HOME & FAMILY

An `ADD'ed Blessing in Disguise

Puncturing the Hype about Hyper

The Other Half of Sitting Shiva
by Ashira Levine

When one sits shiva, may we not know from such things, there are myriad halochos to keep on top of the overwhelming emotions that can come suddenly and unexpectedly. Below are true life advice/words of comfort from the spouses of those sitting; from... the 'other half.'

ASK THE SHADCHAN
Cold Feet
by Rebbetzin Nomi Travis

Question:

"Although I avoid negative labels, I guess I am what most people would call indecisive. In my many years of dating, I have several times come close to committing myself, but at the last minute something comes up.

TRUE TALES OF YESTERYEAR
For the Sake of His Recovery

by Yisca Shimony

Tzipora Pruskin sat by the table, her eyes brimming with tears. "The doctor was here, but he couldn't find anything wrong. He couldn't help our son," she sobbed bitterly.

"I Still See Them"
A Journey into the Past through the Eyes of Modern-Day Women
by Yonina Hall

"I can still see the fire. Rav Aharon's eyes were burning, and his heart was burning, with ahavas Hashem, ahavas haTorah and ahavas Yisroel."

Your Medical Questions Answered!
by Joseph B. Leibman, MD

A reader asks about additives to coffee which is decaffeinated. I cannot identify any additives to make coffee or colas decaffeinated, and do not believe that there are any that could be harmful to one's health. While we are at it, we will speak a little about food additives

POET'S CORNER

Acceptance
by Shira Yehudit Djlilmand

Acceptance
is maybe a little
like kneading the challah dough

each time it gets smoother
and softer
and airier
more responsive to the touch

the harder you work
the easier it gets
another punch with the fist
another heavy fold
and then leaving it
to rise
alone, slowly
in its own time
breathing deeply
exhaling

is acceptance
maybe a little like this?

Holy Child

by Shira Yehudit Djlilmand

his weight is warm in my lap
his fragile, agile body, moulded into the curve of my arm
as two pieces of a puzzle
made to fit

the velvet of his kippa caresses my chin
ginger curls, framing his golden apple face
fall lightly on my chest
four-year-old knees, riddled with scars
mapping a history of falls and fights
his pockets, bursting with apricot stones
poke incessantly into my legs
his grubby forefinger squelches across the page

he turns his head and looks up at me
a proud flush on his dimpled cheeks

"Ima, I know Alef-Beis"
pure holiness
encased in flesh