Forget those ever-self-pleasuring Philip Roth protagonists; this is the new American Jew.
My years guarding Jewish bodies and preparing them for burial, attending funerals and making shiva calls have taught me a lot about Jewish life.
When I prayed for a year for my mother — three times a day, in synagogue — I learned how to change my life.
It began with a phone call on a cold winter day in January 1998. The purpose of the call, from a neighboring Mormon bishop I’d never spoken with before, was unusual: He was requesting a minyan.
Traveling on a three-week East Coast road trip, Rob Kutner endeavors to find a minyan in seven different cities to pay tribute to his father.
After 11 months of saying Kaddish, Jay Michaelson is relieved to let the mourning practice go. It wasn’t healing — even if it did have some beautiful aspects.
Legendary Washington Post newsman Ben Bradlee was put to rest today. Among the traditional hymns, something stands out: the Jewish prayer for mourning.
With Father’s Day near, Larry Mayer offers a heartbreaking and searingly honest memoir. It starts with his late father’s deathbed request that they work together on his obituary.
Leah Vincent writes a letter to her father for Mother’s Day — and in the process, reclaims the Sh’ma as a woman’s prayer.
Last week I attended the funeral of a girl who was my age, 39. Jodi and I grew up together. We lived next door to each other as children, from when I moved into my house right before kindergarten until we left for college. For me she will always be that little girl that I played with for hours on her swing set, trying to break a Guinness Book World record for time spent on a swing. We were inspired by a “Brady Bunch” episode, and we played on the swings until it got dark and our parents called us in.