A few days ago, while out of town, I connected with an old friend.
As we recite the Haggadah during the seder, we are introduced to the "Four Sons."
My little boy messed up the wall, But what he did didn't make me mad at all,
"Another day another dinar," sighed Esther as she prepared her daily infusion of Turkish coffee before leaving for her job as an assistant editor at her Uncle Mordy's business, Megillah Publishing.
February/Adar is birthday month in the Kupfer family, with four out of five members born during this period.
"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark." Marcellus, the character in Hamlet who uttered those words, couldn't have been more right.
This column is being written on my secular birthday, February 14 (my real birthday is 11 Adar), a birthday - not surprisingly - that I share with my twin brother.
In my previous column I wrote about the importance of assigning minimal value to the utterances of those who make nasty, ego-wounding comments.
Chanukah is over and we are now dealing with the repercussions of wantonly indulging in crispy, crunchy, melt in your mouth potato latkes and overdosing on sugary, chocolaty, jelly-oozing donuts.
Gift giving is a real challenge for many parents during Chanukah.
I was at a recent fundraiser on behalf of Israel's Beit Halochem institutions. In Hebrew, beit halochem means the house of the warrior and that is what these centers are - a home away from home for disabled Israeli soldiers and wounded victims of Islamic terror and violence.
Pesach seemed heavier this year. I'm not talking in terms of the tremendous amount of food that was consumed or the seemingly endless lifting, bending, scrubbing, scouring and cooking that is part and parcel of pre and post Passover preparations as well as during the chag.
Over the years I always wondered why Hashem - the Master and Creator of the Universe - was so machmir - so adamant in having us mortals sing his praises and thank him all the time.
You would have to be hiding under a rock to be unaware of the sad and drawn-out death of a severely brain damaged woman called Terri Schiavo, whose husband and legal guardian made the decision to have her life-sustaining feeding tube removed.
In very recent issues of the Jewish Press there have been a number of disturbing articles detailing the dire plight of various types of people who have lost their physical or social freedom.
I recently heard that an acquaintance of mind got divorced for the 2nd time. The marriage had lasted a very short time, but I was not surprised.
We all know them - the sad sacks who seemingly were born under a bad constellation.
As my friend Eve (not her real name) and I started filling our plates at a recent buffet dinner, she commented that lucky for her, her mother wasn't with us.
The Hebrew word gazayra means evil decree. Sometimes, a government decree is just that - an indisputably evil order, as when Pharaoh of Biblical times commanded the murder of all Hebrew male newborns.
While randomly perusing some Jewish community newspapers this past week, I was struck by the press releases of several Jewish organizations crowing with excited pride about the significant monetary donations they made for victims of the Tsunami.
A good friend of mine, "Sarah," recently shared her concern over her two year old grandson's health.
From time to time, I am asked where I get ideas for my articles. The answer is simple. Just from getting up in the morning and experiencing life.
While recently riding on a private local bus, I couldn't help but overhear two elderly, balbatish ladies talking.
During this past Yom Tov, I spent some time with my son who lives out of town.
My first-born son's recent marriage was a huge simcha for the family, but the wedding was actually the culmination of a simcha that began years ago - at his bris.