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Gootie, my grandma, was a short, large-boned woman who made the kitchen her kingdom. She entered the living room only on special occasions—like Monday night to watch “I Love Lucy.” She had to think…
I remember the moment when it dawned on me that my father did not impress the world at large as a powerful figure. We were at a camera store on the Plaza—a faux-Andalusian shopping district that…
The day he was gone her suitor arrived. I don’t know what else to call him. He advertised himself as my uncle, but he didn’t have our famous cheekbones and Tatar eyes. He couldn’t have belonged to…
I think of my father who believes
a Jew can outrun fate by owning land.
Slave to property now, I mow
and mow, my destiny the new Egypt.
From his father, the tailor, he learned not
to rent but to own…
A woman named Bella stayed behind to speak to me. Her hair was carefully waved, touched with streaks of blond, her eyes round and blue. She was not one of the shapeless old, but kept waist, hips, and…
“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…
I came to say good-bye. I was going away to the University of Missouri. My grandfather turned from the window at which he sat, looking across the lots at the parkway. To eyes used to…
It’s safe to say that we Jews of North Main Street are a progressive people. I don’t mean to suggest we have any patience with freethinkers, like that crowd down at Thompson’s Café; tolerant within…
Egyptian Jewish American author André Aciman describes celebrating his last Seder in Egypt with his bags packed to leave his homeland for good.
