On this night, Pesach became mine.
I stomped around my apartment for quite awhile recently, saying the bad “f” swear word out loud
On realizing that I wasn't just traumatized by my community. I was reliving it.
My mom dreamed of freedom, my dad dreamed of stability. So, they bought a flying horse.
I embrace the fabric-layered “baby” Torah, as if pouring some amount of my angst and despair into its compact, but miraculously enduring body. Could it understand?
On learning to finally admit that my experiences in a Jewish community traumatized me.
Did God really answer my daughter's prayer?
I am breathless, like a five-year-old leaving for Disney in the morning.