Shtetl       Scribe

I’ve always known I’m different; the black sheep amongst the flock of fluffy white lambs. But I’m not ashamed of my Jewishness, quite the opposite, I’ve always been proud of my heritage. However, if I told you my feeling and experience of otherness was always a good one? Well I’m afraid that would be a lie. It’s hard to say when it first began; I think I’ve always felt different. I don’t think this otherness is necessarily a single event you can point to, or even a series of

I’m not sure any words will ever feel like enough to truly reflect what’s in my heart. But, as my Savta once wrote, ‘Words don’t come easily to me / And I don’t know where to start.’ And yet I want to try. I have been so privileged to grow up surrounded by the most incredible female role models. Their influence has shaped who I am today and how I navigate through this perfectly imperfect world. Today is the yahrzeit of my Savta. Although she is no longer with us, I still feel

“What do you do when both sides sound a bit crazy?”. I attended a journalism talk recently and that line, albeit said half jokingly, has stuck with me. I used to think impartiality meant fairness; now I oftentimes find myself wondering if, in the name of balance, we not only flatten the truth, we erase it. Even if unintentionally. To be impartial means to treat all equally; to not support any of the sides involved in an argument. But when does this neutrality cross the line?

In Jewish tradition it is said that a person dies twice, the first time when our heart stops. And the second? When our name is said for the last time. It is for that reason I still wear a yellow ribbon on my wrist, and if I’m honest, I don’t know when I’ll be ready to stop. I know some already have, our living hostages are home, that is something to celebrate and I feel such a sense of joy in knowing some of my prayers have been answered. Grief and healing are such personal p