An altar of stones untouched by iron, not chipped nor chiseled, nor struck nor smoothed, is where we write our covenant of freedom. The freedom to thrive, and the freedom to ebb away, a tide of the ocean, always turning and returning. A freedom of rough angles sharply jutting, and struggle, and coming home again and making things right. The freedom to choose. Ki tavo - when you enter that land within you, like Eliyahu in deep stillness on the mountain, in his cave luminous with hidden jewels,...

Sivan, the month of milk and honey, When we rejoice in the slow rise of the bread And the cream of abundance: Here I am at its full moon In the middle of a howling storm. Earlier I drove down to the river, Which had burst its banks. White-tailed black cockatoos wheeled in their flocks, Shrieking like witches dancing between raindrops. Two ten-year-olds In pink and orange kayaks Were paddling round the flooded playground. Like Moses on the mountain peak, they sat Open-handed and...

The bread rolls through my fingers crumbs slowly swallowed up by the bolus of the dough. I roll it flat, transfer it to the oven - the high heat blasts my face as I open the door, hot enough for a burnt offering. If I was the bread how would I feel? The sudden rush of heat kissing me like an ecstatic shock, complete transformation. Not an offering that burns up but one that returns to you. An offering of simplicity, of trust, of pure burning presence. I offer it to God; She offers it back to...