By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
Way back when, at the pink dawn of the 20th century, there began a Golden Age of Parenthood that survived until the Sixties. Unruly kids were rare. The great bustling world outside of the home echoed the speeches of Mama and Papa....
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
My rabbi, a man of learning and strict interpretations of Jewish guidelines, is aware of my propensity to make new Jewish holidays. “Ted, Valentine’s Day is not a Jewish holiday – never was, never will be.”
Well, he’s the...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
Miss Smith, my third grade teacher, stood facing the class with her arm around my shoulders. She looked out to her students, her eyes focused above them. I looked down. I had just finished reciting a poem to the class and before...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
I tell you what I like about our Chumash. It’s so credible the characters are not masqueraded. It’s like the guy selling you the used car who shows you that small dent in the fender. Or tells you the battery is four...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
On the High Holydays, having completed our ethical accounting of the past year, some of us are forced to declare bankruptcy. But we promise our celestial creditor that next year there’ll be a heck of a payoff. We’ll do better, we wail to the...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
“Life is real.
Life is earnest.
And the grave is not the goal.”
– Longfellow
Ah, the High Holidays are ahead of us – facing me – brights on – in the highway of life. To say one “enjoys” them is the...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
I think G-d has a sense of humor. Pardon me if you think that’s blasphemous, but until I learn more – when I stride through those pearly gates – I’ll stick with that theory.
Let’s take one example. Our Creator, when he...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
It was just my usual walk around the block. I wasn’t prepared for a moral challenge any more than when Joseph listened in frustration to the soft cooings of Potiphar’s wife. Just my usual walk until suddenly a fig tree lush enough to...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
I used to be a father. I still am, and now I’m a grandfather, too. But it’s a load I can handle because the job description is just about identical. It calls for inspiration – of young minds and young hearts; especially...
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By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF
“Is it time already?” said the slim, gray-haired man in jeans and the “Pesach Is Coming” T-shirt.
“Certainly,” boomed the voice from the cloud. “TRADITION, you know. Tomorrow night is the first night of Pesach.”
“But sir, I’ve been doing this for...
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