of spiritual principles for the seven weeks of Omer, listed above. These principles are points of light to illuminate a path towards spiritual awareness as we attempt to be free from what enslaves us.
Was there something new that you learned while writing this book? It was very powerful for me to articulate the seven spiritual principles as stepping stones. Each one can be an entire practice on a spiritual path that sometimes feels more like a zigzag than a straight line. For example, every internal change begins with the spiritual principle of decision: we decide to behave a different way, to live a different way, to interact in a different way.
Rabbi Kedar is available to teach online on topics in her books. Email bookevents@ccarpress.org for more information.
How did you come to serve as a coeditor for Mishkan HaSeder?
Mishkan HaSeder was one of those long-gestating dreams. I met Rabbi Hara Person in 1990, and as we became friends and I reveled in the poems she had paired with Torah text in the Women’s Commentary, it seemed inevitable that we would also pair passages of the Haggadah with poetry —and for the same reason, to feel closer to the text. We also knew that by choosing poets of any faith, time, and place, their work would reflect the universality of the story of the Exodus. We wanted participants to feel the seder as a microcosm for the human experience.
Mishkan HaSeder contains a wealth of poetry alongside the seder text. How did you choose which poems to include?
From her work with theThe Torah: A Women’s Commentary and other texts, Rabbi Person had a clear method. We looked at every page of the Haggadah and then distilled meanings, symbols, and philosophies found at that moment in the seder. To find poems that reflected or refracted those ideas, we cross-indexed them with our own knowledge of poets and poems, with online databases of poems, and we thumbed through books upon books. It’s not hard to find poems that have a relationship to the story, but finding the very right ones that pop open the moment to new understandings and resonance—that was our goal, and it was thrilling. Like Torah, the story of Passover is ever-expanding; we wanted to find poems that sparked this dynamism.
What role can poetry play as part of the Passover experience?
Emotional intimacy! For example, Mishkan HaSeder’s very first poem, by Karl Shapiro, imagines a 151st psalm (there are only 150 in our liturgy) that begins, “Immigrant God, You follow me.” From the start the reader is offered, within this story of moving toward freedom, an example of freedom to reimagine one’s relationship to God and to the story. “The 151st Psalm” is followed by Jane Hirshfield’s great poem “Optimism,” which begins “More and more I have come to admire resilience”—because not only does Passover embody resilience, but so does survival for peoples all through time. When the Haggadah instructs us to honor the stranger, resilience is needed there as well, to strengthen our resolve against forces of exclusion on any number of levels.
What makes Mishkan HaSeder different from other Haggadot?
Many wonderful Haggadot offer paths from the traditional liturgy to a deepened awareness of the living presence of the Exodus story in the present day. One thing Mishkan HaSeder holds is an entire second Haggadah within it; people who want to conduct a seder with very little of the traditional liturgy can lean on the poems themselves to reflect the signs and wonders of the story. And because readers are used to understanding poems through a very personal scrim, participants can come to the evening knowing that their individual sensibilities have a seat at the table and a voice for the discussion. Mishkan HaSeder can also act as the salt and pepper at the table—the poems sprinkled within whatever text a host chooses.
Did you learn something new while editing the book?
I was grateful to become more conversant with the traditional liturgy and the relationship of one part of the seder to another. There will always be more to know, of course, but each layer of understanding offers new layers of discovery—and new ways of feeling profoundly connected.
During Shabbat services on Saturday, January 15, 2022, Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker and three congregants were taken hostage for nearly twelve hours at Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas. His fortitude, strength, and bravery led to Rabbi Cytron-Walker and his congregants’ safe escape. During this terrifying incident, thousands of Jews and supporters gathered virtually for a Zoom vigil to send Rabbi Cytron-Walker and those involved prayers and strength. Rabbi Hara Person, Chief Executive of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, read the following prayer, “Fear of Antisemitism,” written by Rabbi Marc Katz, during the vigil. Many who attended have reached out inquiring about the piece. We share Rabbi Marc Katz’s words here in hopes that they bring you hope and strength in the face of adversity.
