I step in at N 52nd Street Station. The fluorescent lights flicker, then settle into a steady hum, […]
Author: Ginger Rubin
Beneath the angry, red lesions, beyond the reach of my fingertips, I believe there is skin as smooth as glass.
Today, I still stumble over Hebrew script and my voice falters when I pray on Shabbat. Yet, entering synagogue fills an emptiness in my stomach that ached as a child. I don’t know if it’s God that is moving through me, or if it is the strength of my great-grandfather, fighting for his life so I have the choice to pray today.