Something’s been lost. It must have been, because when it was passed to me, I could have sworn the box was empty. Oh, I sang the proper songs, heard the history and the heartache; at thirteen I recited the proper scriptures to be declared a Jewish man (quickly, so the catered affair could begin), and then retired from Jewish life. Like most of the suburban American Jews of my generation, what was meant to be the beginning seemed to me the end. No need for active rebellion; when all you see are the laws of bagels-and-lox, one simply learns to look elsewhere for inspiration. And look I did. I stared at the world until it seemed to sparkle, embraced spiritual traditions East and West, and began to sense in each the same spark of holiness. Except one; I couldn’t quite forgive the empty box.