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“Oh, Mother, can’t you use a fork?” exclaimed Rachel as Mrs. Ravinsky took the shell of the baked potato in her fingers and raised it to her watering mouth.
“Here, Teacherin mine, you want to learn…
Credo in a kind of
American jewish Hamlet-like
bagel, too round for action
yet leavened enough by contact
with the near-dead past—you call it
landscape, I call it history—to provide
a layered vantage…
Mildred Lubritz Covert was born in uptown New Orleans in 1927 and ate a rich mix of eastern European, creole, and African American foods throughout her childhood. She later chronicled this cuisine in…
I have always had the illusion that my face did not clearly betray the calumny of my Jewish heritage. I have always taken care to conceal carefully the bitter secret that my father was a rabbi and my…
So, Mr. Blum?
So, Mr. Blau?
What’s with you, Mr. Blum?
What should be with me, Mr. Blau?
How should I know what’s with you, Mr. Blum? I’m asking you. May I not ask? Why are you staring so?
I’m staring…