Original Stories

If you haven’t visited my Original Stories section yet, enjoy the beginning of these stories:

I met Rosa when my Mother and I were at the park.  I’d brought hallah from Shabbat to feed the ducks. At the lake in the center of the park I saw a girl my age tossing bread into the water. Although it was warm, she was wearing a knitted cap.
I sat down next to her and she shyly said “Hi, I’m Rosa. Want some cornbread to feed the ducks?”
“My name is Mira and I brought hallah for them.”
“What’s that?” Rosa asked.
“It’s a special bread that Jewish people eat when we celebrate Shabbat, the Sabbath.”
“Oh,” she responded. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten hallah. My Mom makes the best cornbread and it tastes great with honey.”
“Hallah tastes good with honey too,” I replied thinking about Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, when we dip our hallah into honey for a sweet New Year. “Do you come here often?”
“I used to play on the playground but I haven’t felt strong enough. I have cancer. On Mondays I go for treatments. I usually feel very sick afterwards. By the weekend I start feeling better.  This hat was great in the winter but it’s itchy now that the weather is warm.”
“Why don’t you take it off?” I asked.
“My cancer treatments made my hair fall out and people will stare!”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say as I ran my fingers through my long hair.


Written with my daughters, Gabrielle Radonsky & Shannan Rouss

When I was only one,

I thought mealtime was such fun.

I’d use my hand to scoop up food,

But then I learned that this is rude.


To have food flying through the air,

Getting stuck in Daddy’s hair,

Landing on the floor or clinging to the walls,

Dripping from the ceiling until at last it falls.


I’d giggle at the gook that covered every space.

Mommy looked so funny with it sliding off her face.

I do admit. I must confess.

How I loved to make a mess.


Then I turned two and one afternoon

My mommy said, “Here honey, try a spoon.”

She smiled and spoke so sweetly.

“Now it’s time to eat more neatly.”


When I eat, there’s no more mess.

But I like mealtime so much less.

I eat politely. I don’t slurp.

I say “Excuse me”, when I burp!