Lesléa Newman
Poetry reflecting on physical touch before the Coronavirus.
Poetry reflecting on physical touch before the Coronavirus.
I may no longer know what day it is, but I can set my clock to the nightly applause that rumble in my neighborhood at 7:00 PM sharp.
I worried that by covering my hair I would once again get caught up in trying to look the part of frummest kid in the class.
A mother examines her relationship with Judaism when asked to carry the Torah on Shabbat.
Looking at me, you wouldn’t have guessed. I was a smart, outgoing, well-nourished, girl from a secular Jewish home, a top student at the school where I never missed a day.
I was also a battered child.
The board of health quarantines the fictional family, forcing Passover to be sorely reduced. It’s a lonely moment.
When it comes to Passover 2020, we can start by thinking of it as a kind of contemporary foraging in our refrigerators, freezers and pantries, a sort of continuation of the efforts of our foremothers.
Some folks are turning this time into an opportunity to begin exercising, bond with family and pets, clean closets, or garden. I am reliving the Days of Awe.
Zoom meetings, Zoom teaching, Zoom parties, Zoom Zoomba; your Pandemic calendar is full but what do you wear? Tips to help the modern social isolate shine on screen!
I hadn’t contemplated what Jewish life abroad might look like or the compromises I might make. The landscape was that of Cezanne and Van Gogh, cobblestone streets, the ubiquitous skinny baguettes tucked under the arm. The seder, however, had an agenda.