My baby is going to camp.
“Castle Hill” were the magical words of my childhood. For years, my family and I rented a small bungalow in what we called a “bungalow colony” in the Catskill Mountains in New York State—one colony of many populated by Jews living in “the city” (Brooklyn and Queens) and seeking to escape to, literally, greener pastures.
Gratitude is totally on trend.
Passover’s coming.
On my phone, in my Notes app, I have a note labeled “Worry List.”
Said Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah: “Once a child got the better of me.”