Tehilla R. Goldberg

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.

I can still recall the shudder I felt. It was summer 2019. That week I had just written my column about the horrific tragedy about the danger of children’s death in hot cars — heatstroke. I wrote in order in order to bring awareness of this self-caused agony of bereaved parents, so readers can take the necessary mental and behavioral steps to prevent it.

I couldn’t hide my Jewishness, if I tried. I mean — my name is Tehilla Goldberg! Plus, apparently I dress the part of feminine Jewish religious. Many times in my life when I’d be in a neutral setting, I was referred to or approached with the assumption that I was Jewish, and sometimes even Orthodox Jewish. For me, it was always a point of pride. I lived and breathed Judaism. In my own way, I strongly viewed myself as an ambassador of the Jewish people.