All She Wrote

09/09/2014 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

When I ask my family to consider how we can improve ourselves in preparation for the Jewish New Year, my daughter Talia, who is 12, grins and shifts her gaze to Joel. Oh yes! She has an idea or two for her 9-year-old brother. “Maybe it would be a good goal for you to stop putting your foot on this,” she says, indicating the wooden table leg they squabble over on a nightly basis.

08/05/2014 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

As I write this, it is hours before Tisha b’Av, the day of Jewish mourning when we read the haunting words of Lamentations, of how Jerusalem “weepeth sore in the night.”

07/15/2014 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

Here in New York City, it can be difficult to wrap one’s mind around the reports we get from Israel — the vicious deaths of four teenagers followed by more death and destruction; parents singing Hebrew lullabies in the bomb shelter of a Jerusalem bookstore; elephants sheltering their young in the Ramat Gan zoo as sirens scream and also the continuity of ordinary life, a mood that one Facebook friend describes as “tense normal.”

06/10/2014 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

My daughter Talia, who is 12, beams at me, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “Don’t worry, Joel,” she tells her 9-year-old brother, “girls are supposed to be skinny.”

05/06/2014 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

In my dreams, I sometimes find a hidden door in my Manhattan apartment that opens to a room I never knew existed.

I awaken with a start — and a sigh. Oh, how we could use that extra space, what with two growing children of the opposite sexes whose dynamics I once described on this page as “Enemies: A Love Story.” But to move? In Manhattan? This involves a nightmare of brokers and board applications, money and mortgages, all in an exorbitant market with limited inventory. I should know. After a decade of dreams, we are currently suffering through this headache.

03/11/2014 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

“I am so sad,” my son Joel, who is 9, sighs, his restless energy making us all more miserable. All of us wished this day wouldn’t come, this day that marks the last stages of goodbye, not for a person but for a place. And although I’ve known the sadness of funerals before, and I realize the grief shouldn’t be compared, I’m doing it anyway. My in-laws have sold their beach house, the center for family gatherings for 15 years, and bought a smaller house nearby. It is a pretty home near town. Still, our hearts ache with the loss.