The custom of blessing children on Friday night is one of the most tender rituals of the Jewish home. Place both hands gently on the child's head and begin:

For sons:

יְשִׂימְךָ אֱלֹהִים כְּאֶפְרַיִם וְכִמְנַשֶּׁה

Yesimcha Elohim k’Efraim v’chiMenashe.

May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh.

For daughters:

יְשִׂימֵךְ אֱלֹהִים כְּשָׂרָה רִבְקָה רָחֵל וְלֵאָה

Yesimech Elohim k’Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel v’Leah.

May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah.

Then, for all children, continue with the Priestly Blessing.

Ephraim and Manasseh were the first brothers in the Torah who did not compete with or harm each other—theirs is a blessing of peaceful sibling love and of holding their Jewish identity even while living in Egypt. Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah are the founding mothers of the Jewish people, each of whom navigated profound uncertainty with courage, leadership, and faith.

Many families also offer a gender-neutral version that combines both sets of names:

“May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Leah, Ephraim, and Manasseh.”

You might also choose to create a more modern version that names ancestors or other beloved individuals who embody qualities you want to pass on.

After the Priestly Blessing, the most important part: add your own words. Whisper something specific to this child, this week—what you love about them, what you see in them, what you hope for them. The blessing doesn’t have to be formal. The act of pausing, placing your hands on someone you love, and speaking words over them is the ritual itself.

And if your children are far away—at college, across the country, or living abroad—many families continue this practice over the phone or on video calls. The distance doesn’t diminish the blessing. It may even deepen it.

The Priestly Blessing belongs to no one exclusively. There is no rule that says it can only flow from parent to child. It has always been spoken between people who love each other.

Many communities have begun the practice of offering it between friends, between mentors and students, between members of a chavurah (friendship and study circle). You can place your hands on a friend’s shoulders, look them in the eyes, and speak the words. You can say them in Hebrew, in English, or in your own words entirely.

A simple framework for blessing a friend:

May you be protected.

May you be seen and known. May you find peace.

Or be specific: May you find what you've been looking for. May your worries be lighter this week. May you know how much people love you.

The blessing is the attention. It is the act of turning toward someone and saying: you matter, I see you, I want good things for you. That turning — that full, deliberate facing toward another person — is what makes it holy.

Your home doesn't have to be perfect to be sacred, and neither do you.

You don't need the right objects, the right words, or the right amount of Jewish knowledge. You need the intention to show up — to light a candle, to put something beautiful on the table, to say something true to someone you love.

Jewish homes have always been shaped by the particular people living in them: by the grandparents' cooking and the photographs on the walls and the objects that somehow survived the moves and the years. By the Shabbat pajamas. By the violets on the Seder plate. By the shofar sounds a grandfather blows on a baby's head just to make him laugh.

These are the things we pass on. Not always what we planned. Often what surprised us.

May this home be blessed exactly as it is.

Not as you planned it, but as it actually happened.

May the things that went sideways be welcomed here.

May the rituals you started by accident become your most sacred.

May your home hold your particular weirdness tenderly.

The songs your family changed the words to.

The inside jokes that have become a kind of prayer.

The strange objects on the shelf whose full story you've half-forgotten but whose absence you would notice immediately.

May the messiness of it be a symbol of living.

The tears a sign that this place holds what matters. The laughter the loudest, most undeniable proof of all.

When Vanessa's grandchildren would arrive from New Jersey for Passover, before they even came inside, she would race them to the backyard with little plastic bags to pick the first violets of the year. Those violets went straight onto the Seder plate.

"In a sense, our backyard was part of the holiday. Picking flowers was what it meant to mark Passover at grandma and grandpa's."

What does nature look like in your home? A windowsill with herbs? The first tulips in spring? A view of the sky during Shabbat candle-lighting?

The First Flowers of the Season

Every year, in the spring month of Nissan, the tradition of Birkat Ha'Ilanot — the Blessing on the Blossoming Trees — invites us to step outside, notice a fruit tree in bloom, and say a blessing over it. This blessing is traditionally recited only once a year, in the season of the first flowers, and only when you happen to encounter the blossoms in the course of your day — not by seeking them out, but by noticing them.

ָּברוּ ְך ַא ָּתה ה׳ ֱאלֹ ֵהינוּ ֶמ ֶל ְך ָהע ֹו ָלם ׁ ֶש ּלֹא ִח ַּסר ְּבע ֹו ָלמ ֹו ְּכלוּם

.וָּבָראבֹו ְּבִריֹּותטֹובֹותְוִאיָלנֹותטֹובֹות ְלַהּנֹות ָּבֶהם ְּבֵני ָאָדם

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, shelo chisar b'olamo klum, uvara vo b'riyot tovot v'ilanot tovot l'hanot bahem b'nei adam.

Blessed are You, Eternal our God, Sovereign of the Universe, whose world lacks nothing and who created good beings and beautiful trees for human beings to enjoy.

This blessing is traditionally said on fruit-bearing trees when their blossoms first appear. But the spirit extends beyond any single tree — it is an annual invitation to notice the renewal happening around you, and to say something about it out loud.

For Your Family

If you live somewhere with fruit trees in bloom in spring, say the blessing when you first see them — on a walk, from a car window, in your own garden.

Adapt the tradition to your landscape: the first daffodils, the first cherry blossoms, the first wildflowers.

Make it a ritual to bring the first flowers of the season inside as part of a Shabbat, a Passover table, or simply a spring meal. Name them. Let them signal something.

A blessing for any beautiful thing in nature (from Psalm 104:24):

מָה רַבּוּ מַעֲשֶׂיךָ ה׳, כֻּלָּם בְּחָכְמָה עָשִׂיתָ

Mah rabu ma'asekha Adonai, kulam b'chokhmah asita.

How great are Your works, Eternal — in wisdom You have made them all.

The Gift

By Rachel Kann

Don't I know this

Feeling of homelessness.

And don't I know

How real the loneliness

In your bones is.

Slow down and notice 

The gloriousness afforded;

The view through the newly-opened window 

Of your broken heart.

This gift of clear vision.

Think on

The sacred company 

You're in:

Has there been one instance

Of wisdom 

In the history

Of this misbegotten existence

Elicited from anything but heart-brokenness?

It is an act of grace

To shatter the packaging,

To peel the encasement,

To reveal your true soul’s face and,

Say, with outstretched arms,

Here, here is the shape of my heart.

There is nothing left 

but to be swept 

away by love.