Tehilla R. Goldberg

It stopped me in my tracks. A yahrzeit candle perched on a stone plaque right by the Danube River. At the edge of a quiet, tiny...

Two hundred and fifty years. This July 4th carries an additional dimension of momentousness: a landmark birthday, officially called America’s semiquincentennial celebration. It’s been exactly a quarter of a millennium since the Declaration of Independence was signed.

Although I like to believe that last week’s signing of the Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) is not the end of the story, but rather roughly equivalent to the Book of Esther’s chapter 3, when Haman’s power seemed elevated and formalized as he became the recipient of the king’s signatory ring. The story of the Megilla still has multiple chapters waiting to unfold before Haman’s downfall is final. The tension and uncertainty still weigh heavily.

It’s called a ceasefire, yet these past few “ceasefire” weeks have been devastating. More young beautiful soldiers with their whole lives ahead of them, serving in Lebanon, fighting Iran- sponsored Hezbollah terrorists, in order to secure Israel, now dead.

As spring melts into the onset of summer, the vivid and colorful landscape around us deepens. Pinks, greens, blues, golds. The colors of flowers and fruits — blushing peaches, apricots and plums. Flowering peonies, dahlias and poppies. Amidst these, there’s the fleeting season of pink rhubarb stalks.