(Plus a Beautiful Viral Rosh Hashanah Sermon and Q & A by Toronto’s Holy Blossom Temple’s Female Senior Rabbi Yael Splansky!)

“One of the things I’ve always been proudest of is that little girls can grow up knowing they could be rabbis if they want to. And I’ve worked really hard not just to open the door but to hold it open for others to follow in my footsteps.”

— Sally J. Priesand, the first female ordained a rabbi

Fifty years ago, on June 3, 1972, Sally J. Priesand became the first woman ordained a rabbi by a Jewish seminary. Her 35 male classmates spontaneously rose to their feet to acknowledge her historic feat.

Now, 50 years later, an estimated 1,500 women have become rabbis across every Jewish denomination. 

There are some fascinating females who have become rabbis. Below four female rabbis who happen to be female share what it's like to be a rabbi who happens to be female, their joys and their setbacks. Click on their names to see their full stories! 

“I was an oddity, to be sure. People would come to the synagogue just to see the “lady rabbi… People would request “the lady rabbi” for a wedding or funeral because they knew it would irk their religious cousins (or they would request to “not have the female rabbi” for their son’s bar mitzvah, so as not to irk their religious cousins)” — Rabbi Elyse Goldstein 

Regardless of whether I wanted or planned to stand on the soapbox of women’s ordination, it came to me. It’s there every time someone refers to me as “the lady rabbi,” even when I am the only rabbi in the room – and yes, even after 23 years in the rabbinate, it still happens. In fact, it happened just a few weeks ago. It’s sometimes frustrating or difficult, but that’s the call – to demonstrate that I am not the “lady rabbi.” I am the rabbi.— Rabbi Jennifer Gorman

And now, finally a full, ordained rabbi, my experience in the rabbinate was shaking me. I was a young woman in my late 20s, an age and gender whose authority is discounted in pretty much all areas of adult life. I found myself the only woman at every board of rabbis meeting; the only female rabbi employed full time by a congregation in the whole city; the first female rabbi many people had ever met. A beloved colleague of mine somehow introduced me to his congregation as “the youngest and certainly prettiest rabbi in town,” which wasn’t really how I wanted to be known. — Rabbi Julia Appel

I was to become the first female rabbi born in the Soviet Union and ordained in North America, a responsibility I did not take lightly. For the ordination, my family and friends joined hundreds of others at the large temple. Five years of rabbinical school gave my parents time to adjust to their daughter’s odd choice of profession. Even though the freedom of practicing our tradition was granted to us, very few Jewish Russian-speaking households adopted traditional Jewish life — Rabbi Tina Grrimberg.

Toronto’s Rabbi Yael Splansky, the Senior Rabbi of Holy Blossom Temple, Toronto’s first synagogue, is one of these fascinating females rabbis. 

She became the thirteenth Senior Rabbi of Holy Blossom Temple in 2014 and, incredibly, is a fourth generation Reform Rabbi. (you can click here to see her full bio! (And please scroll back here to donate! #FemaleEmpowerment #WomenSupportingWomen)

I reached out to her to ask if she had a sermon from a previous Rosh Hashanah sermon and asked if she would do a q and a Q & A about how she became a rabbi. She generously provided me with both — bringing me to tears.

Rabbi Yael Splansky shares the sermon she provided on the second day of Rosh HaShanah, 2015, when she was in treatment for breast cancer at age 44.

“The sermon has sort of taken on a life of its own," she tells me. “Many people have shared it with friends in treatment.  It is being taught in rabbinical school as a model.  It was also included in a book, an anthology of reflections on enduring life's trials.” (You can click here to watch it here. Or read it in full below the Q and A.) But first?

YES, I AM A ‘REAL’ RABBI: 18 Questions On Being a Female Rabbi with Rabbi Yael Splansky

RE:BOOKS: Did you always want to be a rabbi? Was there one moment you thought “I want to be a rabbi?” (I know you’re a fourth generation. First female though?) Did you ever have a back-up plan for a career? (Hairstylist? Nutritionist?) 

