How could they predict you’d claim your scars as splendor?
This is very hard to have to write. But I do feel like I have to. Even though it’s making me physically ill to do so. Even though you already know how the story ends.
Spending the summer with my grandmother, who was beyond her time, made me reflect upon my own.
My worldview is changing so much that, at this rate, I’m going to be a spectator sports loving fanatic within five years.
What, if anything, would I march for?
In which Chaya risks speaking her true feelings about female Rabbis...
I was walking when I saw them. A group of teenagers, seventeen or eighteen, clad in black hats and white shirts, untucked after hours of Friday drinking.
An astonishing fire blazes within. You must spill forth this light, or be consumed from inside. This is the sacred act of spark extraction. This is returning to the knowing in your bones.
I remember a year ago when you were there for me, holding on in the same way and telling me that I was so beautiful. Now I understand.
A lot of what you are seeing in the world right now is a collective re-triggering of old wounds, in a constant onslaught.