When you tell a story, you need to erase your memory. Start from the beginning. Walk through the steps with your reader.
Baalei teshuva get reminded of our backgrounds in the most obscure ways. Here's one example that's coming up a lot recently: Chassidim do not understand Polarfleece.
A poem that squeezes humor and even transcendence out of my obsessiveness, ineptitude, and rotten choices. I'm guessing many can relate in various ways.
What are you keeping inside?
How can a day that seems so hostile to creativity be the wellspring from which all creativity flows?
Living the life of a Torah Jew as I achingly wait to feel God in my life.
