Endurance

As all three sons were conscripted, my grandmother made a vow. She entreated G‑d that her three boys should return whole and unharmed from the war, and she would take care, for the rest of her life, to eat only food that was unquestionably kosher . . .

In the photo, the night is pitch-black. But there is a light shining through their window. A light that is so bright, it is blinding. And on the wall of their home is a sign that Ruti made, which read, “Hitnaari me’afar kumi, livshi bigdei tifarteich amee” (“Shake off the dust and arise, put on the clothing of your glory, my people”) . . .

Full of conviction and confidence, he replied, “Once you are here in the land of Israel, you automatically become attached to it. You want nothing more than to defend it” . . .

On a simple, rational level, celebrating freedom during a time of enslavement (enslavement being a gross understatement) makes no sense whatsoever. To understand this, one must throw logic out the window and realize that something much deeper and more profound is going on . . .

Suddenly - but maybe not so suddenly - it's as though a bizarre spell has been cast upon your beautiful three-year-old. You begin the appointment maze...

Hodaya, my sixteen-year-old, walked in last night, past midnight, after the first day of camp. She was so exhausted she could hardly speak. But she told me the name of her camper and she said to me, "Ima, this work is a lesson for life..."

I had "symptoms" of a number of major diseases and if that were not enough, my doctor said I had about six months to live. His only advice was to get my affairs in order...

All they felt was pity for the woman who died so young and for the poor little orphan who would have a hard life ahead.

The doctor’s face was serious when he told me that something was very wrong and that I needed to go home immediately. From that point, things unraveled very quickly...

He looks okay, but he is not okay, and we, his parents, know and live with this every day. Like his ancestors in Egypt, our son is in a prison; his is a prison of the mind, perhaps the heart.

We danced and sang in the sukkah, the transformative rain a mikvah-like immersion in G‑d’s presence and will . . .

There was Ari, 15, who used to say that "life was too short to waste on anger." Noah, 6, was extra nice to children who had trouble making friends. Adira, 5, was strong-willed and carefree. Natan, 4, had Down syndrome and loved to play guitar and sing...

It’s an old voice, but powerful and steady. It is my zaidy (grandfather) saying the mourner’s kaddish for his father, whose yahrtzeit is on Yom Kippur.

It is very unlike me to sit down and write something like this, and yet, I feel that I have an obligation to do so. I am a quiet person, who lives a quiet life, and until about a year ago there was nothing newsworthy or interesting about myself or my five children...

There's this wonderful pool of light coming through the window, and beauty in the chaos of white, plastic envelopes awaiting pickup by hundreds of people who, like me, have come to see what was taking place in their innards

In one pivotal moment, the star seems to be relating its life story: birth, growth, death, and even afterlife, fuse together in a strange and tragic way

I guess when something is truly right for you, no matter how impractical or out of the ordinary it may seem, you find yourself doing what you are meant to do...

I still have a bullet lodged in my brain. My speech is slurred and I have difficulty maintaining balance when I walk. But I am determined that, with the help of G-d, these will not stop me from doing what I know I was born to do

The life lived in this lumpy body with its pathological blood. No one, I realized, envied my life or considered it normal. No one, that is, but me. Because, you see, it's my life...