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Beads of Memory
The hairbrush is cheap black plastic, and vented at the back. It is the humblest kind of quintessentially American consumer item, though today it was doubtlessly made in China. It’s so basic, so echt, that it’s not hard for me, looking at it, to imagine it blown up to giant size in an Andy Warhol painting, or radiating flames in a Keith Haring. I bought the hairbrush in the gift shop of Inova Fairfax Hospital....
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Mikvah
Not long ago, on an otherwise unremarkable winter weekday, I set off by myself on a mysterious mission. I got the children dressed for school, lunches made, my son (the same torn jeans, stubborn cowlicks in his hair) into his carpool, and my daughter dropped off at the day care center she attends three days a week. I was wearing the....
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Elijah at the Table: Pascha and Passover
“Easter? Isn’t that over?” I’m already gearing up to hear this, just as I launch into trying to trying to actually make something spiritually of Lent’s remaining weeks, after my feeble efforts, while also anticipating the Feast of Feasts that awaits in a little more than two weeks. At work, hunched over my vegetarian lunch of channa dal and naan (Orthodox Lent is all about carbs!), I furtively scan....
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Memory Incarnate
It’s not an understatement to say that I live for that feeling. You could be a girlfriend from boarding school calling me from Thailand at four o’clock in the morning, and it would seem completely ordinary to me to talk about your disintegrating marriage and then remember that night we lay in the quad looking up at the stars, and you quoted Crosby, Stills, and Nash “the past is just a goodbye,” and look here we were....
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This is the Life: The Lost Episode
When I was growing up, my family did not, with any regularity, go to church. That’s a common story these days, but it was downright odd when I was growing up in Mississippi in the 1970s. “What church do you go to?” was an obvious and inevitable question, and whatever answer you provided was as encoded with advance meaning as the very color of your skin. Not that we would have admitted not going....
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Current Issue
Issue 72
Memoir by Lauren Winner, Poetry by James Harpur, Art by Guy Chase and Adrian Wiszniewski
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