I looked at the exquisite bouquet and smelled its delicate aroma. It was a wonderful bridal arrangement for a wonderful kalla, my own future daughter-in-law. The green leaves, the pink, red and white roses, gathered so tastefully, evoked a flood of emotions. And suddenly, I felt tears of gladness spilling down my cheeks.

Skirting the Issue
by S. W.

She came into the clothing gemach dressed very simply, but neatly, wheeling her infant. Not exactly a young mother. We began categorizing her clothing needs and tastes in our mind as soon as she began referring to her child, who was wearing an outfit with blue trimming, as `she.' An easy-to- please customer who needed something basic, didn't care much, and was happy to pay our nominal prices.

Phone Line
by Rosally Saltsman

My mother o.b.m. always knew whom I was talking to on the phone, just from hearing my end of the conversation. Either it was because of my tone of voice or the subject of our discussion, my body language or how much enthusiasm I displayed to the voice on the other end. My Mom never had to ask, "Who is it?"

WHAT'S COOKING?
The Not-Too-Much Potchka Fancy Cake
by Rifca Goldberg

Easy enough to make in less than an hour with only 2 bowls, elegant enough to serve on yom tov, sheva brochos and bar mitzva, delicious enough to eat anytime, anywhere! This recipe is for a large pan.

Poet's Corner
Analogies
by Ruth Lewis

Some compare His Essence to
A zillion zillion kilowatt electric plant,
And us -- to tiny, fragile,
Five watt lightbulbs.
The bulbs would burst
If not for the transformer,
Converting all that energy into
Something weak enough to bear.

*

Thus, He, as it were,
Dilutes His Essence,
Through the `transformer' of His Attributes.
But it is still He,
Essence and Attributes being indivisible, for
He is One.

*

True,
There can be no
True analogy.
But too mechanical
For me.
Womanly, I'd rather see
Things personally.

*

Picture a genius -- Einstein, say --
With his newborn son.
Does he lecture him,
Voice booming,
On Relativity?
No. He hums a tender lullaby of nonsense words.
He concentrates all of his love,
His essence,
Into the little finger of one hand,
Stroking the baby cheek.
But it is still He.