Ivdu et Hashem BeSimchah. “Serve God with joy” (Ps 100).
I would add: And it’s all service of God.
That is the key. How can we approach even the most mundane and burdensome of tasks (like cleaning the refrigerator before Pesach) with joy? By turning it into Avodat Hashem, service of God.
When a burdensome task feels meaningless, then it is even more difficult and onerous. If, while we are cooking a meal for our families, we think: what’s the point? It will be gone in a minute and then there will be another meal tomorrow, we are creating a situation of just plain avodah, of work without meaning. If, on the other hand, we think as we are cooking: This, too, is avodat Hashem, service of God, for I am imitating God, who is constantly providing food for others, and I am sustaining the family that God has put in my charge, if we think this, then we elevate the activity to be true avodat Hashem.
And we are happier. We do it besimchah, with joy, because what is better, what is higher, what is more fulfilling, than doing the work of the Holy One? We suddenly feel that we are part of something larger than ourselves, playing our small part of service in something large and meaningful.
On Pesach, we leave Egypt and the meaningless and depressing avodah of Pharaoh, and what we achieve is not so much freedom as it is a new kind of avodah, avodat Hashem, the elevating service of God. There is no life without work and obligation. Work and service are what give our lives meaning and purpose. The point is not to escape the work, but to turn it all into avodat Hashem, to elevate it so that we can do it with true simchah.
The heavy work burden associated with preparing for Pesach, which has often been wryly associated with the slavery of Egypt, is perhaps a test-case for this new approach to avodah. Is it still just onerous, meaningless work, or can it become avodat Hashem, meaningful work done besimchah because it is of service to a higher purpose?
These ideas emerged from discussions in my new Tefillah Workshop in Atlanta. Thank you to all who contributed.
Friday, April 8, 2016
Friday, March 11, 2016
Parashat Pekudei: Honoring the Completion
This week the people finish building the Mishkan (Tabernacle). They bring all of the parts they have built to Moshe and he looks at all of it and blesses them.
As the Sefat Emet and others point out, this act of finishing and then looking at the product and blessing parallels the creation of the world. Indeed, the same verb, a rather uncommon one, is used for finishing in both cases – vayikhal. In both cases, work was done and then proclaimed to be finished and blessed. In the creation of the world, what follows this first completion of work is Shabbat.
I think there is something important to be learned here about marking the finishing of things. I don’t think we do this often enough. I know for myself there is a tendency to consider it an unimportant, almost conceited act to celebrate an act of completion. And also a waste of time -- there are other tasks yet to be accomplished and we are always rushing on to the next project.
Not taking the time to note a completion is a form of greed and grasping, I now realize. It is as if we are saying “this is not enough.” It is never enough for us. We always have to do more, accomplish more. It is like eating one food while thinking about what food comes next, never taking the time to appreciate what you have, always looking for more. Yes, ambition is helpful, and striving is a positive thing, but the lesson of completion is the lesson of Shabbat – there is also a time to be done and to notice that we are done and celebrate it.
At the heart of the celebration of completion is not pride but appreciation, appreciation for the beautiful entirety of a thing like the Mishkan, and gratitude that God has granted us the strength and time to reach this completion. We don’t want to just throw out our work and move on, but to honor it.
This week I will finish my first masekhet (tractate) of gemara ever in my life, through the Daf Yomi program. I feel excited by it, but I had been pushing those feelings down, telling myself it is just ego that makes me want to celebrate. The fact is, though, that the tradition does celebrate such completions formally with a siyum and there is a lesson in these celebrations. We need to stop and honor the completion, as an act not of conceit but on the contrary, of humility and gratitude – how thankful we are to have, with God’s help, reached this day. May we all celebrate many such completions!
As the Sefat Emet and others point out, this act of finishing and then looking at the product and blessing parallels the creation of the world. Indeed, the same verb, a rather uncommon one, is used for finishing in both cases – vayikhal. In both cases, work was done and then proclaimed to be finished and blessed. In the creation of the world, what follows this first completion of work is Shabbat.
I think there is something important to be learned here about marking the finishing of things. I don’t think we do this often enough. I know for myself there is a tendency to consider it an unimportant, almost conceited act to celebrate an act of completion. And also a waste of time -- there are other tasks yet to be accomplished and we are always rushing on to the next project.
