The world feels apocalyptic right now and throbbing under the surface is the intriguing message of Chazal that it was in the merit of righteous women that we were saved in the past and it is in the merit of righteous women that we will be saved in the future. Despite the heartwarming deluge of seminars, classes, series and summits linking women to geula, one might be excused—especially if one is a man—for wondering why specifically righteous women? The answer may be in understanding that all of us have both

Motherhood is put on a pedestal in Judaism. This works well for the women who are naturally nurturing, who love small children, and who might choose kindergarten teacher as their dream job. But what about those women whose teeth are set on edge by board games, who—even as they’re inspired by the image of happy children braiding challa with their calm and patient mother—would find doing so a minor form of torture? What can we say to women who aren’t naturally attuned to the joys of being around small bodies

“She said no. Hey, did you sign up for the new Chase Sapphire card?” said Mr. Anonymous-Yeshivah-Bochur-Number-One (herewith referred to as AYB1) about Rochi Kichel who had finally axed the shidduch after a series of uninspiring dates. AYB1’s anonymous friends (ABY2 and ABY3), accept this with equanimity and quickly segue into a gripping conversation about credit cards and the availability of AYB1’s blue tie, while being gastronomically sustained by the ubiquitous bochur cholent. In this Kichel cartoon, there were no little bubbles over the speaker’s heads to tell us what

Vashti was probably the first radical feminist. The Maharal tells us that her very name, Vashti, comes from the word shtayim, two, and is an indication of her split loyalties. She still held on with both hands, to her identity as her father’s daughter, even after she was married. Perhaps Vashti was the initiator of the hyphenated last name! Vashti’s independent-mindedness did not go over well in ancient Persia, to put it mildly. Her bold refusal to accede to her royal husband’s demeaning demands set into motion a tumultuous series

Atribute to my beloved mother, Mrs. Paula Eisemann, may she rest in peace, on her yahrtzeit. Being in mourning for a loved one can be transforming. Life goes barreling on, demanding its due, like a hungry child. Babies are born, engagements take place, weddings are celebrated, seasons pass, colors and fashions change and beckon as music plays in the background. But the mourner, who doesn’t attend simchas, doesn’t listen to music, doesn’t buy new clothing, walks beside life—there, but slightly distant. Death of a loved one takes you out of

Afriend shared a mini-episode from her life which turned out to be a great metaphor for the contrast between the public and private arena. Within less than a minute of limping into her humble abode after attending a gala affair, my friend’s contact lenses were happily ensconced in her lens case and her glasses were re-perched on her nose. Her fresh-from-the shaytel-macher-shaytel was resting slightly askew on the shaytel head while her comfortable-as-an-old-shoe-snood was on her head. Her high-heeled shoes lay sprawled in the corner while her feet luxuriated in