These days, I cruise the streets of Williamsburg—Marcy Avenue, Wythe Avenue, Bedford—camera dangling from my neck, protected by my flannel jacket, pillowed against my chest. I pedal slowly, on the lookout for my mark. I never know in advance what…
The air vaporises as he exhales, his facial protrudents are fresh and cold, icy cold. The wooden bench slats each neatly arranged just over an inch apart, dig into his cold hands that are sandwiched beneath his thighs. The glass…
It was on the last night that I went to visit. They were getting up from shiva the next day. I nodded my head at her mother who was sitting in the kitchen talking to some women while well-meaning relatives…
As a teenager I read an article in Cosmo about how guys with stubble like the red they can bring to a woman’s cheeks during kissing: It’s a she’s-so-tender-I’m-so-tough type of thing. The first time I saw a Chasid, his beard looked vaguely terrifying. I’ve always hated beards, macho like my Dad’s, like Hulk...
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I Love You, Brother.
You’re a part of me, and I can’t let go. My heart hurts that yours is broken. I watch you twist and turn and I feel knotted up inside. I see you blink back tears, and my own eyes sting. I smile when you smile, brother.
Because I do care and I...
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Or forever hold your peace? No way, not at this wedding in KJ, which brought out the mischiefmakers and badasses, causing general mayhem in KJ over the latter part of last week. Obnoxious loudspeakers, overturned vehicles, an ineffective…
The rhythmic thudding of leather meeting the heavy bag, coupled with the sharp “she, she” exhaling of breath, has an intoxicating sound all its own. Conversational snippets, background noise, all fade away as intensity increases. Jab, jab, cross,…
When I was a toddler, even before my mother started curling my little payess around her finger and brushing it with a bit of sugar-water, she taught me the English alphabet (after I had mastered the Alef Beis, of course). By the time I was enrolled in pre-school I knew that c-a-t spells cat....
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The house smells like a Friday afternoon. Ajax, some unidentified scent, and delicious Shabbos food. The washing-machine spins noisily, the little kids fight over a coloring book and the older kids fight over which of the younger ones…
The Chametz Warrior
Flashbacks to the chametz battles of childhood. One man decides he’s a conscientious objector.
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