When my sisters and I begin with the stories, we’re performers on the stage of shivah stools. The audience’s faces alternate between awe and sorrow,
When Bubby’s cat, dog, and bird tricks wore off, she would eagerly teach me pithy Yiddish proverbs about the value of true beauty and wisdom
What happens at my weekly Shabbos Tehillim group? As long as we’re reciting Tehillim, I’m fine, but once the chitchat begins, I’m out of there,
“May you be blessed with triplets this year,” my husband says as he grabs his childless cousin’s hand, pumping it up and down. I cringe
Zeide dipped his hands into the cut-glass bowl. Cupping his palms, he raised them high, heaped with silver, coins flowing, flowing, flowing. Tinkling, clinking, singing,
