I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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Laura Esther Wolfson is the author of For Single Mothers Working as Train Conductors and the translator of Stalin’s Secret Pogrom. Every evening she listens to Claude Debussy’s Rêverie, with Eugene Ormandy conducting. She’s grateful to her friend Alice Cooper — not the rock star — who introduced her to Rabbi Timoner.
Our God is the God of the widow and the orphan and the stranger, a God who says, “If you harm them, their cries will reach me.”
My job is a drag — like most nine-to-five gigs, I imagine. But, oh, the commute! The commute is a golden border at the beginning and end of each workday, shedding some of its shimmer onto the leaden expanse in between.