Not All Time Is For Sale: Keeping Shabbat Under Capitalism
“There are still 25 hours of the week where time holds still, makes room for something quiet and eternal. It is, by its very nature, a world designed to exist outside of capital.”
Journalism by Jewish college students, for Jewish college students.
“To my surprise, Shabbat dinners became a predictable and grounding occurrence every week. My mom cooked, I set the table, and my dad and brother cleaned up after the meal. Sometimes it was twenty minutes of near silence then everyone scurried off to their bedrooms again. Sometimes it ended in explosive arguments and someone finishing their plate an hour or two later in the kitchen. But sometimes it worked.”
I wondered what part of his tour-guide history taught him to step to the back of the group he’s guiding, as he bowed to a religious sight. Was it just a part of getting out of the way— a matter of priorities in which his holy experience need not interrupt our photograph opportunity? Or was there something deeper there— a mutual shame on both our ends.
Are the kids alright? How the parenting styles of Holocaust survivors transmitted trauma to the next generation and beyond.
“The Rabbis wrote commentaries and we write zines.”
For the fifth night of Hanukkah, New Voices presents this interview about the Doykeit zine series with JB Brager, the editor of a now four-part collection of writing on themes of queerness, anti-zionism, and diaspora.
“Diasporism offers a path to that future, one of teshuvah (return) and remembering.”
An archival story of how “Summer Children’s Colonies” became known as Jewish diasporic humanitarian aid.
Part one of an ongoing correspondence with New Voices Magazine, Daniel Crasnow reports on his experiences as an English teacher in Israel during a year of pandemic in a new series entitled, “Diaspora English”.
Read New Voices Magazine’s new series, “Bunk Tales: Jewish Camp Counselor Stories” for reflections from camp counselors across the Jewish camping world.
Erev¹ Tu b’Av² twilight where flesh and sorrow tumble in fields not sure the end of each or where beginnings tremble moonlight scoops my armpits arches my back hands reach down to lift me from a shallow grave³ then I help another out of theirs we promise to return some night leave the longing earth…
“I love soup, I always have…and, crucially, it’s the kind of food you can make in large quantities without it being too expensive. It’s also a humble kind of food – even if it’s really high-quality. It’s friendly, it’s welcoming. It’s a comfort food, and no matter what culture you’re from, soup is often the thing you eat when you’re sick, or the thing you eat on cold nights.”
Returning from a short break, after sitting in a small lawn outside between classes and reading the New York Times’s inside look at the squalid conditions in an American concentration camp in Texas, complete with maps demarcating where children are held in cinderblock cells and auxiliary tents for overcrowding, I stare at the wall of prayerbooks and wonder: How can I learn Torah while the world is burning?