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April 9, 2014

Jonathan Tobin: Why Did Kerry Lie About Israeli Blame?

Samuel G. Freedman: A resolution 70 years later for a father's unsettling legacy of ashes from Dachau

Jessica Ivins: A resolution 70 years later for a father's unsettling legacy of ashes from Dachau

Kim Giles: Asking for help is not weakness

Kathy Kristof and Barbara Hoch Marcus: 7 Great Growth Israeli Stocks

Matthew Mientka: How Beans, Peas, And Chickpeas Cleanse Bad Cholesterol and Lowers Risk of Heart Disease

Sabrina Bachai: 5 At-Home Treatments For Headaches

The Kosher Gourmet by Daniel Neman Have yourself a matzo ball: The secrets bubby never told you and recipes she could have never imagined

April 8, 2014

Lori Nawyn: At Your Wit's End and Back: Finding Peace

Susan B. Garland and Rachel L. Sheedy: Strategies Married Couples Can Use to Boost Benefits

David Muhlbaum: Smart Tax Deductions Non-Itemizers Can Claim

Jill Weisenberger, M.S., R.D.N., C.D.E : Before You Lose Your Mental Edge

Dana Dovey: Coffee Drinkers Rejoice! Your Cup Of Joe Can Prevent Death From Liver Disease

Chris Weller: Electric 'Thinking Cap' Puts Your Brain Power Into High Gear

The Kosher Gourmet by Marlene Parrish A gift of hazelnuts keeps giving --- for a variety of nutty recipes: Entree, side, soup, dessert

April 4, 2014

Rabbi David Gutterman: The Word for Nothing Means Everything

Charles Krauthammer: Kerry's folly, Chapter 3

Amy Peterson: A life of love: How to build lasting relationships with your children

John Ericson: Older Women: Save Your Heart, Prevent Stroke Don't Drink Diet

John Ericson: Why 50 million Americans will still have spring allergies after taking meds

Cameron Huddleston: Best and Worst Buys of April 2014

Stacy Rapacon: Great Mutual Funds for Young Investors

Sarah Boesveld: Teacher keeps promise to mail thousands of former students letters written by their past selves

The Kosher Gourmet by Sharon Thompson Anyone can make a salad, you say. But can they make a great salad? (SECRETS, TESTED TECHNIQUES + 4 RECIPES, INCLUDING DRESSINGS)

April 2, 2014

Paul Greenberg: Death and joy in the spring

Dan Barry: Should South Carolina Jews be forced to maintain this chimney built by Germans serving the Nazis?

Mayra Bitsko: Save me! An alien took over my child's personality

Frank Clayton: Get happy: 20 scientifically proven happiness activities

Susan Scutti: It's Genetic! Obesity and the 'Carb Breakdown' Gene

Lecia Bushak: Why Hand Sanitizer May Actually Harm Your Health

Stacy Rapacon: Great Funds You Can Own for $500 or Less

Cameron Huddleston: 7 Ways to Save on Home Decor

The Kosher Gourmet by Steve Petusevsky Exploring ingredients as edible-stuffed containers (TWO RECIPES + TIPS & TECHINQUES)

Jewish World Review June 29, 2011 / 27 Sivan, 5771

Each and every Fourth of July a cause for celebration

By Sharon Randall




http://www.JewishWorldReview.com | How do you celebrate the Fourth of July? What will you teach your children and their children about its meaning?

Growing up, I knew that I was blessed to be born in the United States of America, the greatest country on the face of the Earth.

I knew it, because I was told so repeatedly by my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, teachers, preachers and passing strangers and anybody else who felt the need to remind me.

"In America," they'd say, "anything is possible. You are blessed and don't you forget it."

I never did. They never let me.

It's a wonderful thing to feel privileged about your place of birth, especially if you don't feel privileged in other ways.

In the '50s, in the rural South, many families were "poor" in income, but we weren't always aware of it. Textile mills didn't pay much, but work was steady. Food was plentiful, thanks to backyard gardens. And shelter, such as it was, was relatively cheap "across the tracks" or downwind from a cow pasture.

Most families that were "well off" had the grace or good sense not to flaunt their wealth or let their children do so. We all had about the same -- enough.

That was true, at least, for white families. If you were poor and white, you didn't have to look far to see that poor and black was a lot poorer.

I remember in those days of racial segregation, riding the bus to school in the pouring rain and passing black children waiting for a bus to take them to an all-black school miles away. Once I asked my mother why those children couldn't go to my school. She pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head to hush me. I didn't argue until years later, when I was teenager and argued about everything.

But I do recall wondering: Did those children -- waiting hours in the rain for a bus that showed up late or not at all -- feel they'd been blessed to be born in the greatest country on Earth?

Never could I have dreamed that in my lifetime a black child would grow up to be president.

The summer I was 10, the mill where my stepfather worked a different shift every week hosted a Fourth of July wingding for its employees and their families, with a barbecue, fireworks and a hotly contested tug of war between the weavers, who ran the looms, and the "fixers," who tried to keep them running.

My stepfather was a weaver, a big man, strong and proud. Just when it seemed the weavers had won, his foot slipped and he fell, losing his grip on the rope and ripping ligaments in his ankle.

He was out of work six months and, for us, poor got poorer.

Santa didn't make it to our house that year, but a lot of good people did, dropping by for a cup of coffee and leaving behind a ham or a sack of pinto beans. I remember in particular a church deacon, who said the Good Lord had laid it on his heart to take the tithe he always left in the offering plate and leave it instead on our table.

We got by. And somehow in the end, we were richer for it.

I've celebrated the Fourth of July lots of ways, lots of places: At hotter-than-the-gates-of-hell picnics in Carolina; bundled up on a foggy beach in California; soaked to the skin in a leaky tent in the rain; and in recent years, on a hill near our house, looking down on Las Vegas, watching fireworks over the Strip.

This year, I hope to hold my first grandchild and see the fireworks in his eyes and cover his ears from the booms.

I will tell him he was blessed to be born in the greatest country on Earth, a nation that is great not for its wealth or power or perfection, but because of the goodness of its people, the freedom it assures us and the promise it makes to one and all, great or small, regardless of who we are, the color of our skin or which side of the tracks we call home: In America, anything is still possible. And that is something to celebrate.

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© 2011, SCRIPPS HOWARD NEWS SERVICE

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