All She Wrote

03/08/2011 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

My daughter Talia, animated with talk of gifts and guests and birthday games, grows quiet: “I can’t believe it,” she says, her sunny mood eclipsed by a sudden solemn thought. “Nine?”

02/15/2011 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

I’ve learned a few odd habits of New York parents. One of them is that, in this fast-paced town, families often wrap up summer plans in February.

12/07/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

My 3-year-old nephew, his voice raspy from a recent cold, has been directing a long-winded narrative my way. I catch only a few words, but they startle me: Santa will be sliding down chimneys, and then there will be presents.

“Oh really?” I say, my eyebrows rising, inwardly vowing to speak with my sister.

10/06/2010 | | Special to the Jewish Week | All She Wrote

Maybe it’s the high heels. Maybe it’s the sky-high spirits. Maybe it’s the smile hinting ever so slightly of mischief. But when I meet Rochelle Shoretz at a downtown Starbucks on a recent bright September day, I’m surprised.

09/15/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

On the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, a time of reflection and renewal, I often find myself fantasizing about bagels and orange juice. By late morning, my thoughts turning ever more frequently to coffee, my temples throbbing from caffeine withdrawal, my belly gnawing from hunger, I begin to snarl. As my stomach growls, so do I. By noon on Yom Kippur, I’m often a cranky mess, anxious and irritable with my husband and children, angry at myself for my shortcomings of spirit.

07/06/2010 | | Special To The Jewish Week | All She Wrote

On a chilly spring morning, I faced my grandmother’s grave for a second time, there to mark the ritual unveiling of her tombstone. My grandmother, a woman of good cheer and many years, seemed to hover about the small gathering, lending the day a bittersweet spirit. 

But what I remember distinctly about that morning of mourning, is not just the moment when my 8-year-old daughter Talia and I huddled together and blinked back tears as we stared at the gravestone. What I also recall is the other goodbye.