29 06, 2017

The Olive Tree

By | June 29th, 2017|blogs, essays|0 Comments

My father used to tell us about The Tree. It was an olive tree. His olive tree. This was after the war and he and his refugee family had been resettled in Haifa, Israel. His olive tree was one of hundreds behind his apartment building and he would regale us with stories about how, after [...]

17 02, 2016

There Is A Photograph Of My Father Hula-Hooping

By | February 17th, 2016|blogs, essays|3 Comments

“The stars in the sky may seem ageless and unchanging, but eventually, most of them will become white dwarfs, the last observable stage of evolution. These stellar corpses dot the galaxy, leftovers from brightly burning stars”   There is a photograph of my father hula-hooping. It exists only in my mind's eye, but it exists [...]

20 06, 2015

The black boots climb wooden stairs deliberately

By | June 20th, 2015|essays|1 Comment

Black boots climb worn wooden stairs. Deliberately. Making just enough noise to let the inhabitants of apartment 5b know that the jig is up. You don’t own this place, I do. And, by the way, it’s not the only thing I own. If this were a movie, the boots would be all that you, dear [...]

4 05, 2015

Fear and Magic: A son’s meditation on loss

By | May 4th, 2015|blogs, essays, spirituality|1 Comment

Originally published in the Elephant Journal, Oct. 2014 I have to tell you that I’m losing my father. What I really mean to say is I’ve lost him. What’s worse is I have no idea when I lost him, I only know he’s gone. Alzheimer’s secreted him away, so that little by little he disappeared [...]