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The writing was on the wall
by Mina Richler
That very same hour, I was looking through my digital files and uploading my pictures. And there it was. In big, bold, black letters, scribbled on the wall, so close to my name, written just a few minutes before me, “Avi Richler 2005” . . .
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By Chana (Jenny) Weisberg
All that matters is that for two whole hours, it’s just the two of you. Alone. Together.
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A Glimmer of Joy in the Displaced Persons Camp
by Helen Schwimmer
For Lilly the dress symbolized the innocent, normal life she and her family had once led- before the world descended into madness...
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By Sarah Zadok
The stress of the morning reached its crescendo, and I proceeded to lay down my royal flush of emotional cards in my epic battle to win the "blame game" with my husband...
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By Chana Sharfstein
To my great surprise, the Rebbe asked me about my very personal plans, about my dating to get married.
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By Sherri Mandell
Gila grew up in an observant home, Ben's family was less observant. Gila didn't know why Yosef thought to put them together...
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A Letter on Intermarriage
By Anonymous
The following words, as painful as they might be for you to hear, are coming from a place of love. I wish that I did not have to say anything, but I feel that I have no choice...
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When Two Different Cultures Marry
By Aliza Hausman
"You married a white boy!" a high school pal exclaims in an email after discovering my wedding photos online. I groan. Later, my grandmother peers into my husband's blue eyes while watching our wedding DVD and repeatedly asks me, "Why did he marry you?"
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By Catherine Roozman Weigensberg
In this world of instant gratification, instant marriages, instant divorces – in fact instant everything one can possibly imagine – here, right beside me, is proof that time is the ultimate test of love...
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By Jessica Klein Levenbrown
I had signed up for J-date, the on-line Jewish dating service, and I was getting frustrated with the whole experience. From the music industry braggart with the purple Jaguar to the seventy-five year old who’d claimed to be fifty, the prospects were disappointing...
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by Shara Jacobs
I didn't intend to like Colin, to dip my toes into the forbidden waters of the non-Jew. After all, I grew up deeply religious my whole life, in strong deference to the traditions imparted from my parents and grandparents...
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Almost Thirty Years Later
By Varda Branfman
With such inconstancy in my personal history, I didn’t make such good marriage material, probably because I am very hard to measure and define. And I vaguely remember myself being described by that epithet “She’s not good marriage material” which placed me in the category of cheap, flimsy chiffon unraveling at the edges...
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A Portrait of Enduring Love
By Robyn Cuspin
When I was able to finally meet my husband's grandparents who could not travel to the wedding, my entire outlook on the fragileness of love was challenged forever...
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By Chana Weisberg
After all these years, I may be less sensitive to your wants and wishes. My guard is down; my words and actions no longer reflect the nuances of care they once did. But you, too, don't give yourself as freely as in the olden days...
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By Nechama Dina Hecht
That moment made it clear to both of us: I'm committed to you, and you're committed to me, and an argument won't change things.
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By Shimona Tzukernik
No one knew how to tell me the news, and so, although I knew the truth in my heart, for those agonizing minutes I kept on hoping. Hoping that it was just an accident . . .
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By Elana Mizrahi
Through trial and error, and now years of experience, I’ve come to realize that communicating is not about talking and “listening”; it’s about understanding.
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By Esther Serebryanski
Neither parent seemed to notice the presence of their young daughter in the entranceway. I was only ten at the time, but my sensitive nature detected that the room was full of their love for each other . . .
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By Chaya Shuchat
On the cosmic mitzvah scale there really is no difference if I make a blessing over my lulav-and-etrog set, or if that same set is used by a Jew on the streets of Brooklyn.... mitzvah = mitzvah, right?
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By Judy Gruen
During his convalescence, the morning blessings assumed a new poignancy and meaning for both of us: “Blessed are You, L‑rd our G‑d, King of the Universe, who releases the bound . . . Who straightens the
bent . . . Who gives strength to the weary.” For the first time in his life, Jeff recited these blessings unable to stand . . .
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