After a pause Jon continues: “Then, I won at road rage a second time.” I’m at the market shopping for the family Friday night, shabbat dinner. I respond into my headset: “A second road rage story? I’m not certain I have space in my psyche for a second road rage story.” […]
Road Rage and the Rabbi Read More »
It’s Friday morning. I am sitting in the customer center of my local Honda dealership. There’s been a recall on our 2003 minivan’s passenger side airbag. I’m waiting. I’m not going anywhere. Literally. I don’t have it in me to fight for the promised loaner car. My energy is just drained. To be honest, I’m
I arrived at the 97212 Post Office and there was no line. None. Zero. It was just me and two employees in the large, florescent-lit room. I stood where the line would have ended had there been a line. When Joanna called me up I responded, “Nope. I’m going to wait. Feels weird not to.” She laughed. I didn’t
Meanie I wish she had been nicer. Her comments on my YouTube hurt. And, while I know her petulance made her look bad, it also still really really hurt my feelings. Let me start with some background. I am pretty fastidious about quoting my sources. It’s a rabbi thing. You
I’ve just intentionally triggered the “not-being-prepared” collective nightmare within a group of adults. I feel their discomfort and defensiveness upon hearing my words: Let’s review our homework from last time. They didn’t have homework. How could they? Many I’ve never met before. But, still, it takes them a bit by surprise. I continue, sans
Acceptance for the holidays Read More »
LIFE AIN’T FOR COWARDS. GRIEF, LOSS, TRAUMAS ANDTRAGEDIES.DISAPPOINTMENT AND ANGST. SCAB OVER AND NOT FEEL?ORPICKED AT AND BLOODY? ME? I CHOOSE VOLTAIRE’S LIFEBOATVOLUNTARY BAND. “COMPTEZ QUE LE MONDE EST UN GRAND NAUFRAGE, ET QUE LA DEVISE DES HOMMES EST, SAUVE QUI PEUT,” HE WROTE. LIFE IS A SHIPWRECK,SAVE YOURSELF IF YOU CAN.DO NOT FORGET TO SING IN
It’s cold. Erev Thanksgiving. West 77th Street, between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue, is closed off the night before tomorrow’s big parade. I’m 14 and running in the street with Robert, Dan, Michael, Richard, and John. We are tossing someone’s balled-up mittens in an odd inventing-the-rules-as-we-go combination of football, keep-away, and tag. I notice
My boy, my first born, turns thirteen on Monday. We will have a coming of age ceremony for him this weekend. He will have a coming of age ceremony like the I had one when I turned thirteen. And like my father and my grandfather had. But unlike. My father’s and mine
Sabbath. It’s late summer, Friday night dinner. Annie is at a birthday party. Just Jane, our 12-year old boy, and me. We sit on the patio in our backyard. Candles, a wine glass, and a challah I made. Jane made meatloaf. Emmett and I look at each other knowing we will be making an
Spiritual Exercise Make a self-portrait on an index card, a piece of paper, etc. *** I’m going to assume that you did a drawing, although my spidey-sense tells me that you didn’t. *** I want you to imagine a four-year old hands you a picture, drawn as well as a four-year old with very limited
Self-Portrait Love Read More »