As usual, it started out with questions.
\”Where do you work? What do you do? Have you been on any trips lately?\”
I was all for talking about myself, what I do, where I\’ve been, where I\’m going. But then it got personal.
He saved a stub from Dec. 24.
I know this because I saw it on his desk.
After we\’d broken up; when we shouldn\’t have been talking, and when I certainly shouldn\’t have been in his home.
When I started Milken Community High School\’s middle school after finishing the sixth grade at Abraham Joshua Heschel Day School, I further realized how unacquainted I was with my own feelings toward my religion. Although we had Judaic studies every year, I felt unable to drift away from my parents\’ beliefs and create my own.
I would take my mom against Clint Eastwood in any movie. Sure, he usually plays a grizzled, gunslinger with cat-like reflexes and something to prove, but if you cross my mother, you will find yourself, like the title of Clint\’s greatest Western, \”Unforgiven.\”
Save the few Web sites with supertight security (most of which are considered too babyish by tweens and up), worry resounds throughout kiddie cybersocial world. While parental e-mail consent may be required before activating a child\’s registration, there\’s no way for a Web site to determine whether the e-mailed permission is indeed linked to a parent.
When Peter Saraf signed on to co-produce the film, \”Little Miss Sunshine,\” he says he did so without hesitation. The script, about a dysfunctional family\’s road trip, spoke to him immediately, and he was proud to bring his great-aunt and great-uncle to see it.
Honestly, I\’m glad that the recent vote of the Conservative movement has opened the door a bit toward acceptance of gay and lesbian Jews. Now that this teshuvah, or legal interpretation, was one of two that received a majority vote, I know that this helps some of my gay \”friends and family\” squeeze sideways through the now partially open door. I nevertheless remain sad and disappointed that the door has only opened a little, and the idea that it is a qualified acceptance is troubling to me.
Letters to the Editor
Rob Eshman, whom I admire a lot, and who argued strenuously — even pleaded — for his name not to be mentioned in this (but clearly lost), was nice enough to ask if
I would write something for this special issue of The Journal (which I admire — and read — a lot), and I was very flattered.
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