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Emes is not about a crashing orchestra, a vision of high drama. Jewish life is the tiny silver chime of truth.

“Who will laugh with me when I mention Kalman’s name? Who will chuckle at the memory of the broken vase that I hid under my pillow?”

Forty years is almost half a century and it’s difficult to remember what brought us together then

It reminds me of the smell of pungent garlic and sour borscht, of the house dappled with the sounds of Yiddish phrases

I wipe away a cloud of condensation that blocks my view, hoping to see just a small sliver of sunshine, a tiny ray of hope

She, who had numerous children and grandchildren, held my baby like she was a long lost diamond