In this issue
April 9, 2014

Jonathan Tobin: Why Did Kerry Lie About Israeli Blame?

Samuel G. Freedman: A resolution 70 years later for a father's unsettling legacy of ashes from Dachau

Jessica Ivins: A resolution 70 years later for a father's unsettling legacy of ashes from Dachau

Kim Giles: Asking for help is not weakness

Kathy Kristof and Barbara Hoch Marcus: 7 Great Growth Israeli Stocks

Matthew Mientka: How Beans, Peas, And Chickpeas Cleanse Bad Cholesterol and Lowers Risk of Heart Disease

Sabrina Bachai: 5 At-Home Treatments For Headaches

The Kosher Gourmet by Daniel Neman Have yourself a matzo ball: The secrets bubby never told you and recipes she could have never imagined

April 8, 2014

Lori Nawyn: At Your Wit's End and Back: Finding Peace

Susan B. Garland and Rachel L. Sheedy: Strategies Married Couples Can Use to Boost Benefits

David Muhlbaum: Smart Tax Deductions Non-Itemizers Can Claim

Jill Weisenberger, M.S., R.D.N., C.D.E : Before You Lose Your Mental Edge

Dana Dovey: Coffee Drinkers Rejoice! Your Cup Of Joe Can Prevent Death From Liver Disease

Chris Weller: Electric 'Thinking Cap' Puts Your Brain Power Into High Gear

The Kosher Gourmet by Marlene Parrish A gift of hazelnuts keeps giving --- for a variety of nutty recipes: Entree, side, soup, dessert

April 4, 2014

Rabbi David Gutterman: The Word for Nothing Means Everything

Charles Krauthammer: Kerry's folly, Chapter 3

Amy Peterson: A life of love: How to build lasting relationships with your children

John Ericson: Older Women: Save Your Heart, Prevent Stroke Don't Drink Diet

John Ericson: Why 50 million Americans will still have spring allergies after taking meds

Cameron Huddleston: Best and Worst Buys of April 2014

Stacy Rapacon: Great Mutual Funds for Young Investors

Sarah Boesveld: Teacher keeps promise to mail thousands of former students letters written by their past selves

The Kosher Gourmet by Sharon Thompson Anyone can make a salad, you say. But can they make a great salad? (SECRETS, TESTED TECHNIQUES + 4 RECIPES, INCLUDING DRESSINGS)

April 2, 2014

Paul Greenberg: Death and joy in the spring

Dan Barry: Should South Carolina Jews be forced to maintain this chimney built by Germans serving the Nazis?

Mayra Bitsko: Save me! An alien took over my child's personality

Frank Clayton: Get happy: 20 scientifically proven happiness activities

Susan Scutti: It's Genetic! Obesity and the 'Carb Breakdown' Gene

Lecia Bushak: Why Hand Sanitizer May Actually Harm Your Health

Stacy Rapacon: Great Funds You Can Own for $500 or Less

Cameron Huddleston: 7 Ways to Save on Home Decor

The Kosher Gourmet by Steve Petusevsky Exploring ingredients as edible-stuffed containers (TWO RECIPES + TIPS & TECHINQUES)

Jewish World Review July 11, 2011 / 9 Tamuz, 5771

On summer

By David M. Shribman

http://www.JewishWorldReview.com | ALGONQUIN PROVINCIAL PARK, Ontario, Canada—For weeks the skies were gray, the days were wet, the summer sunshine a distant memory. Then — perhaps because of Canada Day, which was July 1, or Independence day, on July 4th — everything changed. And here, in the country of winter, I finally found summer, and I fell in love with her again.

I remembered that the sound of summer is the cry of the lonely loon, or maybe the splash the paddle makes as it breaks the quiet water of early morning on Tanamakoon Lake. I remembered that the look of summer is the Cache Lake contrast of the blue water against the white pine, which of course are green. I remembered that the smell of summer is bug spray.

I remembered that the taste of summer is Muskoka Ginger Ale, made from pure spring water from artesian wells and bottled in Gravenhurst, Ontario, since 1873 — what you might call the real Canada dry. I remembered that the feel of summer, even on the hottest days, is the icy cool of the lakes that are dropped like commas on the landscape of Canada's water wilderness.

We don't live in the bush, we only come and visit, hoping that its lore and lessons last with us all winter, which in these parts, some four hours' drive beyond Toronto, is only a few months away.

We aren't coureurs de bois, the explorers of Canada's colonial times, hunting for furs and alternative routes to the Great Lakes, but merely city people looking, on our few weeks off, for an alternative way to view the world.

