There are boxes stacked neatly in my parents’ apartment, evidence that they are truly going through with their move in two months to Beer Sheva. There’s so much left to pack—a life’s collection—that I suggested that my dad start early and work in short shifts. And with another heat wave gripping Israel, today during my visit, we decided to stay inside and clear out some of the cupboards. Our rule of thumb: if an item hasn’t been used in more than a year, it should probably no

First the sickening sound of the impact, then the jolt as our heads snapped forward and back. Then Mom’s hysterical wailing. It took me a few seconds to realize that Daddy’s car had been hit from behind. My immediate assessment from the back seat was that we were all ok, shocked, shaken, but all in one piece. We moved to the side of the road, the offending car following us to gauge the damage. As Daddy stepped out of the car, Mom’s wail became more insistent. “Where is he goi

Getting ready for Passover is always time consuming and stressful. Not only do we clean the dickens out of our houses, but we use special plates and silverware and many food items that are specific to the week of Passover. This year, in addition to cleaning my fridge and oven, I’m adding a new check list of things to do: Make signs that list what’s in the kitchen cabinets. Maybe this will help Mom remember where we’ve put things for Passover as we switch many of our dishes an

Sometimes it is hard to be in the moment, to push aside internal thoughts and give over to the now. That’s what Mom’s Alzheimer’s demands from me; that’s what I want to give her. We strolled around the city’s main square, watched the expanse of blue sky, felt the hot sun on our backs, bought ice creams, and sat in the shady breeze of umbrellas. Idyllic. When we got home, we watched the first half of The Sound of Music. Mom couldn’t remember having seen it before, and she coul

and a little chicken.... “I hope you don’t feel I’m a nuisance,” she said lightly as we were sitting in synagogue. I might have grumbled internally at answering the same questions over and over again. I might have inwardly groaned at helping her find her place in the prayer book at the expense of my own prayers. I might even have quietly rebelled against helping her dress for synagogue or supervising her in the kitchen and at the table, but until she said it, I was content to