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Life Lessons

Life Lessons

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When I told Sandra who I was and that I was calling to confirm our Shabbat-dinner date, her voice sounded choked, her words almost indistinguishable. Suddenly, the floodgates opened, and I heard unmistakable sobbing on the other end of the phone.
It's all in the perspective
Today, G‑d sent me one of those days where I had an opportunity to strengthen my spiritual muscles.
One of the tires, while appearing fine superficially, was actually almost completely peeled off.
Lost . . .I could have been lost, completely lost, with no clue how to get home.
I’m an excellent cook, but everybody has their off-days, especially when making a huge amount of food.
My phone’s been really weird about charging the last few days. Seems like something is off-kilter in the charging port. I’ve had to juggle the charger, wiggle it around, get it in exactly the right place and the right angle for that elusive, all-important red light to go on.
“My child is not walking,” I informed the doctor.
Our upstairs neighbors for the past four years have been, well, challenging to say the least.
This week, for maybe the first time in my adult life, I attended a Hachnasat Sefer Torah that affected me deeply, in ways I could not have imagined beforehand.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy to give up my smartphone on Shabbat and the holidays.
When someone deserved commendation for a job well done, my mother made a practice of telling the boss.
She screamed at me for minutes on end, as I sat there, unable to get a word in, feeling terribly guilty and ashamed for the missed appointment and having wasted her time.
About an hour or so before Shabbat arrives, there’s a set of loud, repetitive knocks on my door. On the other side stands a mostly toothless woman, often carrying the overwhelming scent of the unbathed.
Chunks of time roll by without me even thinking to say thank you, without me remembering or acknowledging the gift of three years ago.
The activities were fun, and I wanted to share the fun with Betsy. I lobbied the youth group advisor to let Betsy come along. The advisor was adamantly opposed.
But how can I be a friend still? How can I conjure her up at a moment’s notice—not because of something I see, but something I do?
I was an orphan. And I was shoeless.
The sight that greeted us was not at all what one would expect to see at a parade. There was no music, no cymbals, no clown twirling batons and making people laugh and letting everyone know what was being celebrated. In fact, it soon became clear to me that this was not a parade at all, but a procession of enemy prisoners of war who had been captured by Russia.
I live in Los Angeles, where wealth, celebrity, youth and beauty are valued above all else.
I stood there with my face covered, tiny tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.