Food, you are sublime, terrifying, and filled with struggle. I love you, but why must you cause such guilt and fear?
I act like a nervous lunatic when I encounter people who upset me in the past. Maybe I should calm down and see them as fodder for an adventure.
I spent a year with Chabad Hasidim in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. I exulted, starkly disagreed, and considered glorious possibilities—often in the same moment.
The group I imagined was splendid. But since when is something that seems wondrous actually wondrous and not, you know, a cult, or whatever?
My outsider status was hard-won. Earned with my own blood.
Rachel's assignment? To cover the topic, “Why don’t we talk about Gd enough?”
Group superiority is not my thing. I prefer to see every soul's stunning potential.
I had just gotten back to the states from Yeshiva in Israel, and didn’t know what to do with myself.
