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Dr. Robert Farrar stands at the front of the corner-windowed third-floor classroom. We are waiting for the official class time. Only then will he begin today’s talk about educational history. I look out the window at my 2003 Honda Odyssey parked a few car lengths up, off of Ventura boulevard. I’m spending a fortune to […]

  I flew from Los Angeles to New York to attend my friend Arthur’s rabbinic ordination.   “His seminary isn’t legitimate,” I hear from some colleagues. “You shouldn’t go,” I’m told.   I suspect, and time will prove this to be true, I will lose some rabbi friends because I choose to attend the ordination

  In this moment, I can accurately predict the future—she won’t eat the cheese bagels that she is about to put in the cart.   How do I know? Last week, between alarm clocks and getting out the door for school, my 12-year-old child complained about being hungry.   She said this at the kitchen table,

  “Do you see these?” I ask, pointing to the dozens of packing slips I have taped to the wall next to the fire escape of my classroom in Lincoln Heights, Los Angeles, California. I continue. “Do you realize what these mean? Each and every one of these papers means that a random stranger believes

  Spiritualigious Shorts Three Rabbi Brian mini-stories. Let them be The Fontainebleau’s lavishly-decorated ballroom is filled with florists, musicians tuning instruments, and a bevy of coordinators buzzing about. In an hour, in a black robe, I will walk down the aisle and officiate at this swanky black-tie affair. Carrie, my favorite South Beach coordinator (and

  “You are neither obligated to complete the work nor free to keep from trying.” – Rabbi Tarfon (70-135 CE)   *** “I thought a secret location would be different,” says Emmett, through a piece of cheese pizza a couple miles from our house. Annie, mouth not full, shifts her gaze for validation between Jane

  “I once wrote a letter to Hafiz,” I tell my friend Mary as we sit, COVID-safe, removing masks to have sips of the cocktails we’ve met for. “You what?” “I wrote Hafiz a letter. I wanted to ask him a question, so I figured I’d write him a letter.” We are seated at Stanford’s.

Love   His name is Nae-nae. Dark gray fur covers his emaciated body. Scabs on the tips of his ears fall off in my fingers as I touch them. We arrived at the Kauai Humane Society on the third day of our vacation there, not knowing which of the shelter’s dogs we would be taking

**JACK** I’m walking, excitedly, from the Hall of Philosophy, past Chautauqua’s 3,000 person amphitheater, holding my cell-phone next to my ear talking to Larry, my BFF. “I’m very jealous of you,” Larry tells me. “You should be,” I tell him. We both laugh. I follow Morris Avenue in this “model train village come to life”

  **A Groovy Sabbath Practice** “Harrison. Emily. I want you to hold hands and look at each other,” I say to the excited-to-be-getting-married couple on the other side of my computer screen. I ask, “You know the song, by the Romantics, _What I like about you_?” They nod. “Harrison, I’m going to ask you to