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I see her for years — maybe six or seven. She goes from around 12 to adulthood

What does she think each week as she lights candles, my daughter who is no longer married?

Because hello, it’s Purim. And the seudah. We come as guests and listen to bochurim cry

A triangle, just the shape of the tip of the iron — and it tells a different story

You watch your fellow sufferers, and pick up snippets of conversation not meant for your ears

And then she found them jumping on the bed. Again