Essays
This September, my son started middle school and now rides a bus each morning with teenagers whose phones give them access to all the horrors of the world. I think more and more about how much to share — how personal to make our conversations about current events and how they relate to our history.
Years of maternal invisibility had allowed a minor identity crisis to take root.
Even though my family lives in a community with a large Jewish population, we’re still in the minority, so I’m cautious about letting our traditions get rolled over by the Christmas freight engine. I want to make sure our kids know where they come from — that preserving the heritage of our parents and grandparents means holding ourselves a little apart from the dominant culture.
When I turned the doorknob, it stuck. I jiggled it again, slowly understanding: When my mother locked up after dinner, she hadn't merely deadbolted the doors, she'd flipped the extra latches to ensure they'd lock behind her.