“Fear of Antisemitism” appears in the Supplement to L’chol Z’man V’eit: For Sacred Moments, a recently published expansion to the CCAR clergy manual that contains prayers, readings, and rituals for a wide variety of contemporary situations.
“Fear of Antisemitism” As in so many times throughout history, our Jewish community is surrounded by uncertainty. Unsure of what danger, what vitriol, what violence might await us, in this era of rising antisemitism, we call upon You, God, to be our partner:
When we face enmity, fill our hearts and those of our detractors with love. When we meet bigotry, puncture the ignorance surrounding us with truth. When we see only shortsightedness, open the eyes of the blind. When fear overcomes us, show us the light of courage. When we feel alone, find us hands to soothe us. When we seek to turn inward, find us partners with whom to stand in solidarity.
We stand in the footsteps of our ancestor Beruriah — praying not that the wicked will disappear, but rather that their wickedness will. (BT B’rachot 10a) Let those inclined to hate question their intolerance, break their fanaticism, and burst open their narrow-mindedness.
Guide our leaders to speak out, our law enforcement to stand firm, our judges to rule justly. Let all those who profess faith walk with us along this unsteady and rocky path, and let us, in turn, walk with them along theirs.
We are a people blessed with perseverance, boldness, and fortitude. Help us to tap into these virtues. All darkness will disappear when we join our light with the lights of others. May this happen speedily in our day so that we, along with all humanity, find our place each under our vine and fig tree and none of us shall be afraid. (Micah 4:4)
Rabbi Marc Katz serves Temple Ner Tamid in Bloomfield, New Jersey.
Rabbi April Davis is the editor of the new supplement to L’chol Z’man v’Eit, the CCAR’s clergy manual and life-cycle guide. In this blog post, she reflects upon her own experiences using L’chol Z’man v’Eit and offers a glimpse into the supplement’s contents.
A season is set for everything; a time for every experience under heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
I received my copy of L’chol Z’man v’Eit from my rabbi, Andy Klein, when I was ordained in 2015. In the note that accompanied the gift, he told me that I would be part of people’s most tender and intimate moments and this book would be my guide. Looking back on my seven years in the rabbinate, it truly has been. Holding the binder, taking a few pages on the run, or using the electronic version on my iPad, I have joined people in marriage, named babies, led conversions, and stood at hospital bedsides. I know you have, too. It is a steady companion as we navigate traditional and new sacred moments with the many people we serve.
Published in 2015, L’chol Z’man v’Eit/For Sacred Moments: The CCAR Life-Cycle Guide offered traditional rituals and new blessings to clergy in joyous and mournful moments. Not only were some of the resources new, but the guide was published in a unique format: a binder with pages that could be removed and reordered as necessary. It was also released as a digital PDF. In both the substance and the design, the old was made new and the new was made holy (Rav Avraham Isaac Kook).
True to the design and intent of the original, we can and should continue adding content to reflect our changing rabbinates and our rapidly evolving world. Today we are called to witness and bless increasingly diverse moments. Sometimes we are present at an unfolding tragedy; at other times we bring Judaism and joy to a new situation. For everything there is a season, a time for every experience under heaven. To that end, CCAR Press decided to publish an update to the guide in the form of a print and digital Supplement. I was honored to serve as editor of this project. The goal of the Supplement to L’chol Z’man v’Eit is to recognize even more of those times and seasons and mark them as sacred.
Including new material for all facets of the life-cycle, the print Supplement is designed to fit into the existing guide (instructions are provided on the first page). The digital Supplement is available as a separate PDF or integrated into the original PDF manual. In the Birth section, there are prayers and rituals for people hoping to conceive or experiencing miscarriage, premature birth, the illness of a child, or adopting an older child who is able to participate in the ceremony. There is unique liturgy for a marriage that includes children, along with new rituals for divorce and ending relationships.
Expanding the Healing section are prayers for minor illness or injury, a sick child, eating disorders, addiction, assault, and abortion. The Mourning section includes new meditations to address communal loss and the death of a hurtful parent along with a framework for the funeral of someone who died by suicide.