Not taking the time to note a completion is a form of greed and grasping, I now realize. It is as if we are saying “this is not enough.” It is never enough for us. We always have to do more, accomplish more. It is like eating one food while thinking about what food comes next, never taking the time to appreciate what you have, always looking for more. Yes, ambition is helpful, and striving is a positive thing, but the lesson of completion is the lesson of Shabbat – there is also a time to be done and to notice that we are done and celebrate it.
At the heart of the celebration of completion is not pride but appreciation, appreciation for the beautiful entirety of a thing like the Mishkan, and gratitude that God has granted us the strength and time to reach this completion. We don’t want to just throw out our work and move on, but to honor it.
This week I will finish my first masekhet (tractate) of gemara ever in my life, through the Daf Yomi program. I feel excited by it, but I had been pushing those feelings down, telling myself it is just ego that makes me want to celebrate. The fact is, though, that the tradition does celebrate such completions formally with a siyum and there is a lesson in these celebrations. We need to stop and honor the completion, as an act not of conceit but on the contrary, of humility and gratitude – how thankful we are to have, with God’s help, reached this day. May we all celebrate many such completions!
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Parashat Vayakhel: On Shabbat, Fire, and Blessings that We Don't Earn
The parsha starts with Shabbat, and there is one example of the type of work one may not do on Shabbat: Do not kindle fire.
Now this prohibition was the source of a famous disagreement between the Karaites (who did not accept the Oral Law) and the rabbis. The Karaites claimed that, because of this prohibition against fire on Shabbat, Jews were required to sit in the dark on Friday night, without the benefit of light or fire. The rabbis, on the other hand, instituted the lighting of candles before Shabbat precisely for this reason – since it is not the enjoyment of fire but its creation that is prohibited according to them, light should be kindled prior to Shabbat so that one may have its benefit on that night.
There is something very significant about this distinction between the lighting of fire and its enjoyment. The parallel case is the manna. Manna did not fall on Shabbat, but on Friday the Israelites would gather twice as much manna, and unlike other days, it would not decay over night but be available for consumption on Shabbat. What is prohibited on Shabbat is thus not the enjoyment of labor, but its active doing.
Separating the labor involved in producing a benefit and the benefit itself is part of the message of Shabbat. We make the mistake of thinking that we only receive what we deserve, that there is some quid pro quo in life – we work and therefore we eat. We gather wood and light it and therefore have fire. If we did not work and did not light the wood, there would be no food and no fire.
This is true to some extent, and that is why we have the 6 work days. But to some extent it is also not true and this is the message of Shabbat: Not everything we receive comes to us because we deserve it. Some of it is simply a gift, a blessing from above, which we did absolutely nothing to earn.
This message leads to two conclusions. The first is gratitude. We didn’t earn our food or our light or our children or our many blessings; we acknowledge that they are gifts and feel an overflow of gratitude toward God. Second, there is some relief here; the pressure to actually deserve our gifts, to earn them, is intense and gnawing. Once we acknowledge that free gifts are the very nature of creation and the universe, we can relax into them, accept them as an overflow of love from above, and give out to those around us a similar unearned overflow. As God has blessed us for no reason, so we bless others for no reason.
This Shabbat, feel the power of eating without working, the notion of not needing to deserve what we are given.
Now this prohibition was the source of a famous disagreement between the Karaites (who did not accept the Oral Law) and the rabbis. The Karaites claimed that, because of this prohibition against fire on Shabbat, Jews were required to sit in the dark on Friday night, without the benefit of light or fire. The rabbis, on the other hand, instituted the lighting of candles before Shabbat precisely for this reason – since it is not the enjoyment of fire but its creation that is prohibited according to them, light should be kindled prior to Shabbat so that one may have its benefit on that night.
There is something very significant about this distinction between the lighting of fire and its enjoyment. The parallel case is the manna. Manna did not fall on Shabbat, but on Friday the Israelites would gather twice as much manna, and unlike other days, it would not decay over night but be available for consumption on Shabbat. What is prohibited on Shabbat is thus not the enjoyment of labor, but its active doing.
Separating the labor involved in producing a benefit and the benefit itself is part of the message of Shabbat. We make the mistake of thinking that we only receive what we deserve, that there is some quid pro quo in life – we work and therefore we eat. We gather wood and light it and therefore have fire. If we did not work and did not light the wood, there would be no food and no fire.
