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Jewish Journal

The language of pleading eyes

By Rabbi David Wolpe

May 7, 2014 | 2:38 pm

Elaine Wolpe and husband Rabbi Gerald Wolpe attend a celebration at Sinai Temple in Los Angeles in 2008. Photos courtesy of Rabbi David Wolpe

“The music of his life suddenly stopped.” So reads a line in Chaim Nachman Bialik’s powerful poem, “After My Death.” 

My mother’s music suddenly stopped 30 years ago, but she is still... read full article

  • Mother’s Day: The gift of responsibility

    by Monica Osborne, Contributing Writer

    May 8, 2013 | 6:29 pm

    On Mother’s Day last year, I was already a couple of months into my pregnancy. Still, there could not have been a concept more foreign to me than the idea of being a mother. I was slow to comprehend the impending reality of motherhood, which I knew rendered me different from many...

  • Rhea Kohan: No one spits in her kids’ Kasha

    By Danielle Berrin

    May 3, 2011 | 7:15 pm

    Sunday afternoon at the Kohan home is one of those classic portraits of familial bliss: Children are screaming, singing and scurrying about, clamoring for attention, eager to play, while the adults assembled in the kitchen are trying to have a coherent conversation. Clearly, a tall...

  • Mystery Mother of Long Ago

    by Eileen Douglas

    May 4, 2010 | 7:12 pm

    I wonder who she was.

    My “Common Female Ancestor,” as she was called in the write-up that came with the results of the DNA test I took. We all have one, this mother from another time, or we would not be here today.

    I never thought about her before. A real woman. My mother’s...

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  • My Mother’s Daughter

    by Sandra Hurtes

    May 4, 2010 | 6:55 pm

    As an adjunct professor teaching four writing classes, I’m flooded with student papers. In one of my classes, an outspoken student looked at a tower of students’ essays on the edge of my desk and said, “I’d rather wash floors than have your job.”

    An image of my mother...

  • Not Just a Daughter Anymore

    by Rachel Zients Schinderman

    May 6, 2009 | 7:49 pm

    When I was 4 years old, my father died.

    When I would meet someone new, I needed to get this information out almost as soon as I said my name. “Hi, my name is Rachel,” I’d say. “My father died.”

    Next, I usually let them know that my mother wrote a book about it and that we...

  • The Gift

    by Eileen Douglas

    May 6, 2009 | 7:41 pm

    We stood beneath a big tree, me holding her in my arms.

    Many hours had gone by, and still I had not told her.

    I did not tell her when I found him, ashy gray, on the bedroom floor the day before, when she called out, “Mommy, why are you screaming?”

    I had not told her that first...

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