In this issue
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 March 20, 2007 / 1 Nissan, 5767


By Paul Greenberg

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http://www.JewishWorldReview.com | LITTLE ROCK — The morning was bright when the older man walked out of the airport, but his face was overcast.

A grandfather, he had just said goodbye to his daughter and her kids — a four-year-old boy, a two-year-old girl — after a visit he'd looked forward to. The visit wasn't exceptional. They'd fixed some meals together, sat around the dining room table once again, talked about old times, gone to a neighborhood park every afternoon, got the kids together with their cousins for a few outings, taken a wonderful, windy walk across the big dam bridge.

Now mom and kids were on their way back to the big city in the East where she'd married and settled down. The visit was over, and he probably wouldn't see them again till summer.

The simplest things stood out in his mind. He'd watched the little boy playing on the deck behind the house. The boy had picked up a stick somewhere but you could tell it had become something else in his hands — an airplane, a log on which he briefly balanced himself, a baton to ward off the forces of evil. There was a dreamy expression on the little boy's face, which would vanish when the neighbor's dog barked, then return.

Watching him from afar, the grandfather was reminded of how he would play on a rickety back porch long ago, turning the simplest objects, like a stick, into a race car, a Sherman tank, a P-51 fighter making the appropriate noises for each under his grandmother's watchful eye.

A grandfather now, he hadn't thought about that porch in the longest time, but now he could see its every detail — the splintery wood, the water faucet next to it, the screen door that led to the porch and how it sounded when it banged shut.

Things don't change all that much from generation to generation, he thought, watching the little boy. They had gone to see some old friends of his who lived atop a rolling hill along the river, and the boy had taken it into his head to go rolling, rolling, rolling down the hill all the way to the bottom, or at least as far his momentum would carry him.

It looked like so much fun the grandfather couldn't help himself, but threw himself down the hill, too, his jacket twirling with him, his spectacles flying off at one point. He was surprised at how easy it was to roll down a hill. (Stopping was the hard part.) He found his glasses, put them on to see how far he'd rolled, and had to resist the temptation to do it again while his friend brushed him off. He owed the boy a lot, he thought. He'd never have gone down the hill without the four-year-old's example.

And the little girl! The little girl who was named for his late wife. He never said her name without smiling inside. She seemed so much older than her two years. Having an older brother to stand up to probably helped. She was definitely her own person. Girls mature faster than boys, he thought, which confirmed his old belief that they were the superior sex.

Both unremarkable children, he thought, but their every breath was remarkable to him. Then he corrected himself: The little girl did have this habit he'd never seen on another child. Whenever she was about to do anything that required the least concentration — running, jumping, getting in and out of her car seat, thinking hard about how to answer a question, even eating or drinking, she would roll up her sleeves. Every time. Like somebody about to drive a stake into the ground. He couldn't get the picture out of his mind.

Then it was time to go find his car in the airport parking lot. The words formed of themselves, without conscious thought: Every separation from a daughter — and her children! — is a small devastation.

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