This is true to some extent, and that is why we have the 6 work days. But to some extent it is also not true and this is the message of Shabbat: Not everything we receive comes to us because we deserve it. Some of it is simply a gift, a blessing from above, which we did absolutely nothing to earn.
This message leads to two conclusions. The first is gratitude. We didn’t earn our food or our light or our children or our many blessings; we acknowledge that they are gifts and feel an overflow of gratitude toward God. Second, there is some relief here; the pressure to actually deserve our gifts, to earn them, is intense and gnawing. Once we acknowledge that free gifts are the very nature of creation and the universe, we can relax into them, accept them as an overflow of love from above, and give out to those around us a similar unearned overflow. As God has blessed us for no reason, so we bless others for no reason.
This Shabbat, feel the power of eating without working, the notion of not needing to deserve what we are given.
Friday, February 26, 2016
Parashat Ki Tisa: The Answer to the Golden Calf
I imagine the Israelites down on the bottom of the mountain waiting for Moshe to come down. He is late and they feel abandoned and insecure. They are not yet sure of their relationship with God and their physical representative is gone. They are confused and scared, anxious and impatient. They build the Golden Calf out of this free floating anxiety, this uncertainty, just as we would open the refrigerator or buy something – anything to make us feel more grounded.
The answer to the Golden Calf is the Tabernacle because the answer to all such anxiety and insecurity is divine Presence. And the Tabernacle is Presence writ large, presence that physically accompanies them wherever they go, presence that resides among them, presence that reminds them that God will never abandon them.
What they didn’t know down at the bottom of the mountain, what they didn’t yet realize and needed to learn, was that God was always already with them, always available to them. In that moment of confusion and uncertainty, when they were filled with doubts and fears, when they thought this was the end – in that very moment they could have accessed God. There was no need for Moshe, no need for a Calf, no need for some chocolate. It was simply a matter of tapping in to the divine presence that already surrounded them.
Sometimes when I am feeling lonely or sad or worried or stressed, I say to myself: Shiviti Hashem lenegdi tamid. “I place God before me always,” and it makes me smile. I suddenly feel embraced and accompanied. The world is indeed an unpredictable, confusing and worrying place. People come late. Things don’t happen the way we expect them to. But the answer is not a Golden Calf, but the Tabernacle, the knowledge that God always resides among us.
The answer to the Golden Calf is the Tabernacle because the answer to all such anxiety and insecurity is divine Presence. And the Tabernacle is Presence writ large, presence that physically accompanies them wherever they go, presence that resides among them, presence that reminds them that God will never abandon them.
What they didn’t know down at the bottom of the mountain, what they didn’t yet realize and needed to learn, was that God was always already with them, always available to them. In that moment of confusion and uncertainty, when they were filled with doubts and fears, when they thought this was the end – in that very moment they could have accessed God. There was no need for Moshe, no need for a Calf, no need for some chocolate. It was simply a matter of tapping in to the divine presence that already surrounded them.
Sometimes when I am feeling lonely or sad or worried or stressed, I say to myself: Shiviti Hashem lenegdi tamid. “I place God before me always,” and it makes me smile. I suddenly feel embraced and accompanied. The world is indeed an unpredictable, confusing and worrying place. People come late. Things don’t happen the way we expect them to. But the answer is not a Golden Calf, but the Tabernacle, the knowledge that God always resides among us.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Parashat Tetzaveh: To Carry the People
Normally when you walk into an institution, the officials of that institution are wearing badges with their own names on it. Not so Aharon, the High Priest.
On his front, Aharon wore the hoshen, the breastplate, with its 12 stones, each engraved with the name of one of the tribes of Israel. So too for his shoulders – on each shoulder he wore a stone with half of the names of the tribes, 6 on each. Why? In each case, the Torah says it is in order that Aharon should “carry” the names with him, on his shoulders and in his heart. The shoulders – that is where a burden is placed, where we “ carry” our tension, where we store our worries and concerns. And the heart – that is where we put those we hold dearest. So Aharon is being asked to carry all of Israel as his loved ones, carry their worries on his own shoulders and concern for them in his own heart.
Aharon also wore a badge on his forehead. This one said kodesh lashem, “Sanctified to God.”