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY:  I grew up in a rabbinic home. My father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all Reform Rabbis.  I always felt being Jewish was joyful, interesting, and important.  My Jewish leadership began when I was sixteen and mobilized a busload of teenagers to go through a blizzard from Boston to Washington D.C. for the Rally for Soviet Jewry.  Through Jewish youth group, Jewish summer camp, Jewish Studies courses, and a year at Hebrew University, Jewish community and Jewish ideas took centre stage, but I did not admit to myself that I wanted to become a rabbi until the time the application for rabbinical school was due.  There were very big shoes to fill.  My father is a real scholar.  My grandfather was a giant of justice – a chaplain during WWII, marched in Selma with Dr. King, worked with President Kennedy on race and religion. My college boyfriend, now husband, told me to “get over myself,” so I wrote the application, cried when the Admissions Committee asked a final question about my rabbinic role models, and never looked back.  I have found my own pair of shoes to walk in.

RE:BOOKS: Do you remember your first sermon and if so, what was it about and how nervous were you? Is there one sermon you wrote that really resonated with your congregation? And why?

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY My first D’var Torah was delivered on my Bat Mitzvah day. I enjoyed the research and writing much more than the delivery.  It’s still like that. My first sermon for peers was during my first year of rabbinical school in Jerusalem. One of the professors on the critique panel felt it was “too subtle.”  Looking back, I think that was a gendered comment.  My first sermon for a congregation was in College Station, Texas.  The community was too small for its own rabbi, so I flew down once a month as a rabbinical student.  I spoke about the shofar and its meanings.  I remember wanting to give them a gift  They were very kind and encouraging. The first ones to call me Rabbi.

I gave a High Holyday sermon a few years ago to honour people who have chosen to convert to Judaism and to thank non-Jewish parents who are committed to raising Jewish children.  In the receiving line, one distinguished man shook my hand, looked me in the eye and said, “Rabbi, I didn’t know it until now, but I think I’ve been waiting for that sermon for forty years.”  Conversion is a very personal pursuit, but I have learned that the public affirmation is important for the whole community.

RE:BOOKS: Since this is a reading/writing newsletter, can you tell us your process when you are writing or preparing a sermon? I see that your husband is a writer too!

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: Sometimes the sermon writes itself, like when something happens in the world and people want to hear the Jewish perspective on it.  But whenever I struggle for a topic that is timely, I can always turn to the topics that are timeless.  I stare at my wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and wait for a book to wink at me.  It doesn’t take long.  Collections of Talmudic debates, medieval Torah commentaries, Yiddish folktales, contemporary Israeli poetry – the Jewish library is an endless treasure trove of ideas.  My job as a rabbi is to tap into these resources and share them, because they belong to every Jew.

RE:BOOKS: For young girls/young women or even us adults, can you simply break down how one becomes a rabbi? (FYI! My daughter happens to be in Boston now, where you studied. She goes to Tufts!) How do you “pass” to become a rabbi?

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: I loved my time in rabbinical school.  The widely recognized seminaries require five or six years of graduate studies after university.  Most of the rabbinical schools of the Diaspora build into their programs one year of study in Israel.  A foundational base of Hebrew is a pre-requisite for admission into rabbinical school.  Although any undergraduate area of study is acceptable, there must be an established pattern of attachment to Jewish life.  

I went straight from university to rabbinical school.  This was unusual.  Most of my classmates had taken some time off in between to work in the Jewish community.  Some had full careers in other fields (a lot of lawyers!) before deciding that their volunteer life in the Jewish community was much more fulfilling than their work life.  

There is actually a shortage of rabbinical students now, so if anyone is interested in learning more about the course of study or the application process, the Admissions Office of any of the liberal seminaries would be thrilled to meet.  

 (P.S. My husband went to Tufts and my nephew is there now.  Maybe I could introduce my adorable nephew to your daughter!)

RE:BOOKS: How amazing would that be? Alas, she is in a happy and healthy relationship. Speaking of relationships, I wrote a piece for the CJN (I think?) about why talking to my rabbi is better than talking to a therapist. Whatever my rabbi says usually makes more sense if I have an issue. What are the top 3 issues females come to you with?

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: I love that you turn to your rabbi for guidance. 

Women turn to me most often to talk about family life and marriage. – including struggles with infertility. Their own Illness or the illnesses of the people they love. Their search for meaning and purpose.

RE:BOOKS: How do people react when you tell them you are a rabbi? (I know more and more women are rabbis but it’s still seems like an old boys club.) Do you have to deal with sexism as a female rabbi? Or back when you were studying to be a rabbi? What can we do to make it more equal for the next generation or this generation of young females? (I’m pretty sure some people must think you’re joking when you tell them you are a rabbi!)

 RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: The Reform Movement just celebrated its 50th anniversary of ordaining women. Holy Blossom Temple has employed a woman as rabbi since 1980.  So by the time I arrived as a  new Assistant Rabbi in 1998, no one blinked.  I’m very grateful to the earlier generations of women rabbis who paved the way for me.  I will say, however, that when I became the Senior Rabbi of the congregation, it did feel like something new and even surprising for some.  I currently serve as President of the Toronto Board of Rabbis.  My colleagues – across genders, generations, and denominations – are very supportive and respectful.  Once in a blue moon, I am shocked when a wedding couple sheepishly requests to be married by a male rabbi in order to appease the in-laws-to-be.  But much more often, couples seek me out because they wish to be counselled and married by a female rabbi.  So I guess the discrimination runs in both directions now.  

RE:BOOKS: I’m not sure if I’m asking this the correct way, but do you have a favourite high holiday. Or let me rephrase: what about Rosh Hashanah is so special to you? (And do you have a fav holiday?) 

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: I love the fresh start Rosh HaShanah provides.  Just when the natural world is changing seasons, we admit to ourselves that we also have the capacity for change and decide to get on with it already.  On Rosh HaShanah, everything and everyone is so full of potential and possibility.  But my favourite holyday is Sukkot, when the pressure of the High Holydays begins to recede, and I can linger with family and friends in the sukkah over delicious fall harvest foods and wine. 

RE:BOOKS: Favourite Jewish food? Least favourite Jewish food?

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: Favourite?  Hard to choose.  I love latkes (with applesauce, of course), but latkes do not love me. Least favourite?  I’ll eat gefilte fish, camouflaged by purple horseradish, once a year at the seder table, but only to be polite. 

RE:BOOKS: People are fascinated with forgiveness. I also wrote a piece that got hundreds of likes about not being able to forgive a friend for something that I thought was unforgivable. What are your thoughts on forgiveness and, on the other end, how do we ask for forgiveness if we’ve wronged someone. It’s so uncomfortable on either end!

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: Granting forgiveness is not required of us in all circumstances, but we should try to be forgiving – for the sake of the one who has wronged us and for our own sake as well.  When we withhold forgiveness, we hold power over the one who seeks to be forgiven, but we are also held captive by the relationship.  The hurt won’t loosen its grip on us.  The sting can stay with us for years.  But when we forgive, something eases.  Judaism does not say: “Forgive and forget.”  We should strive to forgive, but remember and learn from the experience.  

The simpler and more sincere the apology, the better.  “I’m sorry for what I did.  It was wrong.  I hope you can forgive me.  I have learned from this experience, and in the future, I intend to do better by ….”  And then stop talking. Don’t try to explain or justify why you did what you did.  Just listen for the response and absorb it.

RE:BOOKS: Do you need to ask forgiveness this year for anything? You don’t have to get into details but I’m assuming that you’re human who happens to be a rabbi. Also, how will you be celebrating this year (do you have your own family traditions?) Do you cook the meals? How can you do it all?  

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: We are very close with our extended family, but they all live in The States.  During the pandemic we have not been able to travel to be with them as much as we’d like.  This weighs on me. My incredible husband, Adam, does most of the holyday cooking.  I could not do what I do without his partnership.  

But I do love to set the table with all the pretty things that have come down to me from grandmothers and great aunts.  When I need a break of sermon-writing, I polish the silver candlesticks and the silver apple with the golden spoon for honey.  

One Rosh HaShanah tradition in our house is to taste an assortment of honey.  It’s amazing how the different flavours really come through when you pay attention.  Just as the honey tells the story of the bee’s journey, the High Holydays ask us to trace the steps of where we’ve been and reflect on them.

RE:BOOKS: I was also wondering if there was a private group of female rabbis who get together once a month. Is there a female friend rabbi club?

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: There is an organization called the Women’s Rabbinic Network.  I’m not involved much, but I support their mission, including advocacy for equal pay.  

RE:BOOKS: This is very interesting to me because a lot of people I know are now converting to Judaism — or say they want to —and I can see why. Are you noticing this too?