We're not here to cut down the woods, as the British began doing when the French cut off the supply of Baltic timber during the Napoleonic Wars, but to respect and celebrate them.

And for us the canoe is a means of recreation, not a conveyance of commerce or war. It is, as Samuel de Champlain discovered, the ideal means of transport. We agree with John Jennings, who once held the enviable title of vice chair of the Canadian Canoe Museum, that the canoe, which appeared here long before the Europeans, which took its modern form in cedar about a century and a half ago and which now rules the lakes in aluminum, fiberglass and other new materials, is "an enduring symbol of wilderness and freedom throughout North America."

My summer meditations have often leaned toward the canoe, perhaps because four generations of my family have visited these wooded lakes, perhaps because for the past 11 summers we have been drawn here, intoxicated by a country stuffed full of speckled trout and black bass in a land that otherwise turns out to be empty — an emptiness full of meaning.

"Canadians will always be drawn to images of bark canoes, and their so-called 'domesticated trees' will continue to affirm significant aspects of the distinctive national and cultural heritage of our country," writes James Raffan, one of the leading evangelists of the Canadian canoe culture and the recipient of a Canadian Governor General's Award for Gallantry for his role in a river rescue.

On summer days like these, I realize that the greatest gift I received from my mother, who turned 80 last week, is her Canadian heritage. Long before she moved to New England, married an American and started her family in Boston, she visited a land described in an old Grand Trunk Railway System ad exactly a century ago as "a woodland paradise."

Today this land where summer thrives is the most studied part of Canada, spawning well more than 2,100 scientific papers. It wasn't always this way, of course. According to a history of the area by Ron Tozer and Dan Strickland, more than half "the able-bodied men in Canada spent their winter in the bush 'hurling down pine' — in the park area and everywhere else our hard-working, great-grandfathers found majestic pines towering above the forest."

And so as summer began this year, I heard the cry of the lonely loon, and also the splash of the paddle. I looked at the contrast of blue water against white pine. I smelled the bug spray. I gulped a bottle of Muskoka Ginger Ale. Even when no one else would venture into Cache Lake, I felt the icy cool of its redemptive waters.

And this, too: I remembered that the sweetness and sadness of summer — for it is fortified with ample measures of both — are what shape the most enduring part of our lives.

The sweetness you know — the way the days last long into evening, the way we linger in the downtown blocks of a summer town right up to closing time, the way we don't count the calories in a cone of fresh custard, only to count our blessings at sunset.

But the sadness is here, too. For two decades summertime was for us a combination of first person rural and first person plural. With our girls we climbed into the White Mountains and wondered at the geological formations of the western desert and braved the bracing water of Maine's shore and ventured into Algonquin lakes.

Now our girls are grown, and mostly gone. They view our home as an emotional Charlotte or Chicago — the hub, to be sure, but also the place they go en route to somewhere else. They have their own summers, and we have ours, and happily ours are more sweet than sad.

Yet on these summer days I constantly think of them, discovering their own peaks and valleys, finding their own passages, learning how to navigate their canoes and, before long, their careers. I know that part of the light of their lives has been the time they almost were blown into a deep ravine by the wild westerly winds that blew across a shoulder of New Hampshire's Mount Lafayette and the times they held our hands on the impossibly beautiful beaches of Maine, actually believing we were strong enough to protect them from the tides.

I hope this: Maybe some day in a time far away they might pause and recall the sweetness of their own summers, the ones we shared and the ones to come, and discover, as we have done these past few years, that it is not only in the winter of life that memories are strong. Perhaps they are strongest most of all in summer.

Comment by clicking here.

David Shribman, a Pulitzer Prize winner in journalism, is executive editor of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.


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05/30/11 The 14-week challenge
05/23/11 Delay tactics
05/16/11 Republicans are waiting
05/09/11 Bin Laden is dead. What does it mean?
05/02/11 From nobodies to nominees
04/25/11 The founders left slavery for future generations to settle, and we still haven't fully come to terms with it
04/18/11 From audacious to cautious
04/11/11 Dreaming of space
12/12/10 The GOP takes control
12/06/10 DECEMBER 7
11/29/10 GOP presidential hopefuls already are lining up local supporters in what is now a red state
11/22/10 Burning down the House
11/15/10 Institutions of higher learning are finally beginning to teach important lifeskills
11/04/10 The war has just begun
11/01/10 Echoes of a speech 40 years ago this week still resonate today
10/25/10 50 years ago America chose between two men who were dramatically different --- and eerily similar

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