My sport of choice is yoga. In truth, I’m not even sure it is a choice. Yoga has become more than exercise or discipline—it is a companion in my life. I treasure yoga for its health benefits, both physical and mental. In Yoga, there’s no competition. There’s no scoreboard. There’s no right or wrong. Most of all, there’s no need for a special court, equipment, or a gathering of players. Yoga travels lightly and is a blessing.
Yoga most evokes the biblical blessing on our coming and going, in our cities and our countryside (Deuteronomy 28:3–6). The best blessings go wherever you go, and that is itself a Jewish innovation.
In the ancient world, religion was bound to geography. The gods of Babylonia reigned only in Babylonia. Egypt’s gods had no authority in the hills of Judea. To worship was to be rooted in place, before a statue or shrine. Even the God of Abraham was first understood in relation to a journey from Ur to Canaan—a migration that tethered the divine to a particular land.
But as the Hebrews prepared to enter the Promised Land, Moses reframed the idea of blessing. God’s presence would not be trapped inside borders or altars. Divine blessing would travel: in your going out and your coming in, in your cities and in your fields. Yes, the Temple would later become a focal point for sacrifice, but the covenant was not geographically bound. The community could—and still can—carry its connection to God anywhere.
That is what yoga feels like for me. It is not affixed to a place. At home or abroad, indoors or outside, in a bustling city or in the quiet of the countryside, yoga allows me to breathe, stretch, and return to myself. And in that centering, I feel God’s presence.
Of course, many of my friends—especially those approaching or entering retirement, or as some now call it rewiring—are filling their days with lively group activities. Pickleball, Mah Jong, tennis, golf, and bridge bring joy, camaraderie, and fun. They do, however, require courts, boards, partners, and the right setting.
For me, yoga is simpler. It is a blessing in my coming and my going. I need nothing more than a mat—or sometimes not even that. I carry the practice with me, enhancing how I walk, how I sit and how I relax. And when I practice, whether in solitude or with others, I find myself. And in finding myself, I find God.
But here is the broader teaching: blessings that are portable are often the ones that deepen life most. Some practices tie us to a place, but others free us to carry meaning wherever we go. When we cultivate these “portable blessings,” we prepare ourselves for resilience, travel, and change.
Yoga is mine. Yours may look different.
• Some find it in meditation.
• Others in the quiet rhythm of journaling, or in walking without headphones, letting the world’s sounds become prayer.
• Some carry a line of sacred text or a melody in their hearts.
• Others find meaning in sketching or writing a note of gratitude.
These practices don’t require a tennis court, a deck of cards, or even another person. They require only the intention to find some healing in a world that is tearing us apart.
So I encourage you to ask yourself: What is the practice I can carry in my coming and going? What anchors me when I’m far from home, what steadies me when life is in transition?
Find that, and you’ve found your blessing.
Rabbi Evan J. Krame
If this reflection resonates with you, consider sharing it on social media—or simply take a moment to reflect on how you can create a better community.
