We see men running, talleisim flapping after them in the wind. We run after them, to the makeshift bomb shelters set up behind the shul
Each week, there’s a new mix of guests at the table. People her neighbor finds in shul, people who have nowhere else to go
Off to the shoe store goes every mother whose husband has bein hazmanim. She takes along every one of her children who has two feet, including the baby who is bound to start walking within a year, because, hello, 40 percent
Self-pity sweeps in like a welcome friend. Will I ever really be understood? Why can’t Aryeh have a turn looking after these little troublemakers?
“If I have a chandelier in my bathroom,” Ma reasoned, “why should it bother anyone? It’s my bathroom, after all”
The scarf is tied tightly around my eyes. I grope and stumble in the dark, looking for my Ima. Eventually, I catch hold of a figure. I rip the scarf from my face. But it is never Ima. It’s always one of her three faces.
