Disability

Dear One, you love me so much

you give me your Torah

for argument and play

waltzing and conversation

from one life to the next.

Your Torah nourishes me,

familiar as the womb.

Wrap me tight in your Torah

like a newborn. Laugh in delight

when I learn to break free.

Your Torah lights up my eyes,

fuses my heart with my choices.

Give me just one letter

to suck like candy, like manna

changing flavor on my tongue.

Tell me a true story again

about who I used to be

or who I might yet be

-- like you, always becoming

who you are becoming.

Beloved, draw me close.

I've been scattered:

melt me until we mingle.

I want to come home in you.

Choose me again. Don't stop.

Baruch atah YHVH, ohev amo Yisrael.

Blessed are You YHVH, Who loves Your people Yisrael.

-by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat of Bayit 

In the traditional text of Hashkivenu, we ask that a shelter of peace is spread over ourselves, our loved ones and people around the world. We ask for restful and restorative sleep, and for the gift of waking up to a new day. As you read, imagine a blanket covering your body and take a deep breath as you move closer to ending your day.

Hashkivenu by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat of Bayit 

The exterior's a little shabby,

could use a coat of paint.

A bit worn after a hard year:

not a lot of curb appeal.

Most people walk right by.

Not you: you see

the mezuzah in the doorway,

the light in the living room.

You see my heart, tender

and afraid no one will ever want—

Tell me again that I'm worthy

even when I feel most broken.

Tell me again that my strength

is beautiful, and makes me whole.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יהו''ה, שׁוֹמֵר עַמּוֹ יִשְׂרָאֵל לָעַד:

Baruch atah YHVH, shomer amo Yisrael la’ad.

Blessed are You, YHVH, Who keeps watch over Your people Israel.

Ruach means spirit, wind, or breath. It’s the invisible force that moves through and animates all life. Ruach is the divine energy that connects us to something larger than ourselves, the gentle current that stirs our souls and reminds us that we are alive, changing, and part of creation. It’s the breath we take before speaking truth, the wind that carries our prayers.

When the world feels heavy, return to your breath, the quiet pulse of life that asks nothing and gives everything.

Find a comfortable seat or lie down. Inhale deeply for four counts. Hold your breath for two. Exhale slowly for six. Repeat this pattern, letting your breath lengthen and deepen. Imagine with every inhale, light enters your chest. With every exhale, weight leaves your body.

This simple practice reconnects you to your most ancient rhythm. Breath is both physical and spiritual, a steady reminder that even in stillness, you are alive and connected.

What You Receive: Calm. Clarity. A quiet conversation with your own aliveness.

Mayim, or water, holds memory and renewal. It knows how to flow, how to release, how to begin again.

At the end of a long day, turn on the faucet or shower and let warm water run over your hands or body. Watch it move. As it flows, imagine it carrying away what no longer needs to stay: the fatigue, the self-doubt, the heaviness. Whisper: As these waters cleanse, may they renew me.

What You Receive: A simple, physical reset that cleanses not just the skin, but the spirit.

Light is the soul’s oldest language. Even the smallest flame transforms darkness. Or doesn’t just represent physical light but also spiritual illumination. It refers to the clarity, insight, and warmth that guides the soul and reveals the sacred in the world.

At dusk, light one candle. Watch the way it flickers, dances, holds stillness and movement at once. Take a deep breath and think of one thing, however small, that brought you warmth today. Say thank you. Let the light reflect gratitude back to you.

Let the candle remind you that light still exists, that you are allowed to rest in its glow.

What You Receive: A moment of gratitude and closure. A symbolic way to end the day and invite calm.

The Hebrew word kadosh (קָדוֹשׁ) means holy or sacred. In Judaism, holiness isn’t reserved for grand moments or perfect feelings. It can live in the quiet truth of what’s real. To call something kadosh is to recognize its sacredness, even in its imperfection.

Caregiving holds multitudes: love, grief, joy, fatigue, hope. This ritual honors them all. Each evening, take a few moments to name what you feel. Write three words in a notebook or whisper them aloud. No judgment, no need to explain, just name them: Tired. Grateful. Lonely. Hopeful. Sad. Fulfilled.

As you speak them, imagine each emotion as a small light, flickering in a vast night sky. Each one matters; none cancels the other. You are allowed to hold many truths at once. Naming your feelings is an act of kadosh, a way of making the ordinary sacred.

What You Receive: Emotional release, honesty, and self-compassion. The permission to feel fully and freely.