Rachel Chaikof was two years old when, with the help of cochlear implants, she heard her mother’s voice for the first time. “Cry Rachel, cry Rachel, ” her mother sang, alongside Rachel’s grandmother, who clapped her hands, watching her granddaughter, born completely deaf, respond to sound. “My family and I never understood why my sister and I were born deaf,” Rachel, now 30, says, “We knew it was genetic, but we never really had an answer.”
At last count, Tanya Gersh had received more than 700 threatening, hateful and anti-Semitic messages. Even now, one arrives every few days.
My father is selling his sukkah. He says it is “priced to sell” at $4,900, but really he just wants to find it a home, which is easier said than done.
One Shabbat, toward the end of the morning service, Tova Mirvis was stricken by a debilitating headache, in which “the pain concentrated along the line where my hat met my head.”
In three of her novels thus far, Nicole Krauss inhabits multiple points of view, exploring the almost mystical ways in which lives that seem separate can intertwine.
Elliott Abrams, darling of the neoconservative right, was back in the news earlier this year when President Donald Trump considered him for deputy secretary of state, the second most important job in the State Department.
On August 12, David Duke stood on a picnic bench in a Charlottesville park and addressed white supremacists gathered there for the far right’s biggest rally in years.
However confused the signals emanating from the Trump administration’s policy on Israel, there are still only three basic approaches to making Middle East peace.
A potentially transformative current is running just beneath the surface of evangelical Christian life in North America—one that may have troubling implications for Israel.
By the time you read this, the neo-Nazi march in Charlottesville will likely be old news. Although news cycles now fly by fast and furious, blurring and short-circuiting our memories, I still want to talk about these young white supremacists.
Max Brooks, the only child of Mel Brooks and the late Anne Bancroft, is best known as the world’s foremost zombie expert. “He’s a zombie laureate,” The New York Times once described him.
Iosef’s version of a “safe space” is a filthy, unheated Jewish dorm where students occasionally die of tuberculosis, or a lecture on a random topic in a hall where he can duck in and hide while running from his attackers—for a full five minutes, until they find him and drag him out. As Iosef puts it one afternoon, “I received two punches during today’s lectures and I took eight pages of notes. Good value, for two punches.” Microaggressions, indeed.
