Parenting, Judaism, and Other Crazy Journeys


Boston Vignettes

America’s Foundation Stone

Today I visited a rock that's as close as one can get when looking for the foundation stone of the American enterprise. It's old, or at least as old as the British migration to North America: It lay here in... Continue Reading →

A Seedling’s Song

In the beginning, there was a seed, and the seed was a note. it was a brave little note. It was a valiant note. It heard the inner call "Now grow!" and rang "I am now!" And then it was... Continue Reading →

Playing Chicken with a Turkey

The other day I played chicken with a turkey. He (or she. Apologies to the lady turkeys) was running full tilt towards me. I was walking down a narrow sidewalk where piles of snow were lining both sides. Now, in... Continue Reading →

New England, in Two Signs

"Jesus died for our sins," annouced large letters on a brick wall, in a simple, unadorned font. Two blocks down, a large car sat idle on the curb, the words "rent-a-center, worry-less life is closer than ever!" swirling, fluid and... Continue Reading →

The Breathing House

We live on the third floor of a house that stands between two streets, between two seasons, between the blood red foliage and the blues and grays above. It's an old house. And it's alive. The floor tells a story.... Continue Reading →

Under the Oak

I passed under an enormous, ancient oak today. Its leaves, green and brown and yellow, rustled over a well kept lawn by a stately old house, and the grass was very green. And I thought, "How elegant." But I wouldn't... Continue Reading →

Of God and Forests

When I walk through the still forest, I hear silence. But within the silence plays the symphony of life. The light is a music only trees can hear, and transform, ray by ray and note by note, into their own... Continue Reading →

Squanto’s Russian Accent

When I came to pick up my kids from school yesterday, I caught the tail end of story hour in my daughter's preschool. Her teacher, who immigrated to Boston years ago, held a large picture book for the group's perusal.... Continue Reading →

Boston Bound

When the pomegranates bloom, I think of my grandmother. "Did the pomegranates blossom yet," she used to ask me in those long afternoons on her veranda. "Are there fruits on the trees? What did you see today? what did you... Continue Reading →

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