Susan Barocas
If ever there was a time for comfort food, it’s now.
Reflections on Shmita, and the need to radically rethink how we work and what we value.
I don’t know how to handle small worries anymore.
I didn’t go to services this year because every time I logged on to Zoom services I immediately grew restless and twitchy and grief-triggered and I ended up shopping for hoodies on Lululemon.
You can’t make a voodoo doll, I repeat. It isn’t our magic to use. I think of the magic that should be ours to use, instead. The faith we should have in our mezuzot and our medicine. A magic based on belief in the good.
So what do we do when things fall apart? And how do we recover? Will we ever recover? I don’t know. I hope we do, but I have no idea how long it will take. But I think it starts with crying.
A loving, mashed-up tribute to slang from every era and region I can think of.
If you’re looking for something to distract you from this endless late-stage pandemic, check out “Flack.”
For a few hours, we created a bubble of joy under that canopy, tuning out the pandemic fears.
Each day, the sun lasts longer. The maple tree yields a more sap. More people receive vaccinations.