What I Reaped

Harvesting Words

by Ahava Ehrenpreis

I love words. I always have.

Like so many things that make us who and what we are, it’s genetic, a combination of nature and nurture. My father wrote several books, my mother wrote plays and cantatas, my brother has written several important seforim.

Words, but not meaningless words for words’ sake. “Hashem gives you only so many words, don’t waste them” was one of my father’s mantras.

From the earliest age, I’d write things in my mind, recreating a moment or an impression as if I were getting it down on paper. I liked the way the words sounded when I strung them together. I loved reading words (well-written words), and I liked to think of writing as painting a picture.

But I didn’t do much with that particular passion. I traveled to Japan with four kids, wrote a book about it, put it in a drawer.