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.

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 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.

We believe Jewish prayers and rituals can help to strengthen our mental well-being, resilience and recovery in the same way middot, or Jewish values, can promote them. Faith is an important part of healing for many, and Jewish thinkers and leaders historically have brought the two together. When someone is ill or recovering from illness or an accident, we often recite a misheberach to wish them a refuah sheleimah, or a “full recovery.” We have expanded the prayer for those who are struggling with mental health.

Mi Sheberach for Mental Health:

May the One who blessed our ancestors and named us Israel bless and heal those among us who struggle with mental well-being. May they acknowledge their own strength and resilience, treat themselves with forgiveness and patience, and find help, compassion, and resources when they need them. And, may the Holy One grant those of us who aren’t experiencing mental health issues the strength, resilience and capacity to listen without judgment and with intention, and the ability to notice when others are struggling. May we create communities that accept, uplift, and support those among us who are struggling. Now, speedily, and in a time soon to come. Amen.

The Blue Dove Foundation with Association of Reform Jewish Educators

Researchers have begun to establish a causal link between storytelling and thriving. In 2001, psychologists Marshall Duke and Robyn Fvush compared children's psychological health with their knowledge of their own family history. They measured this knowledge on a "Do You Know?" scale. This scale turned out to be the best single predictor of children's emotional health and happiness.

The more children knew their family's history, the stronger their sense of control over their lives, the higher their self-esteem, and the more successfully they believed their families functioned.

Two months after this study was conducted, the September 11 attacks occurred. The psychologists went back and studied how the same group of children responded to that trauma. The results were the same: "The ones who knew more about their families proved to be more resilient, meaning they could moderate the effects of stress."

To explain the connection between story and resilience, the psychologists coined the term ‘intergenerational self.’ It's a sense that you're part of something bigger, that your life is an episode in a larger narrative. More than just entertain and amuse, (which they do) cross-generational stories serve another purpose.

Family stories let children know that they're not alone, and that those who came before them celebrated triumphs and overcame struggles, just as they do.

Additionally, in a study of family stories at Emory University, it was found that family stories seem to be transferred by mothers and grandmothers more often than not, and that the information was typically passed during family dinners, family vacations and family holidays. Other data indicated that these very same regular family dinners, vacations, and holiday celebrations occur more frequently in families that have high levels of cohesiveness. It is the ‘intergenerational self’ and the personal strength that is derived from it that are associated with increased resilience, better adjustment, and improved chances of good clinical and educational outcomes.

The researchers define three types of family narratives:

1. The ascending narrative: we came from nothing and now we've succeeded (rags to riches).

2. The descending narrative: we used to have it all and now we have nothing.

3. And, the most healthful narrative is called the oscillating family narrative: we've had ups and downs, and we've persevered, as a family.

This third narrative is the story of the Jewish people.

When we share stories - especially over holidays - year after year after year, we invite the next generation into the Jewish family story. Our stories are still unfolding.