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Sonia Taitz
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Sonia Taitz is the author of The Watchmaker's Daughter. In the King's Arms, and Mothering Heights. Her writing has been featured in the New York Times, O: The Oprah Magazine, ABC's Nightline, and PBS. Ms. Taitz earned an M. Phil from Oxford, where she was awarded the Lord Bullock Prize for Fiction, and holds a J.D. from Yale Law School. For more information, visit www.soniataitz.com or follow Sonia on Twitter @soniataitz.

Entries by Sonia Taitz

Veteran's Day: It's Never Really Over

(0) Comments | Posted November 13, 2013 | 10:25 AM

On Veteran's Day morning, my Facebook page lit up with postings from friends, "friends" and colleagues honoring family members who had served in battles past. The one that caught my eye -- and breath -- was from an author whose words and character I admire. She wrote to honor her...

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Women's Studies: A Mother's Day Étude

(0) Comments | Posted May 12, 2013 | 6:48 PM

I've always been what they call a "daddy's girl," and proud of it. "Daddy's girl" sounds smart, game, and winning. Daddy's girls know how to wrap stern men around their little fingers, cleverly winning smiles from curmudgeons. They know how to catch a busy man's eye. But it's so much...

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A Valentine for Everyone

(0) Comments | Posted February 7, 2013 | 4:11 PM

Valentine's Day is drawing near, an avalanche of roses, hearts and chocolates. I am very afraid of this day; its mascot is Cupid, who seems to be a short-sighted boy who's armed with a sharp arrow. Ouch, you impudent bully!

I've been hit by some spears in my time. I've...

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Homecoming

(0) Comments | Posted November 19, 2012 | 5:09 PM

What will we leave our children when we're gone? Most of us will leave pictures and scrapbooks; echoes of their lives and our own. We'll leave memories of bad times and good, and how we tried to raise them, with love and well-meant stumbles. For some of us, there will...

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When Your Children Marry

(17) Comments | Posted October 24, 2012 | 2:40 AM

Life's stages are strange, wonderful and sometimes jarring. Not very long ago, I was a babe in my mother's arms. Then, after a couple of decades, I was a babe in a man's arms. Then, after a time of personal growth so misleadingly long that I thought I would glory...

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