Alyssa Luboff, PhD

My Grandpa Abe almost never set foot in a synagogue, but the one time of the year when he took pride in climbing the steps of the bimah was on Yom Kippur Eve. It was then that he played the mournful melody of the Kol Nidre on his bass for our whole congregation to hear. It was a piece of Judaism that even my grandfather, who spent all of his adult life estranged from the faith, found relatable.

Last month, I brought home from my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah reception three plants wrapped in foil. Since our apartment is small, I left them on the balcony. I thought it would be a good way to let Nature take care of the plants and not to have to worry much about them. After a few days, I noticed their leaves were drying out in the summer sun. No amount of water seemed to help. After a few more days, I realized the foil was directing the sun’s rays onto the plants and burning