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| Getting Past the Whatever Attitude
By Chana Weisberg
There is just too much at stake for us to abandon our children to the cruelties of an irreverent and irrelevant Whatever World | |
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| Opportunities
By Chana Weisberg
My oldest son came home from school one day with a wistful look in his eyes. He must have been seven or eight at the time. "I wish I didn't have blond hair," he said. "I don't think that Moses had blond hair" | |
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| Because She is Mine
By Chana Weisberg
Ours is definitely a give-and-take relationship: I give her everything I've got, and she takes. Yet precisely because she doesn't give anything in return is the connection so strong | |
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| Silent Messages
By Chana Weisberg
"I'm trying to recall some of my earliest childhood memories of my father," said my husband. "But I have none. My mind is blank..." | |
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| Making the Grade
By Chana Weisberg
Slowly and reluctantly, she pulled out a crumpled paper from her knapsack and, with downcast eyes, asked me to sign it. The sad look in her eyes told me more than any number could reveal | |
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| Monster Dreams
By Chana Weisberg
Sobbing loudly, Naomi ran into my bedroom in the middle of the night, for the fourth time that week. "Was it the same dream?" I inquired, knowing what her answer would be | |
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| Sending a Child Away
By Chana Weisberg
My rational mind understands that this is how he will become the person I want him to be, the person he himself wants to be. But my motherly instinct wonders: Will I become a stranger to his thoughts and moods? | |
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| First Snow
By Chana Weisberg
I looked at it, and I wanted to crawl back under my warm covers. My children saw it, and to them it was something to experience, to feel, touch, handle and manipulate | |
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| My Children Pray
By Chana Weisberg
Shira searched for the shortest two chapters in the book. With great care and effort, she began to recite each word, in her most authoritative voice, waiting patiently for her brother to repeat it | |
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