I had hoped that it would be an \”empowering\”experience, going to the movies alone on New Year\’s Eve. And I really wanted it to be. But when I sat alone in a dark theater at midnight, sipping my Diet Coke and munchinggreasy popcorn, I didn\’t feel as Erica Jong as I had hoped.
As the American Jewish community celebrates the50th anniversary of Israel\’s independence, those of us who went overto fight as volunteers in the fledgling country\’s armed forces canlook back with special pride and remembrance.
I was in the back seat looking in theother direction, so I did not actually see the young Palestinian who,from an elevation at the side of the road, lofted a block of concreteabout 10 inches in diameter in our direction. He made an almostperfect hit, near midpoint on the front windshield. Thunk!
I have never been a fan of group travel. Bernie and I like to headout for parts unknown, armed only with a guidebook and a rental car.
When I was warned by Israeli friends that the El Al experience would be unique, they never told me about being crushed between two Ivy League men on a midnight flight to Tel Aviv.
The news hit me as hard as a stale mandlebrot: Noah\’s Bagels wasgoing treif. They were abandoning us, tossing aside Los Angeles\’loyal kosher consumers like so many day-old minis.
One day, a tall, youthful Stanford grad named Jeremy Cowan decidedthat it was time to chuck his career in computers and create the verything human society lacked most: a Jewish beer.
One of my favorite things to do is write children\’s songs. Over the years, I have written lots of innocuous little ditties for kids as a way of teaching them about Jewish holidays and rituals, ethics and values, and how to treat families and friends.
My little Long Island town had two shuls: ourConservative synagogue close to home and the one we called the\”other,\” across town. My parents never mentioned it by name. The shulwas Reform.
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