What is the difference between these badges and the one with one’s own name on it? Why didn’t Aharon wear a badge that said “Aharon, the High Priest”? Because Aharon as a High Priest had a function to play and that function was not related to him personally. There is a great danger here in having special appointees, the priests, raised above the rest of the nation – the danger that they think it is all about them. “We are an elite class.” “Look at how important I am with my special clothing.”
No, no. The high priest must always remember that he functions primarily as a vessel – a channel through which God can reach the people and the people can reach God. And so he contains on his body reminders of this function – yes, he is sanctified, set aside, holy, but sanctified Lashem, “for God,” not for his own ego. And as such, his primary concern is not with himself but with those whom he represents in front of God, those for whom he must continually keep the links open to heaven. He is a channel through which the concerns and needs of those 12 heavy stones (plus 2) flow upward in one direction, and the lofty Spirit of the Lord flows downward in the other. He is, like the angels above, a mesharet, a “servant” of the people and of God. The point is not his own honor, but to be of service.
The High Priest was a channel and in some way, that is the goal for each of us – to let go of our own egos enough so that we, too, can become of service, so that we, too, can become conduits connecting heaven and earth.
On his front, Aharon wore the hoshen, the breastplate, with its 12 stones, each engraved with the name of one of the tribes of Israel. So too for his shoulders – on each shoulder he wore a stone with half of the names of the tribes, 6 on each. Why? In each case, the Torah says it is in order that Aharon should “carry” the names with him, on his shoulders and in his heart. The shoulders – that is where a burden is placed, where we “ carry” our tension, where we store our worries and concerns. And the heart – that is where we put those we hold dearest. So Aharon is being asked to carry all of Israel as his loved ones, carry their worries on his own shoulders and concern for them in his own heart.
Aharon also wore a badge on his forehead. This one said kodesh lashem, “Sanctified to God.”
What is the difference between these badges and the one with one’s own name on it? Why didn’t Aharon wear a badge that said “Aharon, the High Priest”? Because Aharon as a High Priest had a function to play and that function was not related to him personally. There is a great danger here in having special appointees, the priests, raised above the rest of the nation – the danger that they think it is all about them. “We are an elite class.” “Look at how important I am with my special clothing.”
No, no. The high priest must always remember that he functions primarily as a vessel – a channel through which God can reach the people and the people can reach God. And so he contains on his body reminders of this function – yes, he is sanctified, set aside, holy, but sanctified Lashem, “for God,” not for his own ego. And as such, his primary concern is not with himself but with those whom he represents in front of God, those for whom he must continually keep the links open to heaven. He is a channel through which the concerns and needs of those 12 heavy stones (plus 2) flow upward in one direction, and the lofty Spirit of the Lord flows downward in the other. He is, like the angels above, a mesharet, a “servant” of the people and of God. The point is not his own honor, but to be of service.
The High Priest was a channel and in some way, that is the goal for each of us – to let go of our own egos enough so that we, too, can become of service, so that we, too, can become conduits connecting heaven and earth.
Friday, February 12, 2016
Parashat Terumah: Where We Can Still Hear God's Voice
In this week’s parsha, we read about the mishkan, the building of a dwelling place for God on this earth. And we feel a twinge of envy – they had access to God; God dwelled in their midst; we are left alone to wander the world, searching for His Presence.
But certain features of the mishkan give me hope for today. Look at the aron, the ark. It is arguably the most important part of the mishkan – being the first to be mentioned here, the only item in the Holy of Holies, and most importantly, the site of God’s voice when it spoke to Moshe.
Now what is in the aron? The tablets, the Torah itself. In other words, access to God’s voice, to God’s continued messages to us today, is present in the Torah. As if to emphasize this point of the Torah’s eternal ability to speak to us, there is a special mitzvah when it comes to the poles used to carry the aron – they are not allowed to be removed from their rings. Lo yasuru mimenu. Rashi adds: le’olam, forever. The poles, symbols of mobility, the ability to carry the aron and its Torah wherever we go, must always remain attached. The kli yakar relates this verse to one in Isaiah, which says in similar language: lo yamushu mipikha umipi zarekha . . . ad olam (59:21). They, i.e. the words of Torah, should not leave your mouth and the mouth of your descendants forever. We carry the Torah around in our mouths and, like the poles of the aron, we never detach. And so, through the Torah, we do still have access to God’s living voice.
