In Judaism, the anniversary of a person’s death is called their yahrzeit. On that day, the mourner lights a candle, says the mourner’s kaddish, and reflects on the meaning that the deceased person had in the mourner’s life.
These rituals are, generally, not done for a dog.
If they were, though, Captain’s yahrzeit would be sometime in the beginning of August. He died two years ago under somewhat sketchy circumstances. First things first: Captain wasn’t even my dog. And truth be told, there were plenty of moments when I really didn’t like him. But the fact of the matter is that Captain actually changed the course of my life. Read the rest of this entry →
My grandmother’s unveiling was this past Sunday, on Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year. Except the day wasn’t especially sad for me. My grandmother passed away just months before her 96th birthday and she lived a very long and full life. She was well loved. And while I wish my grandmother could have met my daughters, born just two days before her death, I think we’re pretty lucky to she got to meet–and got to know–the six other great-grandchildren who came before my own. Read the rest of this entry →
It’s become abundantly clear that we will all miss Nora Ephron. Our own Jordana Horn shared her slightly (okay, more than slightly) embarrassing story about faking an orgasm a la When Harry Met Sally, and plenty of other writers in the blogosphere have written touching tributes. Here are some of our favorites:
On Tablet: This Was My Life, by Nona Willis Aronowitz
Nora Ephron taught me what an orgasm was. Call me naïve, but I had no idea.
This isn’t as sad as it sounds, truly. I was in high school when When Harry Met Sally… came out. And I loved every part of the movie. This, of course, was despite not being able to relate to it on several levels in the least: unlike the film’s protagonists, I was a suburban teenager who had never had sex. Read the rest of this entry →
In honor of Mother’s Day, one of our writers reflects on the lasting memories of her mom.
My mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in November, 1999. For a while, chemotherapy was her powerful ally, and she won battle after battle against the invader cells. By May, 2002, she was proclaimed “cancer free,” and went traipsing off to Provence with my dad and his cousins for a 10-day adventure, where they enjoyed the flowering countryside, good food, and fine wine.
She returned happy and very, very tired. When the fatigue didn’t lift after a few weeks, she was back at her oncologist’s office, bravely facing the terrible news: The cancer was back. With a vengeance. So, she and her oncologist tried to hit back twice as hard, until she developed a life-threatening toxicity to the only drug that was kicking cancer’s ass. But, instead of giving up, she entered a hard-core clinical trial–one that left her skin blistered and peeling, her nights suffocated by excruciating dreams, and her unusually keen memory foggy and addled. Read the rest of this entry →
There are so many things to say about Maurice Sendak, the incredible children’s writer and illustrator who died today at 83 years old. In the famous book The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales, child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim wrote that the most truly magical works of children’s literature were the ones that allowed children to face their terrors and fears through symbolism. Sendak was a master of this–and not only for children.
I don’t have to look at a calendar. Lodze, the woman who has helped me clean my house for 25 years, and is by now as much friend as “cleaning lady,” already told me the first week in February that she is starting on my kitchen drawers and cabinets. Lodze is a religious Roman Catholic Pole who had family members who died in Auschwitz.
I don’t like Pesach. I dread it. I feel like I should make the shehecheyanu blessing, thanking God for “sustaining us and bringing us to this time” at the end rather than the beginning of the holiday. I’m grateful when it’s over.
Two-year-old Ayelet Galena died early Tuesday morning. When I found out, I cried. I cried for the death of a little girl I’d never met, and for her parents and family. And I cried because I had not done enough.
When she was only a year old, Ayelet was diagnosed with a rare bone marrow failure disease. She received a bone marrow transplant in August. Her brave, incredible parents, Hindy and Seth, blogged each step of the way. In doing so, they let readers into their unimaginable world, and did so with grace, humor, and dignity.
About a year ago, I wrote to you all with a plea–please help my friend’s baby daughter, Ayelet. I explained that she had a disease that attacks bone marrow, and she desperately needed a transplant. Ayelet did have a transplant, at the end of August, but after months of hospitalization, this morning it proved to not be enough to save her life. As is said, baruch dayan haemet–blessed is the true Judge. My heart is breaking for her family. Read the rest of this entry →
When I was still my mother’s little girl, my parents and I spent our sunsets strolling south along Ocean Front Walk. We enjoyed checking out the architectural anomalies along the way–the homes that stared down the sea and sky were almost cartoonish with their clown colors and garish asymmetry. And, every evening–except when the fog rolled in–their windows were lit on fire with the colors of the sky, and walking past them, it felt like we were surrounded by the sunset, completely enveloped on all sides in a primordial orgy of red, violet, and gold.
My parents and I loved our evening walks, when the sun lay low on the lip of the sea, and the wind sashayed through the palm trees. Usually, we’d just stroll down to the old Venice Pier, and then turn around again, but once in a while, we’d linger on, and have dinner at one of the restaurants on Washington Boulevard.
One of our favorite places to go was The Crab Shell, a large restaurant-slash-bar painted Pepto-Bismol pink with mighty windows boldly facing the sea. My mom loved this place because they served up a mean Bloody Mary, delicately spiced and garnished with not one, but two crisp celery stalks. Read the rest of this entry →