A moment before the last bell of the year, I look out at the girls who were mine since September.Who are mine still for a few seconds more, before they are claimed by summer and next year and a new roster of teachers and subjects. I’m still talking, explaining when they’ll find out their grades
They are trusting, these girls, baring vulnerabilities, some in front of the group, some just on paper
You may look back on the year and wonder, what difference did I make? Whose life did I touch? And will anyone remember?
Why else would Hashem take the trouble to arrange such wild circumstances to ensure I buy this book?
Wanting love — it makes me human. Making mistakes — it makes me human. Learning from them and changing — makes me human
My home thrums with the energy of joyful music, wooden spatulas drumming on my garbage can, and the thumping of sneaker-clad feet
