The Story of Passover (a narrative)

I am supposed to arrive at the wedding rehearsal at 4 p.m. I planned on arriving 15–20 minutes early. Because I don’t like being late. However, I took a wrong turn. At the intersection of the I-5 South and the I-405 South, I went the wrong way. Now, I’ll have to turn around in a mile and a half and

To offset our discomfort about our upcoming visit to the Terezín (in German: Theresienstadt) concentration camp/ghetto, Emmett and I fall into making dark jokes. Gallows humor. “Do you think they still give free tattoos upon arrival?” “Want to wear matching pajamas for our tour?” Dark, ugly jokes.  Because reality is just too overwhelming. The feelings are too overwhelming. So we

Jane and the kids misplace keys. Not me. I don’t. I always return my key to the keyrack. That’s where they go. When the key isn’t on the hook, which happens from time to time, I find it on some surface in the house. Usually, the kitchen table. Then, without fanfare, I pick it up, hang it up, and restrain