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: Yes, people are starving for community now, and Jews do community very well.  Also, the pandemic has made people ask the big questions.  Seekers can be drawn to Judaism, because Judaism is more interested in asking questions than providing pat answers. 

RE:BOOKS: Thank you so much again! Going to donate now! And, I encourage my female readers to not only donate but to sign up your monthly newsletter! Next year? I’ll definitely come!

RABBI YAEL SPLANSKY: Terrific!  L’Shanah Tovah!

RE:BOOKS: L’Shanah Tovah!

Below you can read Rabbi Yael Kaplansky’s viral 2015 Rosh Hashanah sermon, which is absolutely beautiful. Or you can watch it here.  

Rabbi Yael Splansky – Rosh Hashana Sermon 2015

Some might think the best pretext for this sermon is the following Yiddish proverb, “If God lives on earth, people would break his windows”. But I prefer another Yiddish proverb instead: “If things are not as you wish, wish them as they are”. 

When I stood before you last Rosh Hashanah it was a great celebration of pride and purpose and of how far we had come as a congregation. We were just beginning to write a new chapter in the life of Holy Blossom Temple. 

The dominant emotions for me then, were excitement and gratitude and curiosity. And in the quiet moments of personal reflection then, I privately admitted to myself that seeing our congregation through transition was the hardest thing I had ever done. 

In my private prayers last Rosh Hashanah I thanked God for giving me the strength to endure it and for the many good partners along the way. Today, one year later, on this Rosh Hashanah, in the quiet moments of personal reflection over another year gone, I can say that now, fighting cancer is the hardest thing I have ever done. God willing, 5776 will be simpler.

I could use a little less excitement, but as the Yiddish proverb goes, “Even the smoothest path is full of stones”. No life is free from pain… even hard working and kind-hearted rabbis are not protected from tzures. 

I’ve never spoken of it from this Bimah in these many months. Those who know me know that I am a pretty private person. A rabbi’s primary purpose is, of course, to teach text. Today, however, the text I bring to share with you is the text of my life. For nine months now, biology and chemistry have been my Torah. Our sages say one cannot fully understand Torah unless one has stumbled in it. Many people encourage me with compliments and say, how graceful. But the path has been rocky. There have been many moments when I felt myself stumbling in the Torah of life’s hard knocks. But I did not fall.

Before I continue, not another word until I acknowledge that among us, are many dear congregants who have truly suffered, and are carrying much heavier burdens, and for a lot longer than I have. And I look at you, and I see real pillars of strength. Who among us has not accompanied a loved one along one rough road or another, or another? My story, by contrast, is not unique, unfortunately it is very common. And in my heart of hearts I believe that my story will have a happy ending. I pray that through these few reflections you may find something familiar, and affirming, or something challenging and motivating, or perhaps, the simple comfort in knowing that we are indeed, all in it together. Each one, doing our best to muscle our way, through this God-given life.

In preparing for today, I found this in my computer. I had forgotten that I had written it. 4:53 a.m. March 12, 2015:  I like to see all the shades of grey and consider them. I like to weigh them out, against one another. That’s how I’ve always been, and as a rabbi, that’s my training.  

This now, however, is a strange exercise in juxtapositions. A collision of extremes. I am, on the one hand, utterly shocked and disbelieved by my diagnosis, and at the same time, I am not at all surprised. Hello cancer, I’ve been expecting you. Not so soon but expecting none the less. Why not me? I feel on the one hand, lucky and also unlucky. I am prepared and I am woefully unprepared. I feel confident that all will go well for me, and I feel totally vulnerable. 

I am surrounded by so much support: family, congregation, old friends and new, colleagues, strangers, medical experts of all kinds, and on the other hand, sometimes I am entirely alone. 

At the end of the day, I am the only one in my skin. On the one hand, I hate the machines and the tests and the new books on my shelf, and the needles, and the hospitals and the medicines, and on the other hand, I love them. I am so grateful for them. On the one hand, I feel strong, sometimes even triumphant, on top of it, and there are days when I feel myself pinned down under the weight of it, crushed with worry.  I don’t want any part of this… none of it. But I don’t get to choose. A friend who knows, calls it a choice-less choice.

