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

Depending on who you are or what your cultural milieu is, Ruth can be seen either as a heroine or an anti-heroine. On the one hand, she is the main protagonist of the Book of Ruth, on the other she is so self-effacing as to almost disappear off the pages. On the one hand, the megillah is named after Ruth, and the Talmud calls her the “Mother of Royalty” and on the other after the whole saga is over the neighbors crowd around and announce that the baby born to

“And they lived happily ever after” is a great ending for a children’s story, but we cynical adults smirk at the thought. We’ve been around long enough to know there are no happy endings. And yet, as Jews, it seems we are meant to get beyond that cynicism. We really do believe there will come a time when the “lion will lie down with the sheep,” “there will be no more tears,” “nations will turn their swords into ploughshares,” and the “world will be filled with knowledge of G-d.” That

Some things just can’t be forced. One of them is love. The most powerful person in the world, even if he owns all that money and talent can buy, still cannot force someone to love him. While he may be able to coerce someone to act as if they love, no one can control another’s heart. That simple little fact plays switcheroo with some of our most deeply held beliefs about power and hierarchy. In recognizing this phenomena, we reveal that there’s at least as much power in the hands of the

Purim is such a happy day, but amidst all the merrymaking, gifts of food and charity to the poor, lurks the seemingly incongruous mitzvah to eradicate the memory of Amalek. Historically, Jews don’t seem to be able to muster up a lot of aggression even in the best of circumstances. The happy, slightly besotted and be-costumed Jew, who in a fit of passion, a ferocious glint in his eye, lets loose with a cranking of his lethal graggar at the mention of Haman, is about as militant as the Purim