Rabbi Alon C Ferency

This meditation, inspired by Genesis 12-17 (Lekh L’kha), begins with gentle settling—breath by breath, arriving into presence. Awareness opens like Abraham’s tent in the heat of day, spacious and receptive. We attune to the rhythm of being, the stillness beneath motion, the quiet hum of aliveness. Then, we imagine ourselves as guests—welcomed by a generous host whose care is effortless and abundant. What sensations arise in being received so warmly? What softens when we are seen, nourished, and at ease? Let those feelings of gratitude and safety fill the body like sunlight through open canvas. Gradually, the meditation turns: now you are the host. Your door is open; your heart extends welcome. Notice the warmth of offering shade, bread, or listening—how giving becomes its own blessing. In this circle of hospitality, guest and host become one, each mirroring divine presence through simple kindness, presence, and shared breath.

This brief bedtime Shema offers a gentle transition from the fullness of the day into the quiet of night. Rooted in gratitude and forgiveness, it invites a soft unwinding—a release of what’s been carried and a return to simple presence. Together or alone, you might share a few calm breaths, a whispered "Shema," or a tender goodnight, allowing the day to settle gently behind you. Even without the longer rituals or stories, each gesture—a touch on the shoulder, a murmured blessing, a shared stillness—becomes its own prayer. The familiar rhythm of this practice creates a pocket of peace: a moment to let go, to forgive, and to remember that rest itself is holy. In this shortened form, the essence remains the same—a sacred pause where love, safety, and trust prepare the heart for sleep.

This meditation invites you to awaken the giant within — inspired by the mysterious Nephilim and Anakim, the great beings of ancient lore who walked tall upon the earth. As you breathe and expand your awareness, imagine yourself growing in spiritual stature: your presence stretching upward like a mighty tree, your reach extending in all directions, your heart vast and luminous. In this stillness, you are invited to become immense not in power over others, but in spirit — cultivating wisdom, compassion, and courage that fill the space around you. Stand tall in soul, rooted and radiant, a gentle giant of awareness.

This meditation journeys through Rabbi Simcha Bunim’s teaching that each person should carry two notes—one reading, I am dust and ashes, and the other, For my sake the world was created. We begin by resting in smallness: breathing into humility, fragility, and the freedom that comes from releasing control. From there, we open to vastness—the spark of divine potential within, the creativity and purpose that make each life indispensable. Through breath and awareness, we hold both truths at once: we are fleeting dust, and we are the reason existence sings. Between these poles of insignificance and infinite worth, the heart finds balance, awe, and belonging. The meditation invites the listener to dwell in that paradox—small and essential, one with all creation, called to live fully in the wide embrace of the universe.

Deuteronomy 29:9–30:20 (Parashat Nitzavim) reminds us that “the concealed things belong to God, but the revealed are for us.” At first glance, this speaks of hidden sins—but spiritually it also points to the places we keep our hearts closed, concealed even from ourselves. In meditation, we begin by noticing that inner hiding: the tightness, the guardedness, the secrets folded inward. With breath, we soften. With awareness, we reveal. From concealment we move toward openness, offering the heart without fear. As we rest in that openness, we sense the pull of the cosmos itself, the gentle lure Isaiah names when God delights in us—hefzi-bah, “My delight is in her.” What was once hidden becomes embraced; what was closed begins to shine. To meditate on Nitzavim is to practice standing present, heart open, drawn out of hiding by divine delight and by the universe’s deep invitation to belong.

Each small act—a bedtime story, a lullaby, a prayer, or a giggle under the covers—becomes a thread in the fabric of belonging. The routine carries the spirit of renewal that the new year calls forth: a chance to release what’s done, to forgive what’s frayed, and to welcome the promise of rest. As the day draws to a close, this bedtime ritual invites a quiet joy and mindful connection—an evening demarcation (havdalah) of sorts between the day that was and the rest that comes. It’s not about excitement or accomplishment, but about softening into presence: a shared smile during teeth brushing, a whispered thank-you for the day, a moment to notice the gift of simply being together. With warmth, playfulness, and quiet imagination, bedtime becomes a sacred pause—an opportunity to bless the closing of the day with gratitude and love. In these tender, familiar moments, safety and connection grow, turning the night’s descent into a gentle return to peace.

