How to Worry
by Linda Dayan
Let's face it, worry seems to be an inborn human trait. And
it seems women succumb to the tendency more often than men,
especially when it comes to their children.
No Finer Blessing...
Where can you receive tens of blessings for each of your
children in one shot?
by Tova Weinbrand
by Chaya Roizy Vorhand, Household Management
In last week's article, we tackled kitchen shelves in a two-
step process of Decluttering and Reorganizing.
In Full Bloom
by Shoshana Schwartz, Published by Feldheim
Reviewed by Judith Weil
"In Full Bloom" is the story of a girl who was orphaned at a
young age and was brought up by a childless, totally secular
uncle and aunt. They loved her, were generous to her, but did
not always understand her.
Salmon a la Ruchama
by Yaffa Shepsel
by Channi Katz, London
On this dark winter evening,
My house is castle; I am king,
All family members are at home
I'm not expecting any one.
So, when the doorbell rings,
It can only be one of two things:
Either a neighbor to borrow,
Or a Yid to share his sorrow.
Each story, so genuinely sad,
And, honestly, I'm not mean or bad,
But with resources limited - how to make concession
For the long meshulochim procession?
A child is quick to answer the knock,
From the kitchen I take stock:
A slender figure - so, my hunch was correct,
It's a fundraiser coming to collect.
Just a trifle contrite,
Of course, ever so polite.
My reply well rehearsed,
"There's no cash in my purse."
"Husband unavailable, matter of fact,"
I add, with poise and endless tact,
"Besides, he disapproves when his money's spent,
Without his explicit approval and consent."
Is it not perfect, my excuse?
Believe me, it's no flimsy ruse.
The house is cold - let me shut the door,
My mind's already onto the next chore.
But there's a something about him,
That evokes recollections very dim,
Something familiar about his face...
Must know him from a different place.
Then the accent strong and thick,
Is what makes my mind click.
He's my landsman, no mistake,
The memories - no more vague.
I remember how he joined us one day -
As the years suddenly slide away.
I am transported back to my parents' table,
With the lonely and socially disabled.
In that haven of love and care,
Our Shabbos meals he would share,
An eager Baal Tshuva, seeking readmission,
To his ancient, discarded tradition.
Then the contact fell apart,
He went to Israel to pursue his fresh start,
To study Torah, and meet his intended,
And build a Jewish home, splendid.
But tragedy struck, troubles combined,
His wife to a wheelchair now confined,
And at my doorstep - our paths rejoin,
And he begs me, humbly, for a coin.
Through the grapevine, I knew
That his sad tale was true.
How startling - the anonymous man who came -
Was an entity, a person with a name!
As the stranger - a familiar identity assumed,
A striking realization slowly loomed,
That all the others who knock, day and night,
Also have a name, an address, and a genuine plight.
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