When I was a junior at Towson State College (now Towson University), I joined a group from the Jewish Students Association to catch a glimpse of President Lyndon Johnson visiting the John Hopkins campus. I held a huge sign, “Lyndon B. Johnson for President” behind a crowd as President Johnson walked towards his helicopter. He must have seen the sign, because suddenly he stopped and said to the boys in front of me, “Let that girl shake my hand.” Me? The President of the United States wants to shake my hand? After that, I attended rallies for Johnson and got interested in politics. Unlike the dedicated leaders who are running in Maryland’s upcoming gubernatorial primary on July 19, however, I never ran for political office. But I’m grateful to those who represent us in the Jewish communities where we live. Here’s who’s running:

When the editor of WWW asked if I’d like to write an article about shalach manos, also known as mishlach manos, I smiled, and I haven’t stopped smiling. In fact, every time I am worrying about something, if I start thinking shalach manos, I stop worrying (except about getting this article done on time). Why do I smile thinking about, preparing, delivering, and receiving shalach manos on Purim, when it’s such a busy day? I guess because shalach manos is a time of giving. 

When I moved to Baltimore, almost five years ago, I met so many wonderful people and discovered a network of chesed organizations, frum magazines, and well-stocked kosher stores and restaurants. I also found my favorite spot in our house: the window by the kitchen table. It faces the backyard and acts like a camera capturing the changing seasons, animal visits, and other scenes throughout the year.

This morning, as I sit down to a breakfast of a Goldberg’s blueberry gluten-free bagel with cream cheese, I roll up the blinds to the top of the window and breathe in the beauty of the fall foliage. A massive tree with orange and golden leaves rises above my neighbor’s fence and reaches almost to the azure sky. When the sun comes out behind a puffy, white cloud, the leaves of that tree sparkle and dance, holding on for dear life. Other, smaller trees shared by several neighbors still have their colorful leaves, but not the one tree in our own backyard.

On a recent Shabbos, I walked a mile to attend a beautiful shul kiddush in honor of a baby girl. She was already nine months old. That was fine because in the Askenazi community a kiddush celebrating the birth of a girl can be given at any time and place. That’s the minhag, custom. “The pattern of Jewish life is completed by a fascinating network of minhagim,” writes Abraham Chill in his sefer Minhagim, “which have evolved throughout the ages from place to place.” When a Jewish girl or a boy is born, whether Ashkenazi, Persian, Sefardi, or chasidic, many minhagim come with the gift of a new life.

Elul is here, and the King is in the field. These days approaching Rosh Hashanah are designated for teshuva – a time when the universe is ripe for personal growth, when we concentrate on our middos and our Yiddishkeit. But how do we use the power of Elul to be our best selves? To make even one small change?

For more than 20 years, Rabbi Aryeh Nivin has focused on this work and guided thousands of others on how to do the Elul avoda, using Torah sources such as the Arizal, Derech Hashem, and the Slonimer Rebbe.

Jews will do anything to celebrate simchas, even if it means creating a “drive-by” bar mitzvah, like the one my nextdoor neighbors planned for their son during the pandemic. Wearing his new black hat pushed back on his head and a personalized tee shirt, the star of the simcha stood behind a table in front of a balloon arch. As cars passed by, his parents gave out bags of wrapped sweets and mini-monogrammed basketballs. The boy’s friends jumped out of cars and ran up to the table to briefly wish their classmate mazel tov and, with an individual Sharpie, sign his board. When we walked out of our house, the bar mitzvah boy ran over and, from several feet away (maybe it wasn’t six, but only for a few seconds), he handed us a bag of those sweets. His face was shining.