My day begins as a perfectly sunny, breezy, late summer morning. But then we meet.
For the past two years, any time we've met our neighbors on our front lawn, near the street's curb, the discussion has invariably turned to the very pressing issue of... garbage.
I'm often asked why it is that men played such a major role in Jewish history.
"Wouldn't it be nice if the days were long all year round?" commented my son at six o'clock in the evening as we sat down to dinner to the backdrop of the completely black outdoors.
Rachel and Leah - two sisters, two wives of Yaakov, and two of the Matriarchs of our People;
The sin of the Etz HaDa'at, the Tree of Knowledge is one of the most perplexing episodes in the Torah.
At this time of year, honey, and the sweetness it represents, plays a major role in our celebrations.
Roi Klein. It is a name, that until recently, held no meaning to me.
I've just read an autobiographical summary of R' Yisroel Meir Lau, former chief rabbi of Israel.
A little past her second birthday, my toddler has entered into a new phase of independence.
Shavuot marks the birthday of King David and for this reason it is customary in many communities to read Megillat Ruth since Ruth was his great-grandmother.
The incongruity of the two events was too glaring to overlook.
I'm relaxing on the sofa watching Shira, my 11-year-old, patiently teaching baby Sara Leah how to build a tower with her blocks, when the tranquil peace is suddenly shattered.
Behind every successful man, stands his wife - or so goes the proverbial saying. But what about behind every successful woman?
"See, I was standing right there," I hold out the brochure for my children, pointing to the famous Panama Canal.
Several years ago my husband and I were the directors of a seminary, which girls from all over the world attended.
It's that time of year again. You're sure to be visually bombarded at every turn of your shopping experience.
Ever since I can remember, my husband's practice has been, like many men, to buy me a lovely bouquet of flowers for Shabbat.
Bitter was the daily fare of the Jewish slaves in their Egyptian exile.
Joe is sitting in the den. The remote control keeps his hands busy while his unseeing eyes gaze straight ahead.
After a long and taxing day at work, followed by the usual battle with rush hour traffic, Joe finally arrived home.
Tomorrow is the day after Labor Day. We all know what that means.
You. Yes, it is you that I'm talking to.
Dear Mrs. Weisberg, The present era is particularly harsh, especially for the families in Israel.
I'm not sure what spurred it, but this morning, during my davening (prayers), my mind wandered.