Here's the artifact that foretold the Kardashians’ celebrity.
The Woolsey Fire has killed at least two people, burned nearly 100,000 acres and ravaged hundreds of structures — including several touchstones of Jewish life in Los Angeles.
A home birth in New York City—where neighbors live cheek-by-jowl, often in small walk-up apartments—poses unique challenges not faced in, say, rural Tennessee, where home-birth maven Ina May Gaskin started her practice.
When Rafi Daugherty went to the hospital for the birth of his first child, he posted a sign on the delivery room door. “I am a single transgender man having my first baby,” it read.
Forget the bitter herbs. When about 100 Jews gather in Brooklyn on April 5 for a pre-Passover Seder, they will pay homage to their enslaved ancestors not with the traditional sinus-clearing horseradish, but by spanking each other with wands of chocolate licorice.
In a city as famous for its rats and roaches as for its hot dogs and pretzels, women are pursuing careers in pest control in greater numbers than ever before.
Alice had long believed that Simon — the little brother of her childhood best friend, Ita — had perished with his family at Auschwitz. It wasn’t until last summer, after a family member’s internet search turned up Simon’s memoir, that she learned he had survived the war.
Another week, another oops-we-made-clothing-reminiscent-of-the-Holocaust fiasco. So I’ve compiled some basic rules for retailers who want to avoid selling what looks or sounds like Nazi garb (and the hurt feelings, bad press and mea culpas that come with it).
No one of these alone — heck, not even all of them together — can erase the bittersweet twinge that accompanies this season, but hey, we take what we can get.
When hiring a nanny, plenty of parents are content to go with their gut, plus a glowing reference or two. Others are resorting to more aggressive screening techniques: contracting investigators, poring over an applicant's Facebook page or college transcript—or even requesting medical and personality testing.
When I mentioned recently that we were planning to visit the cemetery where my father is buried, my 6-year-old asked if we could “dig him up.” I smiled and explained to him that once a body is buried, it stays buried. He asked: “Is your dad a skeleton? Is he dust?” “A skeleton, probably,” I told him, though I wasn’t quite sure. My son considered that for a moment. Then he returned to the Lego seaplane he was building, and I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to wade further into the...