I had a fortunate upbringing, but I was not bathed in compliments. So when recently, my Mom observed that I resembled my great Aunt Leah of blessed memory, I took that with a grain of salt and a couple glasses of wine. Aunt Leah’s reputation was of a kind woman, a loving woman, but, dare I say- homely. I remember what a loving marriage she had and how I barely ever saw the two apart. I remember how happy she was to see me and how she always offered me food – the perfect aunt! My uncles also adored her.
So, of course, with the power of motherly suggestion, nowadays when I look into the mirror I see the reflection of my childless Aunt Leah.
How long are we remembered for? Two generations, three? If we are lucky enough to have great-grandchildren and to tell them about our grandparents, that would...
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Advice to aspiring writers who are considering self-publishing: Self-publishing is relatively straightforward, but marketing is the major hurdle.
Leslie and I have rejoiced over the comments of our friends, acquaintances, and strangers who have read Jewish Luck and written reviews or notes to us. We aspired to write the book to appeal across cultures and age groups and from our unscientific survey, we’re succeeding. But how do we storm the shelves of local bookstores?
Bookstore managers are an embattled breed. They are trying to fight the aptly named Amazon. A new book with a weird title by unknown authors? “No, thank-you” or “We’ll think about it and get back to you” are their responses. And now out of the pack emerges one resounding “yes!” Thanks to Magers & Quinn of Minneapolis for taking a risk.
For those of you unfamiliar with this bookstore that sounds like an English marmalade, it is located in uptown Minneapolis at... 
You had to be in Russia in the '70s to believe it, and if you were there, this happened to you too - forming deeper friendships in less time than you would have ever believed possible. In Jewish Luck, I alluded to "the other friends," the group that Vera deemed unsavory. Here is the story, the prequel to meeting Vera.
On my second day in Leningrad, I dragged my friend, Robyn off to the "Museum of Atheism and Religion", housed in the beautiful semicircular Kazanski' Sobor, an Orthodox church in a previous life. Behind us stood two Scandinavian-looking men - one had twinkling blue eyes, long blond hair and a bushy blond beard. Except for his blue jean jacket and the warmth of his smile, he could have stepped out of the pages of a Tolstoy novel. The other appeared more ragged and seemed more likely to have stepped out of an... 
