It’s far deeper than mere legal minutiae.
Our children are not our clones. That’s hard to accept sometimes.
As the only woman in an otherwise all-male Talmud class, I was afraid to open my mouth.
When we’re home, I’m quick to anger. But when we’re in the playground, I keep my voice soft and exchange eye-rolling glances with other parents.
We remember best what we sing, which is why it is easier to recall song lyrics than to recite a poem from memory.
“The only remedy for your baby is fresh goat’s milk,” the doctor told me.
This Tisha B’Av, though much has been lost, it is heartening to know that there were Women of the Temple long before there were Women of the Wall.
Some things never changed about Anna Kainen: The pink kerchief perched atop her forest of gray hair; the large dark glasses; the tan pants that looked as if she had sewn them herself. When I arrived each Sunday morning at her 14th-floor apartment on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, she would always greet me with the