Category: 400 thoughts
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Why is it still ok to call yourself retarded? To call your friends gay?
Are you, indeed, retarded? Are you “less advanced in mental, physical, or social development than is usual” for your age? Do you have a mental handicap that requires you to be treated with a different sort of care? That makes certain life tasks more difficult? Are your friends being silly/dumb/foolish/loving actually gay? Are they attracted to…
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Of life in the shtetl; Tevye had a point
A fiddler on the roof… it sounds crazy. But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us… is a fiddler on the roof. Before I lived here in Israel, I lived in a tight-knit Jewish shtetl called New York. Trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking…
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lizrael update: the expat-makes-a-visit edition
Living in Israel (and probably many other countries as an American expat) is an exercise in being happy with what you have, and I feel lucky to have even scratched the surface of that sentiment. Occasionally the conversation comes up with fellow expats here and I’m no longer surprised to admit that I’m happier here…
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A different time, a different line.
That first year I interned at my first paper, there was a day that always stuck with me for some reason, even after I quit journalism. We were sitting around the conference table, a bunch of us young students, listening to our seasoned head editor. She was talking emphatically about the Line. That included photos…
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The outsiders inside
Last week, I was driving through the machsom, or checkpoint, between Beitar Illit and Tzur Hadassah. When I say ‘driving through,’ I mean that literally: I slowed for the speed bumps, waved at the soldiers on duty, and sped up to get home. But not before noticing the driver in front of me, who had…
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On Jews, Jerusalem, Women and Walls
Note: Reflections based on my rare February and March 2013 trips to the Kotel. Based on today’s news, I figured today’s as good as any to post. I’ve been to the Kotel, the Western Wall, way too many times in the past year. Previously, I had a comfortable average of maybe once every two or…
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To the immigrant parents I grew up with:
Dear immigrant parents of childhood friends, Hi. How are you? Have I told you lately your English is incredible? It was really fun growing up with your kid. Maybe I’m still even friends with your kid. Most of my friends from childhood had immigrant parents it seems. It really felt that way, at least. To…
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Fifty-Two Paragraphs
Sometimes, pretending to be an amateur photographer helps me be creative. In choosing a photo to submit for this week’s Fifty-Two Frames, I asked my husband about a cheeky idea I had. “I think you’re a writer, not a photographer.” In other words, I seem to enjoy playing with the captions more than handling the…
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The innocent on Memorial Day.
I told Koala he could come with me to the Yom HaZicaron ceremony if he likes. I told him it’s a time where we remember all the soldiers and all the good things they do for us. “And if you want, during the siren, you can think about your uncle who is a chayal, or…
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Speaking up.
It won’t be long before Jewish parents of school-age children no longer remember the point. The memory becomes a faded square of yellow fabric, eventually disintegrating under museum lighting. The pictures, cliche. The speeches, routine. It’s probably already true to some degree, but most of us are young enough to remember the first time we…