As the deputy news editor of The Jerusalem Post, and also the daughter of a Post alumna, there is nothing quite as terrifying as arriving home late at night only to find pages of Haaretz sprawled across your bed. It could only mean one of two things: Either she thinks I caught a story that the competition missed, or alternatively, I dropped the ball on an important news item.

The dynamic in my mother’s house in Herzliya has altered ever since I joined the Post, a newspaper she wrote for from 1982 to 1986. I have transcended the role of a daughter and become something more akin to a sounding board, confidante and – in the best moments – a source to vent her frustrations with her sources and editors.


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