I am the most amateur of gardeners. Last year I added two raised beds to a small patch of yard next to our suburban driveway, and with little more than regular watering was rewarded with an abundant if somewhat wild crop. There is no greater thrill than slathering pesto from your own basil onto thick slices of cucumber you nurtured from nothing. Except perhaps the popping of sun-warmed cherry tomatoes directly from stem into mouth. 

Now I've got kale and arugula sprouting from seeds I stuck too close together, and snap peas climbing the makeshift trellis I fashioned using wire leftover from my daughter's art project. Stuck at home, I decided
to tackle the front yard, where the flowering shrubs we inherited are pretty but patchy. A synagogue friend who knows something about plants came by for a socially-distant consultation and then accompanied me and said daughter to the garden center, where we selected two skip laurels to match the two we had; a white azalea to offset the pink and red ones; four distinctive hostas, three hydrangea and a couple of things whose names I've already forgotten.

Then I had to dig. It is real work driving shovel into hard earth, and not just physical. Is that a rock to be removed or a root holding up something I care about? As my gloved hands yanked at debris, the parallel hit me to the challenge facing our Jewish institutions and communities. Innovation depends on clearing away the detritus of a prior generation's structures -- without destroying their living, strong traditions. 

This week, 30 rabbis shared thoughts on the future of the denominations that have helped define American Jewish life, and the leaders of the the Reform and Conservative movements penned an essay about the new ways they might collaborate.  Those are two of seven articles I've selected for you to savor  this Shabbat; you can download or print a PDF of them with  this blue button.