Not only was I raised in a "religious" home, but with my father serving for the last 50 years as the rabbi of our − at first fledging, and now, vibrant − Toronto community, I was given the endearing designation of being "the rabbi's daughter."
A parent turns to her teenaged son and asks, "What's bothering you?" "Whatever," answers the kid with a disconsolate shrug.
It happens at every chuppah. After the bride's encircling of the groom seven times, after the recital of the special blessings, after the ring has been placed on her finger, there are a few seconds of collective silence in anticipation.
One of my favorite teachings from the Talmud is a marriage-related lesson.
"I have always had so many dreams. So many hopes and aspirations..."
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.