Expectations Story

Commuting from New Jersey to New York, I’ve learned to stick to myself—to sit or stand in a tight space, with many other people around, and pretend they are not there. Sometimes I am content with this sense of individualism and independence, and other times I crave to engage.

I stumbled upon an invitation for interaction in the 42nd Street subway station. I noticed a man giving away free balloon animals, a colorful tiled mural, and then a table set up with posters reading “Free Henna”, “Free Quran”, and “Muslims Giving Back”. My eyes scanned a large banner with the word “Racism” crossed out.

Three Muslim women, wearing hijabs and full veils, were at the henna and Qaran table, dispelling negative stereotypes through simple, human interactions. I waited in the short line and then spent the next twenty-five minutes chatting with strangers, unexpectedly connecting with people from a different culture from my own.

I found myself wondering why avoiding connection is so easy to do in such a diverse, full city. In an effort to change this pattern, I placed my hand on the older woman’s knee as she drew a beautiful, brown design gently across my skin. It spanned from my left wrist to my fingernails—a flower, paisley, and little dots and lines.

How can you connect more with individuals and communities different from your own?

Strength Story

I took a breath.
Realized I wasn’t twelve.
Realized I wasn’t ruled by those demons from my past.
Realized I was a grown-up.
Realized it didn’t matter if they knew I was different.
Hell, I was different.
I took off my hat.
My hair spilled down onto my shoulders like Samson.
I got my strength back.
I knocked down the walls of my past with my bare hands.
I became a man.

How can you boost your inner strength?

Here-and-Now Story

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
 

What is one thing you can do this week to live a more engaged life?

Facing Fears Story

There are only three things in this world that I’m truly afraid of: sharks, dolls that come to life in the middle of the night, and dying alone.

The first two I blame on a childhood spent consuming American media. I was four when Jaws came out. For some incomprehensible reason, my parents had a copy of the “literary adaptation” with a cover that matched the movie poster. I would sneak up to their bookshelf and peek at the image, then run to my room to hide from it.

Then there was Poltergeist. This movie ruined clown dolls for me forever (Not that they’d ever held much appeal in the first place. But still.).

My third fear came to life much later. And it crashes over me like a rogue wave every time I visit my grandmother in her nursing home. She’s one of the lucky ones in the facility; my mother lives close and visits her regularly. But my grandmother’s neighbors? I often see them alone in their separate rooms, nodding in and out of consciousness, TVs blaring, with photos of family members taped to their doors. I try to make eye contact with each person I pass, say hello, and smile. Is that all there is?

This thought terrifies me more than all the sharks in the ocean and all the evil dolls in my closet.

How can you confront what you fear?

The Future Story

Optimists and pessimists die the same way. They just live differently. I prefer to live as an optimist.

What does living well look like to you?

Decisions Story

By Benjamin Franklin

Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is a well-armed lamb contesting the vote!

How do you engage with, or avoid, political conversations?
 

Benjamin Franklin was one of the Founding Fathers of the United States.

Childhood Story

By Gail Ghezzi

I remember the Halloween costumes I wore in my youth: witches, vampires, clowns, and hobos. There were also costumes based on popular TV characters, like the Flintstones or the Jetsons. One year I went as a younger version of myself. I carried a stuffed animal from door-to-door.

What piece of your childhood do you carry with you now?

Gail Ghezzi is an art director and artist living in Bergen County, NJ.

Soul Music Story

By David Holzel

Recently, a colleague brought to my attention a rock and roll trivia discovery with an excellent Jewish angle hidden within.

The Guardian extracted the lyrics of each of the Beatles’ 300 or so recorded songs and then ranked the individual words by the number of times the Fab Four sang them.

So here’s the Jewish angle – “Love Me Do,” “All You Need is Love,” “She Loves You,” “Can’t Buy Me Love” – The L Word appears 613 times. That’s the number of mitzvot the Torah is believed to contain. Neat, huh?

What is a new discovery you’ve made, with something you already know well?

David Holzel is Managing Editor of The Washington Jewish Week.

Inside/Outside Story

By Adam Pollack

The Outdoors allows me to listen to the world around me. I become a part of it. What’s that sound? Am I safe? Wow, that was beautiful! I realize that I’m a natural being, not invincible nor all that important, like our modern society teaches. My life is put into perspective. When I let my senses and instinct work as designed, I give myself an opportunity to learn, to let new ideas in, and to remember, “for dust you are, and to dust you will return."

How might you incorporate more opportunities into your life where you encounter your primal nature?

Adam Pollack is a social entrepreneur, living in San Francisco with his husband, Nathan, and dog, Stewie.

Atonement Story

By Robin Becker

I’ve expanded like the swollen door in summer

           to fit my own dimension. Your loneliness

is a letter I read and put away, a daily reminder

           in the cry of the magpie that I am

still capable of inflicting pain

           at this distance.

Like a painting, our talk is dense with description,

           half-truths, landscapes, phrases layered

with a patina over time. When she came into my life

           I didn’t hesitate.

Or is that only how it seems now, looking back?

           Or is that only how you accuse me, looking back?

Long ago, this desert was an inland sea. In the mountains

           you can still find shells.

It’s these strange divagations I’ve come to love: midday sun

           on pink escarpments; dusk on gray sandstone;

toe-and-finger holes along the three hundred and fifty-seven foot

           climb to Acoma Pueblo, where the spirit

of the dead hovers about its earthly home

           four days, before the prayer sticks drive it away.

Today all good Jews collect their crimes like old clothes

           to be washed and given to the poor.

I remember how my father held his father around the shoulders

           as they walked to the old synagogue in Philadelphia.

[“Yom Kippur, Taos, New Mexico” from All-American Girl]

What is one thing I can do to nurture my relationships this year?

Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, begins at sunset tonight, Friday, September 29.

Robin Becker is an American poet, critic, feminist, and professor.

Atonement

By Robin Becker

I’ve expanded like the swollen door in summer

           to fit my own dimension. Your loneliness

is a letter I read and put away, a daily reminder

           in the cry of the magpie that I am

still capable of inflicting pain

           at this distance.

Like a painting, our talk is dense with description,

           half-truths, landscapes, phrases layered

with a patina over time. When she came into my life

           I didn’t hesitate.

Or is that only how it seems now, looking back?

           Or is that only how you accuse me, looking back?

Long ago, this desert was an inland sea. In the mountains

           you can still find shells.

It’s these strange divagations I’ve come to love: midday sun

           on pink escarpments; dusk on gray sandstone;

toe-and-finger holes along the three hundred and fifty-seven foot

           climb to Acoma Pueblo, where the spirit

of the dead hovers about its earthly home

           four days, before the prayer sticks drive it away.

Today all good Jews collect their crimes like old clothes

           to be washed and given to the poor.

I remember how my father held his father around the shoulders

           as they walked to the old synagogue in Philadelphia.

[“Yom Kippur, Taos, New Mexico” from All-American Girl]

What is one thing I can do to nurture my relationships this year?

Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, begins at sunset tonight, Friday, September 29.

Robin Becker is an American poet, critic, feminist, and professor.