Knowing other souls: glorious, but maybe the end of fun.
As the Rabbi continued chanting the Torah portion, Steven took the star-shaped paper to the back of the Shul, near where the coffee maker, the cheese Danishes, and the bottle of Slivovitz always were. He unfolded the paper and noticed first, that it was a hand-written note, and that whomever had written it had exquisite penmanship. ‘Dear Dr. Rice,’ it began.
‘I know you are upset...
A vast range of interpretive possibility makes religion both glorious and dangerous. September 11, 2001 clarified that for me, as it swept me up in a rare sense of communion with the larger world.
Potential experiments are everywhere, but I'm afraid.
Was I right then to keep it, this piece of Israel forever mine, something to hold, something to carry, like a gift or a found treasure or a stolen trinket?
I'm not hysterical about Trump, and I don't worry much about anti-Semitism. Though I'm no optimist, the panic surrounding me feels unduly intense. Let's hope I'm right.
“Mommy, next time you daven to Hashem can you please, please, ask for another baby?”
