A story about letting myself and other people off the hook as much as it is a story about harnessing up under the yoke of Heaven. It's a story about hosiery and one fateful phone call.
It was the last chicken in Brooklyn. Well, the last one that was still clucking.
Death, you are my hugest fear, but also a sneaky beam of brilliant hope for transcendence.
I spent a year with Chabad Hasidim in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. I exulted, starkly disagreed, and considered glorious possibilities—often in the same moment.
From Rabbis to community leaders to philanthropists, it seems we are enamored with outreach and the unaffiliated Jew. Yet, I ask myself: What about those that are already on the 'inside,' practicing Judaism? Are they getting the same care and opportunity? And whose responsibility are they?
What I learned about hosting last week.
Simply being unapologetically Jewish is a political act.
In the star-strewn field where we meet... Before the gates close... Hold me in a slow-dance ecstatic embrace.
Would I really rather be mistaken for a Hipster than a Hasid?
