Anxiety is not usually my Yom Kippur accessory. I arrive most years with anticipation, like I’m queuing up for a soul-audit: I know I’m guilty, I know the charges, I’m just hoping for a lenient judge and maybe community service instead of prison. But this year? Anxiety. Sharp, constant, insistent.

Some of it is the office. Always the office. I tell myself my work speaks louder than any gossip, but sabotage has a way of slithering in through the cracks. My enemies — real or imagined, what’s the difference? — have the stamina of marathoners and the subtlety of circus clowns. So yes, I am nervous. Even on erev Yom Kippur, while still at my desk, knowing I should be home clearing a sacred space in the clutter to light candles — or at least finding a flat surface where the candles won’t burn the house down.

And then comes Kol Nidrei. The haunting, wrenching declaration........

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