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Showing posts from May, 2020

First Grade

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“Don’t cry,” my mother tells me. I am in first grade, with a pretty knapsack and a lunch she packed me, and first grade always made me cry. “But I want to stay with you.” It was, to my five-year-old self, the most dramatic thing that I had to spend the whole day away from her, and I didn’t understand it. “You’ll be home soon.” -- “Don’t cry,” my mother tells me. It’s a habit that, as a twenty-something year old woman, I pretend I had grown out of. I’m sitting on her couch writing poetry – a piece from San Francisco that would one day become a friend’s housewarming present – and airplanes always made me cry. “I’ll just miss you, that’s all.” “You’ll be home in a few months.” None of us could have predicted a fucking pandemic that had probably already started, or known the next time I’d come back would be almost two years later. -- “I told you not to cry,” but I know she is also crying. She has stage four colorectal cancer, and we both wrote a piece with the exact sam...
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The Echoes Letters Left

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Here is a picture of my schedule from before the world ended. It’s been on my fridge almost a year, beside a wedding invitation and that photo of my friends from Texas. A testament to the things I’d ๐‘๐‘ข๐‘–๐‘™๐‘ก one moment at a time, to the knowledge that I had a place here in this city that I chose, a place I forged. Even after the world closed around us I couldn’t take it down. I squeezed phone interviews beneath the names of my students. Wrote Zoom schedules between the lines. I spent months scribbling new fragments in the space between old Shabbos dinner invitations, scrawling frantically outside the margins. I scrubbed it clean today, and it did not come easy. The letters clung. The schedule refused to be erased, echoes of words like ๐‘€๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘‘๐‘Ž๐‘ฆ, and other useless things shadowing the space. I chipped two nails doing it. I chose a city I had never been to. I packed a bag and packed my car and I left one day. I could tell you stories about churches in the snow and meals by tik...
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To New Beginnings

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I found this quite by accident. It is a post titled All Beginnings are Hard, that I wrote in some dazed state in my first two weeks in this city. ๐‘†๐‘œ๐‘š๐‘’๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘š๐‘’๐‘  ๐‘๐‘’๐‘œ๐‘๐‘™๐‘’ ๐‘ ๐‘Ž๐‘ฆ ๐‘’๐‘ฅ๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘ก๐‘™๐‘ฆ ๐‘คโ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘ฆ๐‘œ๐‘ข ๐‘›๐‘’๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘ก๐‘œ โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ. ๐‘†๐‘œ๐‘š๐‘’๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘š๐‘’๐‘  ๐‘–๐‘ก’๐‘  โ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘ ๐‘ก๐‘œ ๐‘๐‘’ ๐‘Ž๐‘ข๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’๐‘›๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘, ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ ๐‘“๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘š๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” ๐‘œ๐‘“๐‘“ ๐‘Ž๐‘  ๐‘ ๐‘œ๐‘š๐‘’๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘Ž ๐‘™๐‘ข๐‘›๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘–๐‘ ๐‘–๐‘› ๐‘“๐‘Ÿ๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘ก ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘Ž ๐‘”๐‘Ÿ๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘ ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘”๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘ . ๐‘Šโ„Ž๐‘ฆ ๐‘‘๐‘–๐‘‘ ๐ผ ๐‘โ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘œ๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐‘ƒโ„Ž๐‘–๐‘™๐‘Ž๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘™๐‘โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘Ž? ๐‘‡๐‘œ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘ข๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘›๐‘ก๐‘  ๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘ƒ๐‘’๐‘›๐‘›, ๐‘ก๐‘œ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘š๐‘’๐‘‘๐‘–๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘™ ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘Ÿ, ๐‘ก๐‘œ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘™๐‘˜๐‘  ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘ก ๐‘š๐‘œ๐‘ฃ๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ ๐‘—๐‘œ๐‘๐‘ , ๐ผ ๐‘“๐‘’๐‘’๐‘™ ๐‘™๐‘–๐‘˜๐‘’ ๐ผ ๐‘›๐‘’๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘Ž ๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘ ๐‘œ๐‘› ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” ๐‘œ๐‘› ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘”๐‘–๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘™. ๐‘Šโ„Ž๐‘ฆ โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘Ÿ๐‘’? ๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘ก๐‘Ÿ๐‘ข๐‘กโ„Ž ๐‘–๐‘  ๐ผ โ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘‘ ๐‘Ž ๐‘š๐‘Ž๐‘ ๐‘œ๐‘“ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘ˆ๐‘›๐‘–๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘†๐‘ก๐‘Ž๐‘ก๐‘’๐‘ , ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐ผ ๐‘›๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ÿ๐‘œ๐‘ค๐‘’๐‘‘ ๐‘‘๐‘œ๐‘ค๐‘›. ๐‘‡โ„Ž๐‘’ ๐‘ก๐‘Ÿ๐‘ข๐‘กโ„Ž ๐‘–๐‘  ๐ผ’๐‘š ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘œ๐‘˜๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ ๐‘Ž โ„Ž๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘ ๐‘’ ๐ผ ๐‘ ๐‘Ž๐‘ค ๐‘–๐‘› ๐‘Ž ๐‘‘๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘š, ๐ผ’๐‘š ๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘œ๐‘˜๐‘–๐‘›๐‘” ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘›๐‘’๐‘...
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Strawberries