On the communal level, we are often called on to address both our congregations and the communities in which we live. For the congregation, we included rituals such as a reconsecration ceremony and a prayer for people leaving a community. Outside the doors of the synagogue, there are rituals for people moving into or out of a residence, a child leaving home, people moving in together as a step in their relationship, and an individual entering long-term care. Most of the Community section, though, is devoted to the difficult moments we face in the world. Organized into three parts—In Times of Fear, Acute Crisis, and When Healing Comes—there are multiple meditations and readings for a variety of difficult situations. Natural disasters, climate change, gun violence, racism, and antisemitism are specifically addressed.
The supplement reflects the creativity and generosity of CCAR members. Committee members Rabbis Carolyn Bricklin-Small, Alan Cook, Lisa Edwards, PhD, Jen Gubitz, Marc Katz, and Ben Zeidman, and CCAR editor Rabbi Sonja K. Pilz, PhD, were partners in seeking the moments to be reflected in the Supplement. Through searches of the CCAR and Women’s Rabbinic Network Facebook pages, online requests, and direct questions posed to our colleagues, we created a list of the most needed blessings and readings. We then compiled these from various sources, with some previously published, but many others written specifically for the Supplement.
Colleagues who have solemnized these new life-cycle moments contributed their wisdom. In particular, the Community section is a powerful collection of reflections from those who have been in the midst of crises. Their rituals and readings have been tested under difficult circumstances and generously shared. I am grateful to everyone who contributed to this Supplement and, especially, to the committee and to Rabbi Pilz for their effort and dedication. It is my hope that this Supplement moves us towards finding and marking holiness in every time and season. I am adding the pages to my guide and know that they will be part of many tender and intimate moments of my rabbinate in the years to come.
It was Friday morning, the day after Yom Kippur. Even though we were exclusively worshiping on Zoom throughout the High Holy Days, I felt a sense of peace and contentment, and a strong connection to the Temple Sholom family. All of our services were held using Visual T’filah. Without machzorim in hand, we were able to truly pray as a community with our electronic devices. I was very tired after all the preparation leading up to the Holy Days and after leading so many different types of services, but Shabbat comes every week, ready or not. I could have reused a previous Visual T’filah Shabbat service I had put together, but I had a strong desire to create a new service. And then it dawned on me that crafting a Visual T’filah service is a form of praying for me, in and of itself.
I start with a set of Mishkan T’filah Visual T’filah slides from CCAR Press, which have all the prayers from the prayer book. I focus on the service as a whole and explore the feeling I want the day’s prayers to convey. What is going on in the world around us? What inspiration can I glean from the Torah portion? Should the service be upbeat and celebratory, or more contemplative and calming? What do we, as a community, need this particular Shabbat?
Next, I focus on one prayer at a time. What is this particular prayer saying to me today? I look through my collection of photographs and art to find the image that best portrays that feeling. I also search through my collection of music to find just the right melody to enhance the feeling of the prayer as it speaks to me. As I work on each prayer slide, finding the best way to arrange the text around the picture, the words of the prayer permeate my soul. I am praying as I create each slide.
For example, the Mi Chamochah has many different melodies. Many of them are joyous. Others are more contemplative. The celebratory melodies reflect the excitement of the Israelites finally making it to the other shore and rejoicing in their newfound freedom. I see the more contemplative melodies reflecting amazement and awe. “Wow. Did we really make it? Are we really safe now?” I choose a particular melody based on the emotion the congregation might most benefit from that Shabbat.
Then I attach a visual. I often use visuals containing water for Mi Chamochah. It doesn’t have to be the Red Sea; it can be a river or an ocean. The visual helps me—and the congregation—feel as if we were there with the Israelites on their journey. As I put each prayer slide together, playing the music to make sure it goes with the visual, I find myself praying the Mi Chamochah as I compose the slides. I feel completely immersed in the message of the prayer and experience connection to God through those words.
Some of the images I use are photos. Others are graphics. Sometimes I choose more abstract images to allow for each person’s imagination to explore the words of the reading or prayer.
Shabbat is about creation. In the Kiddush we read, Zikaron l’maaseih v’reishit —“A reminder of the work of Creation.” Made in the image of God, each Shabbat I create a prayer world, for myself, and for the congregation.
