Hank, Unedited
It's an early morning in September, twenty years in the future. MOM is driving her son HANK to school. Hank is an ordinary-looking child of 10 who suffers from a rare genetic disorder, Brittanicus Affectavus Horribulis.
A (Non-denominational) Recovering Jew Among Them
At church I felt OK. In sat next to Tommy who explained Catholic things to me. Ironically, I felt more comfortable in that Catholic church than I did in any Jewish temple I’d been in in the last 10 years. Maybe it’s because I feel betrayed by the Jewish people. Maybe it’s because I think Zionism is as evil as anti-Semitism. Maybe it’s because the rabbi at the temple where I grew up seems to have next to no concern for his dwindling congregation and the economic slide of his community so long as he keeps collecting his handsome salary—with benefits. I dunno, but I felt OK.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?