There are some meals I adore but almost never make. Not because they're difficult. Because they're complicated. There's a difference. Lasagna has always lived in that category for me. Layering. Multiple bowls. Noodles to boil. A sink full of dishes before dinner has even begun. And so, despite loving it, I rarely made it. Lately I've been thinking about the idea of friction points. Not the things we don't value, but the tiny obstacles that quietly keep us from living the life

Wednesday at sundown marks Tisha B’Av, the 9th of the Hebrew month of Av, a day of mourning, and a date that has become synonymous with calamity in Jewish history. This date marks the destruction of First Temple in Jerusalem by the Babylonians in 586 BCE and the Second Temple by the Romans in 70CE, as well as the fall of Betar which brought the devastating end to the Bar Kokhba revolt in 135 CE. Centuries later, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain was decreed on Tisha B’Av

After a long while—and many, many cookies—we have finally perfected our house chocolate chip cookie. By we, I mean me and my three boys. And by perfected, I mean we have made enough batches to learn from our mistakes. There were the cookies that came out far too flat because we had added too much butter. There was the time I turned on the KitchenAid without properly affixing the mixing bowl, and the entire thing began to spiral off the stand, sending cookie batter everywhere.

There is a teaching I learned as Tisha B’Av approached... On the Shabbat before the fast, as we light our candles and welcome peace into our homes, we are invited to envision and pray for the world to come. Not just Olam HaBa as a distant idea, but the world we long to help build. A world repaired. A world restored. And meditate on this as we light and admire the flames of the Shabbat candles. A huge part of my life is exploring connection—not only the connection within our

Month by month. Moon by moon. Every month, the moon disappears. For a moment, the sky is dark. And every month, without fail, the light returns. Rosh Chodesh—the beginning of the Hebrew month—arrives not at the full moon, but at its absence. Judaism asks us to begin not when everything is bright and obvious, but when hope requires trust. Perhaps that’s why Jewish tradition has always treated Rosh Chodesh as more than the first day of the month. It is an invitation to begin ag

For a long time my life existed in separate rooms. There was my work — counselling, mental health, healing. There was my volunteer life in the Jewish community. My spiritual life. There were the quieter parts of me too — gardening, cooking, caring about the natural world, the people I met through that. None of these things were untrue. But they lived beside each other rather than together. Lately something has been changing. The lines between these parts of my life have start