But it is not just the Torah that we need in order to hear God’s voice. God did not speak directly out of the aron, but rather spoke from between the two keruvim (cherubim) that stood affixed to the cover of the aron. And these two keruvim were arranged in a very particular way. Their faces are said to be turned doubly – turned toward one another and turned toward the cover, the aron itself ( Exodus 25:21). What is required in order to hear God is a double orientation – it is not enough to be oriented solely toward the Torah, the aron itself. It is not enough to study Torah alone. God’s message reveals itself through our double encounter with the Torah and with one another. The Torah is continually revealed through our joint encounter with the Torah and with each other.
The image is of a hevruta, a learning partnership. I once attended a teacher’s workshop on the hevruta method taught by Orit Kent and Allison Cook and the visual they used was of a triangle. On one side of the triangle is one person, on the other another person, and on the third is the Torah. They emphasized that the key to a good hevruta is that no corner gets lost, that all three voices are respected and heard and integrated. Looking back now, the keruvim above the ark also created a kind of triangle, and this triangle became a channel, a conduit for God’s voice on earth.
None of us as individuals can contain the Torah or its truth. It is only revealed through our joint efforts and our genuine engagement with one another. The keruvim stood, facing one another and also bent over, with wings spread above them, in a gesture of humility and protection in relation to the ark. And out of this space of humility, oriented not proudly outward, but toward each other, came the voice of God on earth.
But certain features of the mishkan give me hope for today. Look at the aron, the ark. It is arguably the most important part of the mishkan – being the first to be mentioned here, the only item in the Holy of Holies, and most importantly, the site of God’s voice when it spoke to Moshe.
Now what is in the aron? The tablets, the Torah itself. In other words, access to God’s voice, to God’s continued messages to us today, is present in the Torah. As if to emphasize this point of the Torah’s eternal ability to speak to us, there is a special mitzvah when it comes to the poles used to carry the aron – they are not allowed to be removed from their rings. Lo yasuru mimenu. Rashi adds: le’olam, forever. The poles, symbols of mobility, the ability to carry the aron and its Torah wherever we go, must always remain attached. The kli yakar relates this verse to one in Isaiah, which says in similar language: lo yamushu mipikha umipi zarekha . . . ad olam (59:21). They, i.e. the words of Torah, should not leave your mouth and the mouth of your descendants forever. We carry the Torah around in our mouths and, like the poles of the aron, we never detach. And so, through the Torah, we do still have access to God’s living voice.
But it is not just the Torah that we need in order to hear God’s voice. God did not speak directly out of the aron, but rather spoke from between the two keruvim (cherubim) that stood affixed to the cover of the aron. And these two keruvim were arranged in a very particular way. Their faces are said to be turned doubly – turned toward one another and turned toward the cover, the aron itself ( Exodus 25:21). What is required in order to hear God is a double orientation – it is not enough to be oriented solely toward the Torah, the aron itself. It is not enough to study Torah alone. God’s message reveals itself through our double encounter with the Torah and with one another. The Torah is continually revealed through our joint encounter with the Torah and with each other.
The image is of a hevruta, a learning partnership. I once attended a teacher’s workshop on the hevruta method taught by Orit Kent and Allison Cook and the visual they used was of a triangle. On one side of the triangle is one person, on the other another person, and on the third is the Torah. They emphasized that the key to a good hevruta is that no corner gets lost, that all three voices are respected and heard and integrated. Looking back now, the keruvim above the ark also created a kind of triangle, and this triangle became a channel, a conduit for God’s voice on earth.
None of us as individuals can contain the Torah or its truth. It is only revealed through our joint efforts and our genuine engagement with one another. The keruvim stood, facing one another and also bent over, with wings spread above them, in a gesture of humility and protection in relation to the ark. And out of this space of humility, oriented not proudly outward, but toward each other, came the voice of God on earth.
Friday, February 5, 2016
Parashat Mishptaim: To Do and To Hear at the Same Time
Can you rub your belly and pat your head at the same time?
Can you notice the beautiful view outside and at the same time pay attention to the road as you are driving? Can you really listen to your child’s story while at the same time making dinner?