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I never thought I'd feel nostalgic about strawberries. I didn’t when we left that house in California where I grew them from the balcony. Not even in Ohio, the place I loved the most, where they grew wild in the courtyard beside more garlic bulbs than we ever knew what to do with. In fact, I had forgotten them until this moment. I used to bring strawberries with me to Shabbos meals. With chocolates and whipped cream. I have never once purchased a box for myself and I never realized it. Not until the grocery store boasted its familiar sale, and I reached for them out of instinct. When I forgot, for a moment, that I had a mask on. That I was balancing the boxes on top of sale-brand toilet paper and three bags of frozen dinners, because if I carried everything at once I wouldn’t have to touch the carts. When I forgot that one person really has no need for boxes of strawberries. By the time I remembered it I had already stacked them underneath the spinach. I had already committed to to...
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Fire Through the Wreckage

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They cancelled the conference. The first time I went was my first weekend in the city, when I knew that I would live here someday. The next was the first time I gave a presentation from the pulpit. The day I redefined that dress. The day I really learned what love means. What does it mean that it’s all put on hold, when I finally found it? What is left in place of the year that was stolen from me? I find I’m working twice as hard to make the same ends meet. Where does the motivation comes from, when I can’t see the people who used to motivate me? It is there intrinsically, the desire to build something useful through the hell and the chaotic. This is my defiance, this is how I fight when I don’t have a solid target. Is it strange that I am teaching kids to fight on screen? It says something about their resilience – they have learned to adjust the camera and type questions and say hi to classmates from 1500 miles away. They have learned to spar with people they never met face to fac...
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The Choice of Transformation

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๐ผ ๐‘“๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘š๐‘ฆ ๐‘“๐‘–๐‘Ÿ๐‘’ ๐‘–๐‘› ๐‘Ž ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘›๐‘‘๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ๐‘š. ๐ท๐‘œ๐‘›’๐‘ก ๐‘๐‘ข๐‘ก ๐‘š๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐‘› ๐‘Ž ๐‘๐‘’๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘Ž๐‘™. ๐ผ ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘› ๐‘๐‘Ÿ๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘˜ ๐‘ ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘›๐‘’ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘กโ„Ž ๐‘š๐‘ฆ โ„Ž๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘๐‘ . ๐‘€๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘๐‘™๐‘’ ๐‘–๐‘  ๐‘ก๐‘œ๐‘œ ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘™๐‘™๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘  ๐‘ก๐‘œ ๐‘๐‘œ๐‘Ÿ๐‘ก๐‘Ÿ๐‘Ž๐‘ฆ ๐‘กโ„Ž๐‘’ โ„Ž๐‘ข๐‘š๐‘Ž๐‘› โ„Ž๐‘’๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘ก. ๐ผ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘™๐‘™ ๐‘Ÿ๐‘ข๐‘› ๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘ค๐‘–๐‘กโ„Ž ๐‘š๐‘ฆ ๐‘ ๐‘œ๐‘ข๐‘™ ๐‘๐‘Ž๐‘Ÿ๐‘’ ๐‘Ž๐‘›๐‘‘ ๐‘š๐‘ฆ ๐‘“๐‘Ž๐‘๐‘’ โ„Ž๐‘–๐‘‘๐‘‘๐‘’๐‘›. We all keep trying to return to the way it was. Aren’t you desperate? Desperate to drag yourself out of bed at 6 in the morning, to reteach your hardest classes and stare down the days that once had you questioning your profession to begin with? Haven’t-swept-the-floor-since-Pesach, sleeping-in-work-uniforms-because-by-G-d-I miss-it? Desperate to relive the beauty in the bottom of your third cup of coffee, and all the other things we all took for granted? It isn’t enough, just to go back to it. If we just return to the way it was, we lose the point in all of this. Take an Advil, and glory in the marvelous release from pain for a moment. Whe...
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