"I just know you are going to love it here…" the sugary voice of the real estate agent broke through my daydream in which our future house featured prominently. "This yishuv is known for its warm and friendly atmosphere; there are several shuls to choose from; you'll never find a house at this price so close to Yerushalayim; and the schools are some of the best in the country."
Dear Dad, A dozen years. It seems like a lot and it seems like a few. So many things have changed and some things never seem to change.
You know the way your house smells on Friday night when the cholent is bubbling away in the crockpot? Did you ever think of using that crock-pot or slow cooker during the week? Well, I did and I had no idea one slow cooker could create so many tasty dishes, all easy to whip up and full of flavor.
If the phrase mishloach manos conjures up dreaded images of piles of sugar laden treats that no one wants to eat cluttering every available horizontal surface just weeks before Pesach, chances are that this is one part of the happiest of Yomim Tovim that you are not looking forward to.
Ashira Greenberg is a pretty, talented and articulate young lady who, at the tender of age of seventeen, has just published a book.
Within the span of just a few weeks, everything I knew about myself and all of my plans were destroyed. I was out of yeshiva, living at home and enrolled in classes at Northeastern Illinois University (NEIU).
Dear Cheryl, Your thoughts in last week's column were an absolutely perfect reflection of everything going through my mind and the minds of many of my friends for the last few years. Thank you so much. I always enjoy reading your articles, and when I read this one I felt I had to write to you because the topic touches such a nerve with me.
Deliberating over terminating a pregnancy is a struggle Rachel* never thought would face her. Life in Northern Israel with her husband and daughter was great until a business they invested in brought a huge financial loss and left them in debt.
Shemos B’nei Yisroel began last week’s parsha – these are the names of the children of Yisroel.
Suzanne called me today about the newest humiliation she had just experienced. At the gym, a personal trainer loudly reprimanded her for trying to help another person with some equipment, and he did so in front of nearly everybody who was working out there.
Welcome once again to “You’re Asking Me?” – the column that answers all kinds of questions, depending on how loosely you define the word “answer.” Whereas other so-called advice columns are interested in providing you with well-researched advice, my concern is more to get you to stop asking me questions, by whatever means necessary.
On a cold, rainy morning in late October, a group of people of various ages, places, and points in their lives gather together in Central Park to train for an upcoming marathon.
I’m a hungry mama and winter definitely brings more cravings than my pregnancy did!
If you are anything like me you may have noticed that slowly but surely the Internet is creeping further and further into your everyday life as you turn towards the web for countless tasks.
The family: Parents Avinadav and Hanna Kalef; son, Ortal; daughter, Kinneret and son, Ronen. All of three Kalef children married while the family lived in Gush Katif and are themselves today, parents.
Master of the Universe, I am filled with remorse and compunction. My head is bowed in shame, my hands tremble, and my heart overflows with trepidation as I approach you with my abject confession of guilt.
What began 10 years ago as a small group of volunteers providing mental health referrals within the Jewish community has evolved into a full-fledged mental health referral, education and support organization that takes on 6,000 new patients annually in four major cities across the globe.
As we get older, nostalgia takes over many areas of our life and we often yearn for things from the past.
To explain to my children what Chanukah was like for me as a young girl, I find I am just as inclined to recount what it wasn’t as I am to describe what it was.
Miss Ida is our beloved teacher. Her brown hair is piled softly on her head. Her dress is of course old and worn, and she must...