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Rabbi Steven Carr Reuben

Rabbi Steven Carr Reuben

Leaving Mitzrayim

It was my third seder of the week, but this one was unlike any other. It was a "Seder of Women\’s Voices," and I felt privileged to be one of the few men in the room among a 150 or so women.

A Look Back

What I could never have known at the time, as I sat glumly in the back seat of my parents car on that long drive to a new, unknown life, was that Sacramento would provide me with some of the greatest experiences of my life.

From the Heart

Sometimes life seems overwhelming. For some, it\’s the stress of coping with raising their children in an apparently amoral world. For others, it is learning how to live each day in spite of enormous challenges to our bodies and our health.

Universal Truths

The words we find in this week\’s parasha have undoubtedly influenced more individuals in the Western world than any other in the entire Torah.

Sibling Rivalry

I have three sisters, two older and one younger. My youngest sister, Debbie, was born when I was 8 years old. In the months leading up to her birth, I remember clearly the anxiety I felt over the possibility that it might turn out to be a boy and I might end up with a brother.

The Ten Most Important Things to Teach Your Child

It\’s little wonder that so many parents experience emotions ranging from permanent low-grade anxiety to out-and-out panic, considering how many feel ill-equipped to identify and teach their children the key values that give life meaning.

The Oldest Diary

There is something otherworldly about the experience of a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. It is perhaps the preeminent spiritual-cultural paradox in all of Jewish life. When girls and boys focus so intensely on this personal lifecycle event, each possesses a transcendent, timeless and eternal quality.

The Power of Words

It was John who eventually told me that he experienced more terror at his inability to speak than from his inability to walk and move his hands and legs as he chose.

Torah Portion-Standing Up

There I was standing in front of a tiny prison cell in the maximum security prison on Robben Island, nestled quietly in the harbor of Cape Town, South Africa. I stood in silence, staring at the cell with its three rough wool blankets, its one lonely wooden stool and the small, hard metal bed that stood abandoned in the corner.

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