Now I don’t keep a journal… this is really the only thing like this in my computer. Many have advised me to keep a journal. They say that you grow, and it’s a journey. They say cancer changes you. They say you come out on the other side stronger, and wiser. Truth be told, I thought I was already pretty strong and wise. And that’s primarily because I have learned from you, good people. Throughout our seventeen years together, studying Torah together, and inviting me into your lives at delicate moments of trouble and trial, you have taught me well, about vulnerability and vitality. You have trusted me with your insights of fear and faith, and I am stronger and wiser because of you–my teachers. So today, I try to reciprocate in one small measure. Something of what I have learned. This experience reinforces what I already knew to be true.  

When a congregant wrote to me about her own illness this year, and confessed that she felt paralyzed by the deepest, darkest fear that she was somehow being punished by God, I was able to write the following:
Dear Laura, (today I’ll call her Laura) I am so sorry to hear about what you are facing. I’m glad that you trust me with your big questions. Email is a lousy way to talk about such nuanced and important things. I look forward to the day when we can sit together and really talk. 

But in the meantime, since I hear the urgency in your voice, let me say that I do not believe illness is punishment.  (Full stop.)  I believe that you are a very good person. But even if you were a miserable human being, I do not believe illness would come your way as a result. I believe that illness is as much a part of life as is good health.  And I don’t mind sharing with you that I write you at a time when I’m facing my own frightening diagnosis. 

The question is not, why do bad things happen to good people? The question is, when do bad things happen to good people, how do we respond? We don’t get to choose, like when or where cancer cells grow, but we do get to choose how to respond when they do. Do we choose to be proactive or passive?  Private or public?  Optimistic or pessimistic?  Fearful or courageous?  Some days this, and some days that, and these are very personal decisions. 

 Some moments this way, some moments that way. Even when there is so much outside of our control, some things we must remember, are within our control.  These things we can choose. I know that you are blessed with family and friends, and a community that cares about you very much. While you live in your own skin, you are not alone. One of my many prayers for you, Laura, is that you will feel less alone and less frightened. Would you take comfort in knowing that we are including your name in Mi Shebeirach this Shabbat?  

 Yes, of course, I will keep you in my own private prayers. I ask that you do the same for me. That’s the power of sacred community. That’s another thing I believe in wholeheartedly.  Be well, Laura. Rifua l’shma. A complete and whole healing. Yael.

This exchange between two moms, came about because in a synagogue community we are not alone. This is the essential blessing of being a part of such a community. I always knew this to be true but this year I experienced it in new ways, as a mother and a wife. 

I know my husband and our boys are less afraid and more supported because they are a part of this congregation, not because they are the rabbi’s kids, but because they’re around, and people know them, and care about them. 

Just one example comes in the form of meals that the Bikur Cholim committee arranges for us from time to time. Nutritious and delicious meals, prepared by generous congregants and dropped at the door. These have saved Adam and me some precious time and energy when we needed to conserve. But more than the practical benefits, each meal was a lesson to us and to our children in the power of sacred community. Without family in town, we were buoyed by the embrace of the Holy Blossom congregation. And again, not because we are a rabbi’s family, but because we have volunteers who are extraordinary and know how to provide when people need it. This quiet mitzvah speaks volumes about the character of our congregation.

Now I will never know why cancer settled in my body. I will do everything I can to keep it from returning. But God only knows. So, my faith fills in the gap between the known and the unknown.  Between the facts of life and the mysteries of life. 

 There’s a b’rachah for this: Baruch Atah Adonai haham ha razime. Praised are you, Adonai, our God, Ruler of the Universe, Knower of secrets. To say this b’rachah is somehow liberating.  I don’t have to know everything because God does.  

 Since my earliest childhood memories, I have always experienced prayer as something very real. Not foolish, not an empty ritual, not a crutch, but very powerful. But I have never been the subject of people’s prayers until now.  

 And I have to say, to my surprise, that the accumulations of these prayers somehow have substance. They have volume and weight and largesse. It’s difficult for me to articulate, actually. They add up to something almost tangible, for me.  

 So, I want to thank you this day for holding me in your prayers. They have indeed sustained me. And I want to suggest, that if you have loved ones who are unwell, instead of saying to them, I am thinking about you all the time, let them know that you are praying for them all the time. Thinking about is a form of praying about. And you’d be surprised how much it will mean to them. I personally don’t pray for God to rescue me, I pray for God to make me strong. Never before was my experience of God bodily, as it has been this year. I never said like Job, “Through my flesh I see God”.  Until my diagnosis, my encounters with the Divine were through my head, and my heart and my neshamah, but now my hair and my fingernails and my white blood cells and lymph nodes I never knew I had, all have something to report to me. Every miraculous thing, every quirky side effect, every achy joint, points to the wonder and the mystery of God’s world and the God-given ability to heal.

