Dear all,
I was in New York this week for a meeting of the HUC Board of Governors. During one of the breaks, I wandered into the Strand Bookstore and let myself get lost among the endless rows of used books—each one worn, loved, and carrying traces of someone else’s story.
I pulled a single volume from the shelf. As I flipped through its pages, three unexpected bookmarks slipped out, each one a small relic of a person I would never know.
One was a gift note.
One was a ten-cent casino voucher.
One was a strip of four photographs, torn from a photo book.
In some ways, these forgotten placeholders were more meaningful than the book itself (and that’s saying something—the book was about the history of commercial aviation, a favorite topic of mine!).
The bookmarks offered a window into the quiet humanity of an anonymous reader. They reminded me of the schmutz in a beloved Passover Haggadah, the melted wax on a Chanukah menorah, the worn edges of a tallit passed through generations.
These traces don’t distract from the ritual—they deepen it. They prove that someone was here before us, living, feeling, searching.
And so the bookmarks became their own gentle teaching: a reminder to live each day with intention.
What mark will we leave on the world around us? What intention might we inspire? What kindness might we plant? What soul-print—small but unmistakable—will remain after we turn the page?
How will we bookmark this day as a moment in time?
With love and shalom,
Rabbi Zachary R. Shapiro
