I do not find her in reading prayers nor in singing hymns. I do not even find her at a Passover Seder nor when lighting Chanukah candles nor when atoning for my and the community’s sins at Yom Kippur.

I find her in the silence of sleeping babies, in the laughter of small children, in witnessing the loving care of sick or struggling people young and old, and in feeling love and seeing love in all its many forms.

She is inside me when I am at my kindest self; she is deep inside me when I cry with a friend, my wife, at a touching movie or a heartfelt book.

She nudges me to try a little harder to help someone, to understand someone’s journey or forgive someone. She gently moves me to love more deeply and be more authentic.

This is where I find her; somedays more than others, somedays not at all, but with an abiding faith that she is still there.