As a public school child in the 70’s, my Valentine’s Day often ended in tears. I remember digging into my optimistically large brown paper bag in first grade to find only three envelopes, even though my mother had insisted I fill out mass-produced cards for every child in my class. “No one likes me!” I […]
While writing a check tonight for dues to the synagogue I kvetch about, I came to a realization. The best reason to belong to the synagogue is that I don’t feel guilty when we show up five minutes before kiddush. Hey, we’re paying good money not to show up for services. (Or for programs. The last time I tried to pitch a family education event to Ella, she shook her head. “I don’t mind shul,” she said. “But I do not like programs.”)