last time i went home i showed my mother the bottoms of my feet.
the bottoms covered in callouses.
she said it was good, a family heirloom from the maghreb. “our soles toughen easily because we have to walk deserts barefoot.”
I look for your face in everyone’s face. Maybe it’s because I forgot what you look like, and I’m hoping if I look at the face of every single passerby, I will see you, and you will remember me, and then I could tell you what I wanted to tell you.
There is someone who works at the corner desk in the library. He gets up and goes back to his desk and gets up and comes back. And every time I get a glimpse I hope its you. But I don’t think I’d be able to recognize you anyway.
Sometimes when I’m not wearing my glasses, I rush to put them on. I can’t recognize faces when I’m blind, and I am scared of not catching yours in the hundreds of people I walk past everyday. I think of all the times I could be seeing you(when I am not seeing you) in people’s faces (because maybe you’re hiding from me in them) and I get a little nervous. I don’t want you to just pass me by.
Robbie: That probably means a few guys getting drunk on a couch 3 days a week.
I had forgotten
that our people smash glasses
(not behind closed doors
and out of anger, but—)
in front of an audience and out of happiness;
that it means: we are fragile,
our joy must be tempered,
we promise to try
to repair the pieces of this glass
that symbolizes the broken vessels
of the world
I am fragile,
my joy must be tempered,
and I promise to try
to repair the pieces
of the broken vessels
of the world
I’ve been seeing a lot of this nonsense in the Jumblr community, and I have a few points to make:
- You’re perpetuating the idea that there is something impure about Jewish or goyish blood. If you’re doing the former, you’re an antisemite, if you’re doing the latter you’re making Jews look bad and doing chilul hashem.
- Nazis killed patrilineal Jews, they didn’t give a shit about halakha (see: Jews drink the blood of gentile children, see: kashrut)
- This is why even patrilineal Jews get birthright and easy citizenship to Israel: in the eyes of goyim, they’re Jewish. They deserve asylum.
- Matrilineal Jews are 100% halakhically Jewish. They’re not “half-Jews,” they’re Jews.
"You know I started working when I was ten, right?" yes I do. "And your mother too, all nine of us, your mom and I used to steal your grandma’s bras then fill them with socks so we would look older, because no one would hire a ten year old to clean the house." I heard this story, the socks fell out, or the woman knew and embarrassed them, I had out laughed this piece of history.
"Anyhow, I would scrub the floors of Yitzhak Perlman’s house." what? "Yes, and his mother would always tell me about him and how proud she was." I looked up at her, my mom never told me this story. "But we were so poor I didn’t even know what I violin was, I just wanted the ashkenazit lady to shut up about her son in America and pay me."
It happened when he picked my sister’s side in an argument my teenage sister had with my mother. He jumped off the couch from besides my mom, looked at her, and huffed, growled, shook his head, then placed his head against my sister’s legs, and his paws on her feet. Though that could have just been when I had realized I was in love with the dog.
The dog, a victim of abuse, doesn’t like to be pet, and would often ignore me when I called his name. But yesterday, like a puppy, he rolled over on to his back, expecting me to rub his tummy.
This afternoon, when my teenage sister was fighting with my parents, the dog got scared. Shaking, he jumped up on the couch beside me, rested his head in my lap.
curly, stringy, strawberry blonde hair down to his lower back, and a ridiculous square goatee to match. the kid’s definitely shorter than me too, and thinner than a female Chinese gymnast. he joins the table 20 minutes late. two of us don’t know him. three don’t know who invited him. chris and i introduce ourselves. he is from the fencing team, only not last year because he’s a sophomore in college, and not senior year because he had a job. makes sense, everyone but three of us (including me and chris) was on the fencing team.
he’s charming because he ordered a salad and flinched in disgust at the thought of sharing a cheese pizza covered in meat. (I’m with ya, buddy).
also he pronounced my name right on the first try - that tends to gain you some kind of credit by me.
he doesn’t realize his transitions are awful and awkward. he doesn’t realize none of us care that the Skidmore College is called Smokemore because the campus police are chill. and he doesn’t seem to realize that everyone at the table except for one person (not me, I promise) thinks he or she is smarter than him. he just keeps going. and contributing. and talking. and joking.
on my way out of the restaurant, i get upset when i realize i might never see him again.