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.

My connection to Tehillim began when I was 12 years old and part of a bas mitzva celebration with six other girls on a Sunday morning at Congregation Agudas Achim Anshe Sphard, in Lower Park Heights. In the faded green play folder I saved from the 50s is a cantata on “The Seven Days of Creation,” written by Rabbi Harry Bolensky. In the cantata, Rabbi Bolensky wrote “King David looked up and sang Hashamayim misaprim kvod Kel, uma’aseh yadav yagid harake’ah, the Heavens declare the glory of the Lord, and the sky testifies to the work of His hands.” Because I only had a Sunday School education, I needed the transliterated words. My Hebrew wasn’t good yet, but the message was clear: King David in this psalm said, Look up to G-d and appreciate the beauty He created. That was my first contact with Tehillim.

“It’s a safe place to share what’s going on in our minds,” says Sara Brejt about Jewish Women of Wisdom (JWOW!), a new international organization she helped found for women in their 50s and 60s. After engaging audiences in Lakewood, Monsey, Brooklyn, and the Five Towns, JWOW! is bringing the conversation to Maryland.

Several years ago, Mrs. Brejt, a lawyer, career coach, and teacher at Women’s Institute of Torah (WIT), was listening to an interview about women’s midlife issues on Chazaq Radio. She recognized the speakers, whom she had met at conventions: Miriam Liebermann, author and inspirational speaker, and Faigie Horowitz, Rebbetzin of Agudas Achim in Lawrence, activist, and prolific writer for Jewish publications. Mrs. Brejt contacted them. Around the same age, the three frequently spoke about their challenges and opportunities as midlifers and empty nesters.