יום שבת, ה׳ תמוז תשפ״וSaturday, June 20, 2026
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A nudnik is someone who, when you ask how he's doing, tells you. Even when a nudnik agrees with you, it feels like an argument.
It was foolish. But instead of feeling stung and stupid, I felt the love and concern of a zeidy scolding his granddaughter, trying to protect and only wanting the best for her.
I tell my husband I'm bringing the ones with cracked spines to sheimos. He tells me there's an inyan about not getting rid of sefarim. I ask for the source but he can't tell me where it is.
When Noach sends off the raven, the Torah provides no reason, but rather Noach unceremoniously ejects the poor bird from the ark. No wonder it flounders and goes nowhere. With the dove, though, the text adds these words to see whether the waters had abated.
I’d been singing Birkat HaMazon since childhood. I never had stopped to consider how it sounded to others. Which is the best way to sing of all. Now I sing all the time. On or off tune, I don’t know or care.
The idea behind play therapy is, some feelings are too intense for a child to express in words, but a child’s play can reveal and articulate a world of complex emotions – to one who knows how to observe.
What that phrase, Yesh prechim ve’ein bo peirot, means to me is, certain isms out there may look attractive and draw you to them – think of Jews in the 1920s flocking to Communism – but don’t expect to successfully transmit these ideas onto the next generation.
I wonder about the Avot and Imahot and the shvatim, how they got around Israel with no maps at all – if anyone here knows of a Biblical map, please alert the media.
Says Elifaz to Iyov: Were you born before Adam? Were you created before the hills? (Don’t you love the ring of that?)
Haunting dream-like illustrations, dialogue that crackles with tension, spare writing, all conspire to make you feel not ‘as if’ you’re there, but that you really are there...
This Purim I won’t go overboard like the time I dressed as the Kotel, and invited strangers (female only) to kiss and pray before me.
For someone who has accomplished and written so much, what's left? I opened another book of Sherri's to see what I might find.
Another thought that I see no point in exploring: The Jewish day begins at night, gets dark, and darker, then most dark, and less dark until darkness gives way to light.
Sukkot was coming. By now I’d sat in too many wonderful families’ sukkot and craved my own.
We see and project and imagine such possibility onto the blank slate of a baby's pudgy punim.
Language academics created an entire discipline – phonoaesthetics – to figure out what makes a word pleasant-sounding. Idyllic appears on that list, and so does mellifluous and cellar door. Shvitz doesn’t.
What in the world had Hashem been thinking when He put me and Binyamin together? Why was I condemned to suffer?
Binyamin is responsible and industrious, an excellent provider. At times he can be quite generous. When I married my husband, we were penniless, you know. I didn’t know if his business would succeed or not, but I took the chance.
Everything changed from that day. No more smiles, no more evening walks, no more asking about the other’s day. Nothing between us would ever be the same.
I heard Binyamin walking up the stairs. I shoved the book back into Binyamin’s jacket. The door creaked open. I took a breath. Another one, and tried to shake off that sour sensation in my stomach.
I read in a magazine that the secret to marital harmony is having separate bathrooms. All my woman stuff that littered the medicine cabinet and sink counter– you know, the tubes and creams and make-up – well, they grated on his nerves.
