It felt fitting that, this week precisely, I learned something of the impact the events of the early 20th century had on my own family.

An enjoyable hour at the National Portrait Gallery, writes Erin Deborah.

I don’t often write about specific religious observances I follow but, when a Jewish festival basically mandates donating to charity, giving food to friends and enjoying a celebratory feast, it’s hard not to get excited about it.

Ava Siena, of Baroque Barbie fame, shares insights into the learnings she’s undertaken during her PhD.

Journey through Eze in the south of France through pictures.

Looking for holiday inspo? Look no further…

Get me a glass of wine, a hot bath and Renee Zellweger on my screen any day. A giant bucket of popcorn, a duvet and Julia Roberts any evening.

The dining room table in my apartment belonged to a Holocaust survivor.

I’m in a really good mood. Want to know why? I spent the morning browsing my favourite bookshop in all of London.

Spend a weekend in Lisbon. You don’t regret it.

Et voila; the tangled thoughts and eras through which I lived this year, and the gorgeous pages that so supportively accompanied me each step of the way.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year - or so they say, until you throw in sub-Arctic temperatures, busy season at work and this Nice Jewish Girl’s internal debate about just how far she can take the Christmas festivities this year.

A plate of plastic oysters, a pile of painted ramen, a slice of synthetic cake and a tray of waxy sushi. Delicious? Or bizarre?

Armed with my Tate membership card in one hand and an overpriced latte in the other, I took myself on a little solo date to the new Zanele Muholi photography exhibition at the Tate Modern on the Southbank.

Marking a significant day for the Jewish community.

The Barbie exhibit in one word? Pink.

The beaches of the Greek island of Rhodes, the coast of France and the coffee shops of Nice accompanied my summer this year. Oh, as did some books.

Because it’s the thing in my life that is entirely my own.

A review of Soho’s Bubala.

Two generations of girls.