Wind and water are life. And they are a little, inexactly but evocatively, like God.

I hope we can return to whatever was best about pre-COVID life, and that we can hold on to whatever is best about the possibilities we didn’t know about a year ago.

[On Purim] I’ll put on my gorilla mask and suit and lie on the couch with a hot toddy in my hand. I won’t think about my enemies at all. I’ll think about all of you, my friends, in your costumes on your couches and how beautiful and silly we all are. I will just laugh and laugh and hope you’re doing the same.

the long, bumpy journey through the midbar, the wilderness, the desert

“Boredom is the voice of God.…”

Whatever happens next week, and in the weeks after that, we will be able to meet it with friendship and solidarity. And that means the world.

Solidarity, an election, the Justice group

At some point, however, master stories inevitably crash. When they do, an individual or a group can do one of three things: give up the master story and move on to something new; try desperately to shore up the old story against what made it crash; or invent new forms from the shards of the old.

I’m not sure how to distinguish between the moral mandate to speak up and the white supremacist cultural reflex of paternalism, which thinks that my voice and my opinion are more crucial than others’.

I am struck by the fullness of life, the resonance, even in what seems empty