Listen deeply to the world around you — to rhythms and polyrhythms unfolding everywhere. Hear the hum of traffic, the rustle of leaves, the rhythm of footsteps, the pulse of your own breath. Notice the balance between small and large, fast and slow, low and high, natural and manmade sounds. Each vibration, from birdsong to machinery, contributes to a vast and intricate harmony. As you open to this awareness, sense how every tone and silence belongs to one living composition — the voice of creation itself. The sacred is not distant or rare; it is resonating through every sound, every heartbeat, every breath. Listen, and recognize that you are part of the great music, perfectly in tune with all that is, a Universal Symphony

The Jewish holiday of Shemini Atzeret is unique for Pazer Keshev—Pur, Zeman, Regel, Korban, Shir— and this meditation invites you to meet the holiness of your uniqueness. Begin with Pur, lot: reflect on the portion that has fallen to you—the blend of gifts and circumstances that shape your life. Move to Zeman, time: sense the season you are in now, its particular rhythm, challenge, and opportunity. Then Regel, celebration: imagine how you share joy—your own way of dancing, gathering, or creating connection. Korban, sacrifice or service: offer what is most authentic in you to something greater; let your work, love, or attention be your gift. Finally Shir, song: listen for the melody only your life can sing. Rest in this awareness—your lot, this time, your joy, your offering, your song—woven into the music of all creation.

As the day draws to a close, this bedtime ritual invites a quiet joy and mindful connection—an evening demarcation (havdalah) of sorts between the day that was and the rest that comes. It’s not about excitement or accomplishment, but about softening into presence: a shared smile during teeth brushing, a whispered thank-you for the day, a moment to notice the gift of simply being together. Each small act—a bedtime story, a lullaby, a prayer, or a giggle under the covers—becomes a thread in the fabric of belonging. The routine carries the spirit of renewal that the new year calls forth: a chance to release what’s done, to forgive what’s frayed, and to welcome the promise of rest. With warmth, playfulness, and quiet imagination, bedtime becomes a sacred pause—an opportunity to bless the closing of the day with gratitude and love. In these tender, familiar moments, safety and connection grow, turning the night’s descent into a gentle return to peace.

A lighthearted way to close the day, this bedtime ritual invites warmth, connection, and a gentle sense of joy. With soft conversation, shared moments, and little touches of imagination, it turns everyday routines into something special. It’s about winding down together—smiling, connecting, and creating a sense of comfort before sleep.

Spiritual tiredness goes deeper than ordinary fatigue. It can feel like burnout of the soul, when constant giving and striving leaves you empty inside. It can show up as a loss of meaning or faith, when prayer or reflection feels dry and distant. Sometimes it’s simple disconnection—running on autopilot, out of touch with what really matters. This guided meditation invites you to pause and listen. The sounds around you become part of a greater voice—the song of the universe, God’s whisper carried on the world outside. At the same time, you are guided inward, toward the small, still voice within you, the source of your deepest truth. Through breath, listening, and gentle presence, this practice helps you release burnout, reconnect with meaning, and rediscover a sense of spiritual renewal. Breathe, listen, and be restored. Your spirit deserves refreshment.

Find a comfortable seat and take a slow breath in, and out. Let your body soften. Bring to mind a moment from today—a task, a word spoken, even a frustration. Ask yourself gently: “How do I want to feel about that?” Notice what arises, without judgment. With each breath, bring another memory, concern, or hope into awareness. Again, ask: “How do I want to feel about that?” Let the question open space, inviting a kinder or freer way of holding what is before you. Return to your breath. Know that at any time, you can pause in the flow of life and ask: “How do I want to feel about that?” Breathe deeply once more, release slowly, and when you’re ready, open your eyes.

Tonight, we turn to the teaching of Deuteronomy 24: when gathering harvest, do not reap to the edges or return for what was dropped—leave gleanings for the poor, the stranger, the widow, and the orphan. This command asks us to shift from wants to needs. Our desire is often to take everything, to cling, to secure. But Scripture reminds us: you do not need it all. Leave space. Trust that enough remains. As you breathe, notice what you grasp for, what you think you must have. With each exhale, let one want fall away. Feel into what is truly necessary—food, shelter, care, connection, breath. Notice how sufficiency feels different from scarcity. Like a field with gleanings left behind, you remain full, yet generous. In this balance, we discover freedom: to need less, to share more, to live in trust.

“Tzedek, tzedek tirdof—justice, justice shall you pursue” (Deut. 16:20) has been understood by our sages as far more than legal fairness. In this meditation, we reflect on the many layers of tzedek: charity that lifts the vulnerable, justice that restores balance, righteousness that aligns heart and action. We explore how both ends and means must be just, how law is tempered by compassion, and how truth and peace must guide our steps. Tzedek lives in wisdom and discernment, and is realized in word and deed, thought and action. As you settle into stillness, let the call to pursue justice echo within you—not as a demand of perfection, but as an invitation to wholeness. This practice invites you to breathe into the depth of tzedek, cultivating presence, integrity, and kindness, so that your pursuit of justice is not only outward in the world, but also inward, in the way you live, speak, and embody your values.

