Someone yelled at Yaakov for carrying coffee on Shabbat. Here's what he learned from the experience.
Here's how to dish out the real soul food.
A poem:
"You pray for silkworms and butterflies.
Dance, and your twisting wrists chafe against shackles.
Sing, and grey moths escape your open throat."
The struggle of having opinions and hating politics wholeheartedly at the same time.
Spending Shabbat in a 7-family settlement atop a hill in Samaria.
It's too cold for anything longer than seventeen syllables.
How can a day that seems so hostile to creativity be the wellspring from which all creativity flows?
Ask me about my favorite Shabbat experience and this might just be my answer.
No politics. Pass all the food. And tell us your life story.
Shabbat is a time of peace, but for an anxiety-sufferer, the quiet can be a struggle in itself.
