They sat side-by-side—Dad steering, Mom in the passenger seat—each speaking Yiddish so my brother and I wouldn’t know what they were saying or where
we were going next.
Drinking used to bring me closer to G-d. Now it's being underslept.
Sixteen ounces of Coffee,White cream, a stream of attempted calm enveloped by darkness. I’m used to things cooling down quickly,But...
I await inside the storm,
Relishing the tidings
That will come.
In an age where the mystics lie, the followers divide, and confusion reigns, we must return to the essential message of mysticism.
Do you recall a time when our roots were not entwined? Neither can I.
It’s easy to hide
in the shadows of skipped stitches
in stories woven
by people who are not me.