Tonight, as on every night, we gather in this gentle space to set down the weight of the day and return to what is calm, kind, and true within us. However you arrive—tired, restless, or full of thoughts—you are welcome, just as you are. There is no need to fix or change anything. Only to breathe, to listen, and to allow. This meditation will invite you to settle the body, ease the mind, and open the heart to rest. With breath and presence as steady companions, we’ll create a spacious pause: a threshold between day and night, noise and quiet, effort and ease. Grounded in the spirit of the Bedtime Shema, this practice echoes a Jewish tradition of releasing grudges, seeking shelter, and entrusting the soul to the Holy One for safekeeping through the night. You don’t need to know the words or come from any particular background. You only need to bring an openness to rest. If you’ve returned here before, thank you for making this part of your practice. If you are joining for the first time, welcome. This space bel

Close your eyes and breathe. Parashat Re’eh dreams: “There shall be no needy among you.” The Talmud (Shabbat 54b) teaches: we are responsible for wrongs in our household, our town, our nation, our world. Begin with your heart: feel compassion arising within you. Extend it to your household—family, loved ones—asking, how might I help create a home without lack? Widen to your community—neighbors, coworkers, strangers—how can I help relieve need? Broaden to the nation, holding the Torah’s vision of a society without poverty. Finally, imagine the whole world, billions of lives, precious and beloved. Each circle calls for your care. Each breath strengthens your responsibility. May your compassion ripple outward, helping to bring the Torah’s promise closer to reality.

Tonight, as on every night, we gather in this gentle space to set down the weight of the day and return to what is calm, kind, and true within us. However you arrive—tired, restless, or full of thoughts—you are welcome, just as you are. There is no need to fix or change anything. Only to breathe, to listen, and to allow. This meditation will invite you to settle the body, ease the mind, and open the heart to rest. With breath and presence as steady companions, we’ll create a spacious pause: a threshold between day and night, noise and quiet, effort and ease. Grounded in the spirit of the Bedtime Shema, this practice echoes a Jewish tradition of releasing grudges, seeking shelter, and entrusting the soul to the Holy One for safekeeping through the night. You don’t need to know the words or come from any particular background. You only need to bring an openness to rest. If you’ve returned here before, thank you for making this part of your practice. If you are joining for the first time, welcome. This space bel

Stubbornness & the God Who Stays Deuteronomy 9:24 — “You have been rebellious against God from the day I knew you.” Breathe in, and feel the solid ground beneath you. Breathe out, and notice where you hold firm inside — jaw, shoulders, belly. Stubbornness can protect what is sacred. It can block growth and close the heart. And sometimes, it’s simply a steady presence: the part of you that stays the course. In the wilderness, Israel argued, resisted, refused — and still, God stayed. The Holy One could not let us go. As you breathe, hold this truth: Your willfulness, your chutzpah, even your anger, can be destructive, life-giving, or simply human. And through it all, you are not rejected. You are still beloved. Breathe in: your fire. Breathe out: the God who remains.

This gentle meditation invites you into deep listening, rooted in the sacred words of the Sh’ma: “Hear, O Israel…” Explore what it means to truly hear: not only with your ears, but with your whole being. As you settle into stillness, you’ll attune to the full spectrum of sound: from subtle, constant hums to sudden, fleeting noises; from human voices to the rustling of leaves; from the ticking of time to the silence between. Let the layers of sound open you to presence, connection, and inner quiet. Listening becomes a prayer where hearing the world is a way of hearing the One.

Tonight, like every night, we return to this gentle space to lay down the weight of the day and reconnect with what’s calm, kind, and true within us. Whether you arrive tired, restless, or full of thoughts, you are invited just as you are. No pressure to fix or change — only to breathe, listen, and allow. This meditation will guide you through a simple process of settling the body, softening the mind, and opening the heart to rest. With breath and presence as our companions, we’ll create a spacious pause — a threshold between day and night, noise and silence, effort and ease. Rooted in the spirit of the Bedtime Shema, this practice echoes the Jewish tradition of releasing grudges, seeking protection, and entrusting the soul to the Holy One for safekeeping through the night. You don’t need to know the words or come from any particular background — only to come with openness. If you’ve been here before, thank you for making this a practice. If this is your first time, welcome — this space is for you, too. Let t