Can you do and can you listen at the same time? In this week’s parsha, the Israelites say na’aseh venishma, “We will do and we will hear/understand/obey.” This statement is usually considered remarkable because of the order of verbs – first they say they will do God’s commandments and then they say they will hear what those commandments are!
What seems equally remarkable to me about this phrase is how it implies that these two actions can be done simultaneously. The Israelites are promising to do and to listen at the same time. They are promising to be at one and the same moment busy and involved in the world and all its bustle of activity and at the same time able to “hear” God’s voice, to listen for the places He is speaking and to notice His presence. Now that is a feat!
It’s one thing to be a monk, removed from the world, and to be able to hear God. It’s another to be part of the world and still hear that voice. It’s one thing to have clarity and faith and peace and a sense of divine wonder and awe while one is sitting quietly and meditating. It’s another to do so in the midst of a traffic jam when one is late for an important meeting.
Paulo Coehlo in The Alchemist tells a story about a boy seeking happiness. The boy goes to the castle of a wise man. In this castle are many wonders and beauties. The wise man gives him a spoon with a few drops of oil in it and tells him to go explore the castle while never dropping the oil. The boy goes all over the castle and returns, without having seen any of the wonders because he is so busy worrying about the oil in the spoon. The wise man reminds him that he has missed out on all the beauty. The boy explores again, but this time he is so taken by the wonders that he drops the oil. The wise man tells him that the secret to happiness is being able to see the wonders while also guarding the oil.
How can we do both – take care of the oil, the little everyday tasks that are the stuff of life, all the details and arrangements and deadlines -- how can we be diligent about these and at the same time not lose sight of the wonders? How can we both “do” and “listen” at the same time?
I often think to myself – I will take time to listen to the birds and see the flowers and really see the miracle of the children in front of me when I have down time, tomorrow, when I am well rested and life calms down. The problem is that tomorrow is the same rush and bustle as today and life goes by. The trick is to be able to see God’s wonders right now, while in the very act of doing and living this crazy busy life, to be able “to do” and “to hear” at the very same moment. Na’aseh VeNishma. May we hear God amidst the whirl of activity.
Can you notice the beautiful view outside and at the same time pay attention to the road as you are driving? Can you really listen to your child’s story while at the same time making dinner?
Can you do and can you listen at the same time? In this week’s parsha, the Israelites say na’aseh venishma, “We will do and we will hear/understand/obey.” This statement is usually considered remarkable because of the order of verbs – first they say they will do God’s commandments and then they say they will hear what those commandments are!
What seems equally remarkable to me about this phrase is how it implies that these two actions can be done simultaneously. The Israelites are promising to do and to listen at the same time. They are promising to be at one and the same moment busy and involved in the world and all its bustle of activity and at the same time able to “hear” God’s voice, to listen for the places He is speaking and to notice His presence. Now that is a feat!
It’s one thing to be a monk, removed from the world, and to be able to hear God. It’s another to be part of the world and still hear that voice. It’s one thing to have clarity and faith and peace and a sense of divine wonder and awe while one is sitting quietly and meditating. It’s another to do so in the midst of a traffic jam when one is late for an important meeting.
Paulo Coehlo in The Alchemist tells a story about a boy seeking happiness. The boy goes to the castle of a wise man. In this castle are many wonders and beauties. The wise man gives him a spoon with a few drops of oil in it and tells him to go explore the castle while never dropping the oil. The boy goes all over the castle and returns, without having seen any of the wonders because he is so busy worrying about the oil in the spoon. The wise man reminds him that he has missed out on all the beauty. The boy explores again, but this time he is so taken by the wonders that he drops the oil. The wise man tells him that the secret to happiness is being able to see the wonders while also guarding the oil.
How can we do both – take care of the oil, the little everyday tasks that are the stuff of life, all the details and arrangements and deadlines -- how can we be diligent about these and at the same time not lose sight of the wonders? How can we both “do” and “listen” at the same time?
I often think to myself – I will take time to listen to the birds and see the flowers and really see the miracle of the children in front of me when I have down time, tomorrow, when I am well rested and life calms down. The problem is that tomorrow is the same rush and bustle as today and life goes by. The trick is to be able to see God’s wonders right now, while in the very act of doing and living this crazy busy life, to be able “to do” and “to hear” at the very same moment. Na’aseh VeNishma. May we hear God amidst the whirl of activity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
