It wasn’t really a bomb, don’t worry. You are safe. We were safe. Then we laughed. I’d almost gotten to the front of the line, thinking about what to make the children for lunch, when I realized that the man behind the counter at the Postal Bank Section was calling out, “Shel mi zeh hasakit?”

The first I heard of Matt was from his rosh yeshivah here in Jerusalem, who called to ask if we could have a Shabbos guest. This particular young man, said the rabbi, was a black American convert from New York City, an exceptionally gifted and promising Talmid. We’d be sure to enjoy his company. That

My Cold War childhood took place in the shadow of the A-Bomb. It was the ever-present terror of my life. I’m therefore puzzled, as a citizen of Israel, by what seems to be a kind of fearless insouciance on my part in response to the blatant threats of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Boyish and diminutive, a friendly-looking

Something reminded me this morning of a teenager from my hometown, but I couldn’t recall her name. About forty years ago, she killed her mother by mistake. She was one of my sister Amy’s friends from high school, so my first thought was, I’ll ask Amy, and the next was: But I can’t! Amy died

It’s my good fortune to have one friend with an outrageous talent for seeing the world through spiritual glasses. Underneath her gaze, meaningless events, mundane non-events, come to life as messages sent special delivery from on high. Thousands of messages, thousands upon thousands of messages, messages raining down nonstop from heaven in a compassionate, merciful,