A unique and prestigious residential project in now being built in Mekor Haim Street in Jerusalem.
Now we had our own sort of secret system, and we forged ahead with renewed excitement. The tempo and drive built on their own energy, pushing us forward. Vigorous reading- slow but strong, a suspenseful wait with finger-on-place while I rushed through Rashi at a frenzied pace, a shout of “five seconds!”, renewed concentration for the finger-at-the-right-place- And then we were off again! Again and again and again. It was a long road, but action packed, broken only by quick breaks between the seven parts of the parsha.
I kept waiting for Miri to tire. How far could the child go? But she just kept going. I know she was paying attention, because she never lost the place. Once or twice there was a shout of, “Hey! I know what this words means! We learned it in school!”
Out of thousands of strange words.
I guess I’m not the only one it was appealing to, because, when Avi pushed his bright black eyes through the door somewhere near the end, he begged to join. Eight year old Avi can’t have understood much either, but at least he could read Rashi. Soon we were off, the three of us, two small, strong voices joining mine.
It was hard to believe. I kept wondering when she would be finished, but she just kept at it. A few short breaks for drinks… and the rest of the time she just sat there, in her chair, small finger on the place, large eyes over pink cheeks looking only at the page. Her slow, careful voice read through each word, giving it the time and attention a treasure deserves.
We finished the parsha.
We closed our Chumashim and kissed them with pride. I congratulated my partners with admiration and excitement. “And now,” I said, “we will have to make a siyum!”
While we discussed the details of that very important endeavor, I stared at Miri, still somewhat disbelieving. She had just kept at it and kept at it and kept at it until we were done.
I had loved her when she wrapped her arms around me and met my eyes with her wide, endless brown ones.
I knew she was special when she sat on my lap and listened to what I said, those wide, open eyes taking it all in.
But now… now I knew Miri was a treasure.
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The plan’s goal is to provide supportive housing to 200 individuals with disabilities by the year 2020.
Despite being one of the fastest-growing Jewish communities in the U.S. – the estimated Jewish population is 70-80,000 – Las Vegas has long been overlooked by much of the Torah world.
She was followed by the shadows of the Six Million, by the ever so subtle awareness of their vanished presence.
Pesach is so liberating (if you excuse the expression). It’s the only time I can eat anywhere in the house, guilt free! Matzah in bed!
Now all the pain, fear and struggle were over and they were home. Yuli was safe and free, a hero returned to his land and people.
While it would seem from his question that he is being chuzpadik and dismissive, I wonder if its possible, if just maybe, he is a struggling, confused neshama who actually wants to come back to the fold.
I agree with the letter writer that a shadchan should respectfully and graciously accept a negative response to a shidduch offer.
Alternative assessments are an extremely important part of understanding what students know beyond the scope of tests and quizzes.
Your husband seems to have experienced what we have described as the Ambivalent Attachment.
The goal of the crusade is to demonize and hurt Israel.
The JUMP program at Hebrew Academy was generously sponsored by Evelyn and Dr. Shmuel Katz.
Those people. The ones that hang out at the library, or in certain sections of town, walking, talking…
Miri was a special child.
I didn’t know that at first. She had thick, dark hair, round face, and a slow smile. “I’m six,” she said.
But then I learned what it felt like when Miri wrapped her arms around you and hugged. Her face upturned, that slow smile spreading across it. Reaching her eyes, that would grow, and grow and grow, liquid ovals of brown above cheeks tinged deep pink.
Another tree is down.
I’m driving down Lakewood Avenue, figuring that maybe, just maybe, the tree that blocked the middle of North Lake Drive has been removed, and I can go through. After all, they had a whole day. I’m sure things have been taken care of.
The taxi driver was old and rather shriveled, with a crop of white hair fringing his head.
Ah, I recognize this one, I thought with relief, hurrying to open the door. If I recall correctly, he knows Lakewood. You would think that a taxi driver, being that his/her job is, well, driving, and being that the town they are driving in is, well, Lakewood…
Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/teens-twenties/treasure/2013/07/05/
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