Hanna Geshelin

Recently I realized that my problem was my understanding of what forgiveness is. In my mind, it was conflated with absolution or pardon.

I looked around. Something told me to give the package to the people across the street.

By including the nursing assistants in the culture of the residents, I showed that their work was important, appreciated and valued.

I had a splitting headache, was hot and totally discouraged. All those hours spent preparing for this afternoon, renting a car, four hours of driving—all to perform in a hot, dark hall to an invisible, probably sleeping, audience.

We were hesitant, but we still put on costumes, took our hamantaschen and knocked at the door.

She looked me up and down as though I were a bug on a pin. Then she said the words that still reverberate through my mind . . .