Parenting, Judaism, and Other Crazy Journeys



A baby on a river

The sand is hot beneath my feet this winter, and a traveler told my father that the southern mountains knew no rain. Another bad year, people whisper. The water will run low again, they speculate. There won't be any harvests... Continue Reading →

Joining the Exodus

Four years ago, my father celebrated his Bar Mitzvah. He was 65-year-old at the time, well above the traditional 13, but growing up in ┬áthe USSR wasn't exactly conducive to religious celebrations. My father didn't even celebrate the Jewish holidays... Continue Reading →

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