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A Lesson from My Mother
By Tali Gross
didn't really understand just then, as my brain was still foggy from my nap, but the one thing I did understand was that something had happened to Mommy, and she wasn't there...  10 Comments | |
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I Am Grateful For...
A New Project for the New Year
By Sara Esther Crispe
I hope that starting this column will be an action that screams, "I will not forget what I did. I will not forget the lessons I learned. And I will not forget the miracle I experienced…" 24 Comments | |
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The Princess Groove
By Sarah Zadok
I've been a committed student of a Middle Eastern Dance class that meets every Wednesday night, and even though my mind was begging to differ, I knew my body would thank me later. But all I could see was a postpartum pooch shimmying in a baggy tee-shirt... 14 Comments | |
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My Birthday Gift
By Edith Brown
I'm onto a new perspective. What is life without a few wrinkles? And I need to stop listening to those commercials about washing that gray away... 5 Comments | |
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Falling Down on the Job
By Jill Pincus
I am one of those super-responsible Type A personalities, the kind whose first words as a baby were “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” I have been doing a pretty good job since then, right up until the moment I broke my leg.. 5 Comments | |
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Our Power Failure
An Enlightening Experience
By Catherine Roozman Weigensberg
Only moments before the lights went out, I had been pondering how I could get everyone out of their hibernation in order to spend a little time together... 2 Comments | |
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The Joy in the Struggle
By Sarah Azulay
As I sunk into the driver's seat on my commute home, I began my daily personal prayer to G‑d and opened, rather ungratefully, with my list of grievances about how I had survived yet another stressful day... 11 Comments | |
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A Doll for Frania
By Orly Fuerst
Postcard upon postcard asking to please send a little sugar, a little butter, some warm socks. It gets cold at night. Frania wants a doll, please don't send a doll. There is no room in the ghetto for a doll... 6 Comments | |
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Nagging Doubt
By Jessica Klein Levenbrown
I knew my election was quite an honor, and that my parents were very proud. I was simply scared. But I didn't tell anyone, of course. That would reveal far too much insecurity... 2 Comments | |
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Through the Looking Glass
By Sara Tzafona
I tell myself that Marnie loves being a victim, maybe even suffers from some kind of martyr complex. It’s as if she’s trying to reinvent a famous heroine burnt by the stake... 2 Comments | |
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My Meaningful Speeding Ticket
By Sara Esther Crispe
I am always running. I am always moving. There is simply so much to do and so little time to do it. And it is easy to rationalize, to explain, to excuse because I am busy doing good things, positive things, which is why I can never slow down. But as much as you have to do, you have to keep the speed limit... 14 Comments | |
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Making Peace
By Anonymous
Every Yom Kippur I thought of Aunt Arlene, but I did nothing. I decided to stay angry... 4 Comments | |
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From the Outside Looking In
By Chani Marcus
I've always felt slightly self-conscious as the only family on the block whose father was a Rabbi and made less than $500,000 a year... 6 Comments | |
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Freedom From Want and Fear
By Gwendolyn Davis
You sent the captions, pictures, and mementos with your trust of an album’s completion. And there your pictures sat. For years... 1 Comment | |
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My Father's Tzitzis
By Jessica Klein Levenbrown
After all, what could he teach a girl who got straight A’s in school and wanted to go to an Ivy League college? And yet, today, what I remember from college seems like a blur of
intellectual trivia compared to the simple lessons of my father... 13 Comments | |
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The Shabbat that Kept Rose
By Goldy Rosenberg
Rose felt like a leaf caught between heavy gusts of wind with no anchoring force to answer her question: To keep her job, or keep the Shabbat? 14 Comments | |
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Fear of Heights
By Jessica Klein Levenbrown
What’s the difference between opting out and giving up? Why do I think it was okay for me to abandon the ski slope at forty-five while I find it terribly sad that my bachelor brother-in-law may, at the same age,
decide it’s time to stop searching for a wife? 3 Comments | |
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My Name is Miriam
By Mimi Notik
Her response was habit, given to hundreds of names the same morning. It was meant to give me the go. But instead, it stopped me. Did she just call me "Miriam?" 1 Comment | |
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Hamantashen
By Miriam Shapiro
“Me, too,” I lied. “It’s… indecipherable.” I had seen that word the day before in a copy of Time magazine lying around the house, and decided that it sounded as glamorous as any other. 3 Comments | |
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1–20 21–36
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