This prayer by Rabbi Seidenberg was shared via his English newsletter and social media in the days preceding Sukkot 2024. . . .

On Passover we end the prayers for rain that began on October 7, and begin the prayers for dew. The prayers end, but the war that began with the October 7 attack does not. Here is a reflection on that. . . .

Four things to pray and learn for the last night and day of Ḥanukkah. . . .

The words of Avinu Malkeinu are a little different from the standard translation. It doesn’t say in Hebrew, “we have no good deeds” (ein lanu ma’asim tovim), but rather, “there are no deeds in us” (ein banu ma’asim). The p’shat (literal meaning) implies that whatever we have done in the past does not have to live inside of us — we can release our deeds and be released from them, fully, to start over, like a newborn, to become whoever we need to become. . . .

Two kavvanot, one for before and one for after casting away in a Tashlikh ritual. . . .

A ḳinnah for humanity’s willful, negligent, and callous destruction of habitat and species known and unknown. . . .

A litany of hoshanot for use in a ritual prayer circle march on the festival of Sukkot. . . .

A litany of hoshanot for use in a ritual prayer circle march on the festival of Sukkot. . . .

This is a prayer to be read between the 17th and the 27th of Iyyar (בין י״ז ו-כ״ז באייר), between the 32nd (ל״ב) and 42nd (מ״ב) days of the Omer. . . .

A “secular” kaddish after my mother died so that I could say kaddish under circumstances where I could gather ten people but not ten Jews. . . .

“Between the Fires” by Rabbi David Seidenberg, originally published at neohasid.org, is derived from the prayer of Rabbi Arthur Waskow (the Shalom Center), “Between the Fires: A Prayer for lighting Candles of Commitment” which draws on traditional midrash about the danger of a Flood of Fire, and the passage from Malachi. Another version of this prayer by Rabbi David Seidenberg, “A Prayer between the Fires (between the 32nd and 42nd days of the Omer)” is available, here. . . .

Some people think of this as a magic formula that turns ḥamets into dust. It really is a legal formula that means that you renounce ownership of any ḥamets still in your space or your domain, so that it no longer has any value to you. But is it true that dirt is valueless and ownerless? We certainly act like we own the dirt, the soil. Developers take good land, build houses on it, and truck the topsoil away to sell to other people—thereby doubling profits and doubling damage to the earth. We act like the soil can be renewed and replaced at will, poisoning its microbial communities with pesticides applied even more strongly on our GMO corn and soy, while we replace the nutrients they create with petroleum-based fertilizers. We send the soil downstream and into the ocean along with vast quantities of agricultural runoff, creating algal blooms and anoxic dead zones. In that sense we do treat the soil like it is both ownerless and valueless. But our lives are almost entirely beholden to the soil. If it is ownerless it is because it belongs to all of us, or more precisely, as the story of the rabbi deciding between claimants goes, “The land says it doesn’t belong to you or to you, but that you belong to it.” Like the dirt of the earth, the ḥamets inside your house becomes what at Burning Man we call “MOOP” (Matter Out Of Place). Finding out where it belongs means finding out that it doesn’t belong to you or to us. Returning it to the soil means tilling our stuff back into the earth, where it can become renewed, where it can become sustenance for new life. . . .

A prayer for “Thanksgivukkah,” on the rare year that the two festivals intersect. . . .