Issue 123

Light a candle. Open a door
Too small to walk through.

One of the habits I have developed without meaning to, without wanting to, is this: I routinely lower the volume on my heart.

We were our ugliest at that point,

Pale and flaccid under greasy coats.

Out in the rapids guys in waders brace themselves stiffly all business.

I feel like faith makes me bulletproof.

I think I knew Schmidt. He preceded me
In his fascination with mathematics and poetry
And his weakness of imagination, but that’s all I can tell you.

Naturalism was always the goal: as philosophy,

They’re a version of reality vs. appearance,
Of what consoles you vs. what you believe is true.

As we stand eye to eye with one of nature’s greatest killing machines, in awe of the jagged teeth that maul and maim, we are also aware that the life force that once animated this death-dealing predator has gone, and the formaldehyde in which it floats is merely delaying its decay.

I strongly believe that for a Jew to make art, one has to be steeped in Jewish culture, as well as the contemporaneous culture of the West. I found my way into Judaism through the biblical story of the Exodus, especially the idea that each Jew identifies with this story as if they were present at Mount Sinai, because, as the Talmud explains, all Jewish souls, present and future, were at Mount Sinai to witness the divine.