Nina Glick

Am I the only one who cracked up when I heard the name of the category 5 hurricane which recently arrived on the shores of the Caribbean, then moved on to the Yucatan Peninsula and the Gold Coast, and who knows where and when it will make landfall? Who picked the name Beryl? There had […]

I had a rude awakening this morning as I ran into Dunkin' to get a coffee. A lady was sitting at a high table by herself watching the scene when she suddenly looked at me and said, “You are 70 aren't you?” I was slightly shocked by her inappropriateness, reminding myself that there are all kinds of people in the world and I said, “Yes, I am 70!” It sort of jolted me into reality. I rarely think about what age I look. I try to dress nicely and appropriately for whatever occasion it may be. I do not put a significant amount of time into making sure that I am in style with everything that I wear. But I do enjoy being complimented if I am looking especially nice (who doesn't?).

I have declared quite frequently what I think of the dating scene today and how I feel for the young men and women who are encouraged to meet through shadchanim. I doubt I will ever change my opinion on that subject. Watching young men and women dressing in their finest clothes while attending a wedding and then seated at separate tables and in many cases with a mechitza between them does not sit well with me. What a waste of time spent making up one's face and doing one's hair.

When I heard the news on Motzei Shabbat, I felt as though my breath was taken away. They, our sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, were still alive after all this time, so close to being found alive, and the animals went in and slaughtered them, days, hours maybe, before they might have been saved. Hashem, you've got me. I try so hard to daven each day and believe in your ways. I have had hard times when I challenged your wisdom and convinced myself that the only way to get through life was to have total emunah and bitachon. Over and over I have told myself, “No, Nina, you are not meant to understand the ways of Hashem.” This, however, was just so painful.

Each day, after parking my car in our driveway, I automatically reach into my mailbox to remove whatever is waiting for me. Lately I am barely able to hold all of the many letters which are stuffed inside it. Momentarily forgetting that no one of any significance sends handwritten letters anymore, I am eager to check the pile out. One after the other, each envelope is more colorful than the next, each from a different tzedakah organization requesting donations for their very important causes. Please do not misunderstand me;I understand the great need and great work that each of these groups is involved in. What I cannot figure out is how it would be possible for me or anyone else to actually respond with a donation to each one. One day I literally took a picture of the myriad of envelopes which I had received upon my homecoming. By the way, none of them were local organizations. I am sure that each one is worthwhile, but I for sure am not able to donate to each one and I am certain that many others are in a similar position. Of course there are local facilities that we are all more familiar with. Each shul, the mikvah, Project Ezrah, Sharsheret, Chabad, Tomchei Shabbos, Friendship Circle—I could go on and on. Where does it end and what is the solution to such a growing number of organizations that rightfully deserve to be supported?

Yesterday I was reminded of something that most of us probably do not give much thought to. I received a notice that an acquaintance from Montreal had passed away. Her name was Elaine Baer, and I met her together with several other lovely chesed-seeking women who thought maybe in Montreal there was a need for a home to bring together foster children. They contacted me, and I immediately explained that the need I saw as most important was a group home for teens and young adults in the Jewish community that could accommodate every Jewish child, including those from the most strictly observant homes. It needed to be as similar to family as it possibly could be. It didn't take long for them to join together with me and several others to form what today is probably one of the most outstanding group homes in the world: Maison Shalom.

I am obviously very out of it. When I mentioned to my kids that it was Columbus Day this past Monday I was told to bite my tongue! We are now celebrating Indigenous Peoples' Day. How all of us children looked forward to October 12. We learned all about Christopher Columbus and his famous ships, the

I cannot imagine there is one of us who will not be thrilled to stop receiving phone calls, text messages and emails reminding us of the accolades of the candidates involved in the very-soon-to-be-held presidential election. Nauseating is not a strong enough word to describe the amount of time and money that is spent on these rants. As the messages come in I delete them without reading or listening to them, but that is no comfort. If only this election would bring some closure to all of us with the knowledge that we would be electing a candidate we felt proud and passionate about.

Highlighting: “Despite Everything: A Chronicle of Jewish Resilience in the Aftermath of October 7th” by Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz. Independently published. 2024. Paperback. 269 pages. ISBN-13: 979-8340458070. Reading age: 10-18 years. It was with great admiration and excitement that I recently read “Despite Everything: A Chronicle of Jewish Resistance in the Aftermath of October 7th” by […]

Returning from two weeks of celebrating and enjoying the euphoria of a grandson's wedding, I returned to the commemoration, celebration, realization, or whatever it is called, of my Mordechai's yahrzeit one day later. Three years for some may seem like a long time. I can honestly say that for me, very few things have gotten easier. I come home every day to an empty house. I go to sleep, sometimes reaching over to the other side of the bed trying to feel what used to be his presence, and I practically never sit at my kitchen table because I cannot stand to be there by myself. I've learned to grab a yogurt on the run, make myself a coffee, and have yet to figure out the best way to make Havdalah alone. I've mastered holding the candle, as I now have one that stands on the table (thanks to my granddaughter), holding the cup, and no longer bother to get our beautiful silver besamim but now substitute cinnamon, which I always have on hand. Kiddush alone, which occurs rarely, is 1-2-3. Our home, which used to be a meeting place for all different types of people and which was always open to all, is now quiet and empty.