HOME & FAMILY

Pfft . . . pfft . . . pfft . . . the iron glided rhythmically on the white shirt, straightening the soft fabric and transforming the wrinkled garment into one worthy of being worn.

LIFE JOURNEYS
Time to Forgive
by Sara Gutfreund

Stubbornness, a very Jewish trait — for worse or better

TRUE TALES FROM YESTERYEAR
Tell Them You Are My Sister
by Yisca Shimony

Two women stood in the large and spacious kitchen, busy preparing for the day's meal. They kept talking while their hands mechanically prepared the trays. Noise from the street filtered through the open windows into the kitchen, and Lea, the older of the two, sighed, "It seems that another group of unfortunate people has arrived in town," she commented. Shayne nodded sympathetically.

Yichus
by Lisa Neumann

It's late afternoon on a Friday twenty years ago in Melbourne, Australia. I am a young girl — eight years old. My sister and brother and I arrive with my mother at my grandparents' home. It's almost candle-lighting time. Three generations of Jewish women pause to gaze at the beautiful, polished candlesticks upon which stand the proud and pure tall white candles.

Try a Point Chart . . . Get Results!
by Dena Newman

. . . a great way to spend quality time with your child, review their day, and end on a positive note

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

With today's technology, operations and even blood transfusions can be given even before birth. Birth is not without dangers but I will not go into them at this time.

POETS' CORNER

At Har Sinai, say Chazal, sinah, anti-semitism, descended upon us as a nation. This world watchword has preserved us as a people.

Perhaps the secret of sinah-survival lies in shohni, difference, which is linguistically similar.

Jewish survival, being different, keeping a low profile . . .

Differences
by Ruth Lewis

"Look, aren't the flowers in this neighborhood gorgeous?"
my friend exclaims, bright striding,
bright smile upon bright lips.

"Oh!" I turn to her, surprised out of my reverie,
"Oh, YES! That's just what I was thinking!"
I point across the street to a solitary tree -
A tree, not purple, but a more shrinking violet,
A soft shimmer, shiver, of dull lavender, unshiny,
A petal cloud, bland, blending surprisingly
With sky that sun has drained near-white.

"Mmmm," she answers noncommitally. "But Just look at these!"
I look. Dark vines scale orange-gold stony walls.
And vibrant there, amid the vines,
Boldest of flower trumpets
Brightest of yellows,
Pinks, brash and reckless,
Most glorious of purples.

"Mmmm," I answer, noncommitally,
blinking, shrinking from those Day-Glo hues,
that cheer, that courage, that exuberance, vitality,
shrinking from all that Life.

I bite pale lips, sink back into my reverie.
My eyes gaze long and lovingly
On my shy, my quiet, my
Non-purple tree.