Jennifer Baum
Here I was in Marrakesh, brought right back to the core of my being, to my father, through a mourner’s prayer more than 2000 years old.
Here I was in Marrakesh, brought right back to the core of my being, to my father, through a mourner’s prayer more than 2000 years old.
It felt different to watch The Olympics this year. It’s not only a reminder of the incredible variety of the human body, but of its fragility.
These pieces reflect this heartbreaking year of violence and loss. Two abiding themes are grief and hope
Tisha B’av is a holiday about mourning. I often feel like I’m in a perpetual state of mourning.
Connection destroyed at the expense of productivity, culture at the expense of assimilation.
In Frances Goldin’s apartment, we found a powerful sign: “I Adore My Lesbian Daughters.”
A rewriting of Unetaneh Tokef in honor of the Black Lives that have been lost to racist violence.
My online college class was interrupted with three missed calls from my father, two from my mother, and a supplemental set of urgent texts. I knew without calling back that my grandmother had passed.