One congregant among you brought me a gift from Israel.  A thin, little red bracelet, with a Hamsa on it. Now I am not a superstitious person. I do not believe that the red thread will ward off the evil eye.  I do not believe the little silver hand will protect or shield me from harm. But I’ve been wearing this little gift every day, nonetheless. 

It’s a reminder to me… I’ll tell you why I wear it. It’s a reminder to me that I must do all that I can to protect myself from harm.  Remember to eat, remember to drink, remember to sleep. The little blue eye at the centre of the Hamsa stands for God’s watchful eye. I see it, I look upon it, and I hear the voice in the back of my mind, “Are you taking care, Yael?  Your family and congregation need you for the long haul, you know.” And usually that’s enough to get me on the treadmill. That is prayer in motion.

Another Yiddish proverb: “Chutzpah succeeds”. With my doctor’s permission, I have pushed myself, to work as much as I could throughout chemo. I take one week off and then have two weeks back at work, and that pattern for each cycle. And so far, I’ve been lucky with daily radiation. I have my afternoon appointment calling me soon. It feels good to work. It feels good to do for… to apply myself to something other than myself, to give myself to others, not only to myself. It is good to be reminded of who I am, not only patient, reminder that I am alive.

Moments ago, we read from the Machzor, Adom Yissodo, You have created us and You know what we are. Kihane basar vadam, we are but flesh and blood. Adom yissodo m’afar v’sofo l’afar  Man’s origin is dust and dust is his end. Each of us is a shattered urn, grass that must wither, a flower that will fade, a shadow moving on, a cloud passing by, a particle of dust floating on the wind, a dream soon forgotten.

V’atah HaMelech el chai vikayom. But You, O God, are the Sovereign One, the Everlasting God. This beautiful and haunting piyut contrasts our fleeting days to God’s eternality. And it is not a fatalist’s prayer, make no mistake… just the opposite. It says that we have a chance at eternity. By attaching ourselves to the Eternal God. When we create for ourselves, day in and day out, as hard as it is, a life of meaning and purpose. We can cross the divide from suffering to service. That is every person’s sacred task.

The composers and compilers of our Machzor did not intend to traumatize us, so don’t mistake my tears today. They only wanted to speak the truth as they knew it, so that we might live more fully. So we might read that prayer poem and ask, so okay, I’m mortal. Nu? And the Machzor says back to us, so what are you going to do about it? 

 Afar, yes, we are only dust, but dust can make for a strong foundation on which we can build a house, or even a synagogue. And we may be broken vessels, but those shards can be reassembled and reconfigured to create a beautiful mosaic. 

 And yes, we are withering grass and wilting flowers, but these enrich the soil that is beneath so that life can renew and emerge. And yes, we are but a shadow. The psalmist says our days on earth are like a shadow. And one commentator asks, “So what kind of shadow is that”?  And the answer comes, “not a shadow cast by a wall, not a shadow cast by a tree, but as a shadow cast by a bird flying overhead.” 

 Let the shadow that we are be a sign of life, and of movement and mission. Adom Yissodo is placed in out Machzor between prayers devoted to the themes of Givorot and Kiddushah… courage and holiness. That is right where the sick and those who love them reside. Wedged right in between courage and holiness.

Each Shabbat, we end our services with the words v’adot af kedruchee. Into Your hands, O God, I entrust my spirit, and when I sleep and when I wake, and with my spirit and my body too, as long God is with me, I shall not fear. For the mountains may crumble and the hills may shake, but my love will never leave you, God says.  Things fall apart, but God’s presence is steady, and faithful. O God of life, we pray that You will write us into the Book of Life, so that we might live. Strengthen our bodies and our souls so that we are able to fill our days in Your service. And that we might make every day a Shehechianu.

Together, Baruch, Atah Adonai, Elohenu Melech Ha olam, Sheheheanu, v’keamanu v’hegeanu lazman hazeh. Praised are you Adonai, Our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has given us this good life, who sustains us each day, and who has enabled us to reach this moment so filled with joy and blessing.  Amen.