This morning my siblings and I scattered our mother’s ashes at the end of a white sandy beach overlooking the turquoise water in Carmel-by-the-Sea. Months before her death, at age 90, my mother called the five of us together and, in an uncharacteristic act of self-assertion, said, “ I want to be cremated .” My siblings and I began talking over and under each other, a vocal game of Twister. “Cremated? Mom, that’s not even Jewish ,” and “What about the rituals…?” and “Have you thought this through?” I flinched at the image of my mother’s body being reduced to...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
