Given the options, I’m glad I don’t fit in. I’m glad I keep my eyes open. I’m glad institutions make my skin crawl, that being in church—or anyplace that feels like a western, Christian, colonized knockoff—doesn’t feel right to me.
How much of yourself would you surrender to be a part of something bigger?
Genesis, art, and Hitchcock. Continuing where "I’m Done Being A Jewish Artist" left off.
My youngest brother always had a spacial place in my heart. I watched him grow through years of yeshiva and then, little by little, as his relationship with Orthodox Judaism shifted and morphed into something that belongs to only him and G-d.
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...
Reuven Chaim Moshe Ben Moshe Chaim Reuven stared out the pod bay window. Another distant planet disappeared out of view, and he let out a sigh. His ship, the Nebuchadnezzar, stabilized and went into hyperdrive. Shabbos was coming, he thought.
This Hanukkah, the world is upside down. Let's flip the script.
I was 4 years old when I asked my dad about the oiled African American muscle men in majestic flexed poses, “Why is he brown?” That was when I first realized there could be offense attached to skin color.
I got into an argument with a friend about religion and science -- was I nuts to do so?
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
