Chickens of Faith
By Essay Issue 119
A hen, however, is not a word. Let us be clear. She is a living creature, a being to be experienced. She is her own center of consciousness. She cannot be explained, will never be solved.
Read MoreImmersion
By Essay Issue 119
Though my answer wobbled on the edge of insincerity, I knew it was the right one. I have always known how to give the right answer. The cost of giving the wrong one was too great.
I knew it was the right answer because Brother Mark savored it. His face relaxed into admiration, as if I were a young dog who had just accomplished a complex trick.
On Turbulence: New Work in Translation by Hussein Barghouthi and Kim Hyesoon
By Culture Issue 118
I had a dream I got what I wanted: a baby, a silver necklace, and worldly success.
Read MoreAdventures in Ephemera
By Essay Issue 118
Our lives with paper. Our lives.
Read MoreAbsence and Desire: Kierkegaardian Silence in Hlynur Pálmason’s Godland
By Culture Issue 118
We watch as the cross is carried out of sight. The land is speaking here. It says: Be patient. You do not need this. You cannot tame me with this cross. You cannot replace me. Be still. Listen.
Read MoreWhat Is Touching
By Essay Issue 118
When our knees touched, I felt it was because of a shared understanding of what it meant to feel like prey.
Read MoreGrief through a Glass, Darkly: Mourning with The Darjeeling Limited and The Patient
By Culture Issue 117
WHEN SOMEBODY DIES, I WATCH MOVIES. The day my grandmother passed, I sat at the altar with the brothers in The Darjeeling Limited. Watching Adrien Brody embody the sense of utter emptiness left by his character’s father’s death somehow helped get me a little closer to my own experience, though I couldn’t articulate it to anyone…
Read MoreClippings
By Essay Issue 117
Midwestern reticence is respect for the unspeakable, the unknowable. What we do and what is done, to each other, to ourselves. What do you say to the flood, the tower, the burning bush?
Read MoreTalk to Me
By Essay Issue 117
Olivia was about as high-Wasp as anyone I’d ever met, with her undergraduate degree from Smith and, before that, her four years at an all-girl’s boarding school in Pennsylvania, where she claimed she’d learned a song called “We Are Anglicans.” She loved to regale us with it when she came over for Shabbat.
Read MoreMy Christ
By Essay Issue 117
The world that we still live very much in the midst of, the illusory rocks that slice us open and the faces made of infinitesimal and untouchable grains that we touch and love with everything we are—this is Jesus on the earth.
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