Sometimes I imagine someone. It turns out to be no one. Unless...
The beauty of the Hebrew, the imposition of the commandment, and the laughter of the night, tie us together. I I forget everything; the picket lines, the ugly words, and the deep, searing, inner heartbreak of a people that have failed me.
The dishes will wait, they will always be there. Just put down your phone, walk away from your screen and start creating.
Valentine Shmalentine, where're my Devorah-hearts at?
A house is not a home, but a bookshelf can be.
Purim Sameach from your friendly neighborhood sacred feminine uprising!
I've imagined and caught slivers of miracles. But I want a full-blown miracle.
Everyone is the hero in their own story. But what about the stories other people tell?
