There I was motivated to begin living my life authentically, as the out and proud gay man I was becoming. Near the beginning of that semester, I attended my first OUT meeting, Indiana University’s LGBT student union. It was an incredibly empowering feeling to meet so many like-minded people all in one setting for the very first time. Afterwards, I found out that it was the group's tradition to head over to Ben and Jerry's for the after-meeting ice cream social. While we were eating our ice cream cones, I met Adam and Dorit. We started talking, and when they found out I was Jewish, they became ecstatic... they were excited to add me into their found tribe.

In honor of LGBT Pride Month, I thought I’d share some information about Congregation Or Chadash, Chicago’s LBGT synagogue, which will celebrate its 35th anniversary next year as a strong and vibrant community.

As Jews of the modern age, we have the ability to create for ourselves traditions which speak to us personally and fit the times we live in. I see this more and more these days, especially as a cantor. Even some rituals which now seem commonplace were once new and unexplored—like bat mitzvahs and baby naming and the addition of an orange to the Seder plate!

I am an incredibly avid reader of fiction, but when I venture into the land of non-fiction, I am usually looking for a book that I can relate to in some way. Thus grew my interest in the debut book of Eddie Sarfaty, a fellow gay Jew. Okay, so Eddie, a comedian who has a steady gig in Provincetown, Mass, is really nothing like me, a cantor. But hey, I did go to Provincetown once for a day, and I loved it!

Last night’s vigil at Congregation Emanuel for the victims of the Tel Aviv tragedy was a quiet one. It was filled with peaceful poetry and prayers, including traditional memorial prayers and those for healing for the people who were killed and wounded in the awful shooting that took place just a week ago. The community came together very quickly to create a service organized by Rabbi Larry Edwards of Congregation Or Chadash and featured both Jewish and non-Jewish leaders from the area.

By day they are your average teachers, social workers, attorneys, bartenders, photographers, nurses, government workers, businesswomen, authors, or personal trainers, but when they put on their skates and don amusingly fierce names like Athena DeCrime and Hoosier Mama, they become the women of the roller derby.

Mitch Albom has done it again. With his newest book, Have a Little Faith, he has beautifully penned a book that is insightful, touching, and highly memorable. This is the first non-fiction book Albom has written since his, now classic, Tuesdays with Morrie, notably one of my favorite books of all time. Like his earlier book, Have a Little Faith centers on a figure who Albom had a previous connection with in his life, who then plays a later role as a "teacher of life."

Debbie Friedman, Salamone Rossi, Max Janowski, Ben Steinberg, Sheva, Louis Lewandowski … What do all these names have in common? They all have made a remarkable impact on the music of the synagogue. As a Reform cantor, I have always been most drawn to Judaism by its rich heritage of music, and find that many of my congregants share the same strong connection.

Exactly one year ago, I had just been released from the hospital and it was one of the most strange and humbling experiences I have ever had. I was admitted to a Catholic hospital in the city, and remained there for five days after finding that my appendix had ruptured. I would eventually return six weeks later to have my appendix removed, since it was too dangerous to remove it at that time.

Recently, I was going through a pile of old school papers in a box my mom dug up in our basement and I found a piece I wrote back in the seventh grade. Reading it, was a nice walk down memory lane. If you’re feeling nostalgic for your childhood as I’ve been lately, then keep reading.

I’ve been an environmentalist for a good part of my life. My parents deserve some of the credit for this—they used to threaten me as a little boy, telling me that if I didn’t turn off the lights when I left a room, "Mr. Edison" would come get me. I found this to be a little scary, but it worked—to this day, I rarely find myself leaving the lights on when I leave a room.

"So, are you a Cubs or a Sox fan?"
"No comment," I quickly and jokingly replied during my interview at Temple Anshe Sholom of Olympia Fields, the largest synagogue of only a small handful in Chicago's south suburbs.I moved back to Chicago in 2008 to be closer to my family, becoming the cantor at TAS, and a north suburbanite working in foreign territory!