I became a rabbi because I wanted to walk with people through their lives; I did a lot of that, and I loved what I did. But I also felt what was broken in the structure of religion.

Born in Kentucky and raised in New England, I grew up making music, exploring nature, and asking “why?” From a young age I was interested in the mysteries of life, and I read voraciously. Learning jazz theory as a child taught me creativity, deep listening, and playfulness, which have informed the way I live.

I studied philosophy at Columbia University, and rabbinic literature and scriptural interpretation at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. Those ten years of education taught me how to read carefully for the layers of meaning in all we communicate.

As a rabbi, I led congregations big and small, directed summer camps, sat at death beds, and pioneered new paradigms of spiritual community in the start-up sector. But the harder I worked at serving my communities, the more disconnected I felt from the essence of being.

I left the rabbinic fold seeking a nomadic life of hiking, farming, shepherding, building houses, and studying plant medicine, all of which brought me back to what it meant to be a rabbi in the first place: walking with people through the healing journey of life.

Today I think, gather, teach, write and make art about why religion is the worst and why I can’t get enough of it, in an effort to inspire a life filled with more meaning and compassion. My work is neither religious nor secular; I strive to make everyday existence profound.

I’ve spent my whole life moving between many places I call home. Among them today are Tel Aviv, New England, New York, Washington D.C., Colorado, and the camper van I built and drive across America. I am an uncle, a partner, a brother, a son, a dogparent, and a goat herder.

I do, indeed, prefer being barefoot.