#BRACHA the woman you are

[eesirachs]

That each of us has been an object-cause-of-desire of the Other is a part of our own phantasy. Thus if the artist sets you up for an ambush, it is as if s/he is saying “you don’t see me from where I look at you,” at the same time as s/he is offering an image that brings you closer to the ache at your own blind spot. The oeuvre (work) is an ouverture (opening) onto a gaze that incarnates in your feeling a place dignifying your self as an objet a for your lost others, or conversely dignifying their psychic site as constituting lost others for you. It is an opening onto a gaze as absence, an absence that feels to you like the mysterious, evasive point of view you desire, from which someone else was once looking at you without you being aware of it, or longing for you with passion and desire. Is there out there in the world such a place where desire meets reality without fading you out of the picture or expelling the gaze? If there is such a place—an echo of a primordial world—art is what brings us as close to it as it is possible to come, although not in the image it presents, but rather in the absence the artwork brings almost within your grasp.

Bracha Ettinger, "Wit(h)nessing Trauma and the Matrixial Gaze"

[vaspider]

Hi Spider. I think this is more about me processing grief than anything else, but I cannot convince myself not to send this.

Sadly, we lost Aunty Sugar today. She passed peacefully in her sleep in her home after being visited by at least 4 neighbours last night. We figured out I was the last one and she had been sore but happy when I left.

Aunty Sugar adored you. I don't know if you remember me messaging you about her before, but seeing your posts and the things you said made her feel like she was allowed to step down from her activism and let the next Queer generation take over. Thank you for letting her focus on herself finally. You had a hugely positive impact on the last years of a woman who went through some of the worst times on the front lines for our community during the 70s, 80s, and 90s. Thank you.

Baruch Dayan Ha'Emet.*

Thank you for telling me. I'm glad she went peacefully and loved. She made good shoulders to stand on, but we've got it now. We can be the shoulders that other people stand on.

*Blessed be He who is the True Judge. The bracha upon hearing news of a death.

[blarrghe]

Time for the annual Twelve Nights update. I almost didn't write this but then I did. It's uh,, 1:00 am just after Christmas so close enough.

Twelve Nights is the gay holiday Hallmark fic that you deserve. This is a big ol' sappy satinalia sequel. Rated E for Extremely soft blowjobs. To all a good night! --

Snow was falling in large, fluffy flakes, adding to the white of Deshanna’s yard that glittered in the glow of dangling white holiday lights across the edge of the old house’s pointed roof. Smoke rose from the chimney, and even from halfway up the long driveway Taren could smell the familiar scent of woodsmoke on the crisp air. 

They pulled Bee up on a sled, alternating turns as she laughed and cheered and occasionally swept up a handful of snow that had to be (unsuccessfully) scolded away from her mouth. She was in charge of guarding the presents, and so far doing a very good job.

“Still have them all, da’len?” Taren slowed a few steps to walk beside the sled as Dorian pulled, looking down at the well insulated bundle of a five-year-old dwarf girl cradling several large, colourfully wrapped presents in her lap. 

“Thing’s heavy enough,” Dorian returned from in front, barely believably grumpy about it. 

“Yep!” cried Bracha, grinning. 

Taren felt himself grinning back, warmth spreading through his cheeks even in the cold. He leaned over to scoop his daughter up into his arms. 

“Light enough now?” 

Dorian harrumphed, still unconvincingly, and dragged the sled the rest of the way over to the porch steps. “Still don’t see why we couldn’t drive.” 

“It’s a lovely evening for a walk,” Taren bantered back, hopping up the steps, babe-in-arms, and adjusting his hold on the child to just one arm in order to knock. 

“It’s a bloody cold evening for a walk.” 

“It’s just up the road.” 

“Up the road — key word.” 

Dorian was still struggling to manoeuvre all the gifts from the sled and up the steps when the door opened, revealing a warm golden glow of light and the tall, grey-haired figure of Deshanna "Auntie Dee" Lavellan. She smiled warmly, a bright gleam still in her eye even as her mouth pulled back against the wrinkled skin and faded tattoos over her cheeks.

“Auntie!” Bracha squealed, wriggling in his arms before Taren let her down. Then she was jumping into the woman with a hug to her legs that stumbled her backwards with a laugh, and then she was hopping down the steps again to help her father unload the sled, shouting “lo Satinalia! We brought presents!” 

Auntie Dee embraced Taren in one of her very secure hugs and left a firm kiss on his cheek before ushering him inside. Then she did the same to Dorian, once he and their daughter had managed to bring the last of the gifts up. Taren hung his coat and knelt to help Bracha out of her snowpants and boots. Dorian rubbed his hands together and aggressively stomped the snow off his feet. He still played at grumpy complains, muttering and grumbling, his cheeks reddened with the cold. 

Within moments, however, they were all well and warm again, seated in Auntie Dee’s living room by a roaring fire and a tall pine tree hung with tinsel and lights and too many ornaments. Bracha tore into presents, Auntie Dee filled Dorian’s cup with mulled wine, and Taren relaxed into the couch beside him. 

The scent of food cooking in the kitchen filled the whole house. After his own mug of mulled wine had been drained, an oven timer began to beep, and Auntie Dee sprang up to attend to things. Taren followed, leaving Dorian to pull Bee into his lap, examining her new toys together with inquisitive eyes and fiddling fingers. He set plates at the table, got himself shooed away from tasting things, helped to fill serving dishes and carve meats and finally popped out again to beckon his husband and daughter over to the table. 

Bracha bounded over, hopping up to her own spot at the table and waiting eagerly for the rest of them. Auntie Dee set to serving her ahead, spoiling her with heaping portions and settling in across from her with a story at the ready. Dorian followed more slowly, not just an adult with an adult’s reasonable pace across a living room, but with distant eyes and a thoughtful smile as he took in the tree, the pictures on the wall, the beaded decorations in the windows, and finally, Taren. 

“Amatus,” he muttered softly, coming close and smiling into a kiss at Taren’s temple. 

Taren tucked an arm around his waist and pulled him along, returning a kiss to his cheek. He smelled of new aftershave and his skin was warm against Taren’s lips, his sweater soft under his hand. 

They ate, filling up on too many courses and too many rounds of stories and sweet mulled wine. Bracha bounced up from the table to play with new toys and returned again for more helpings of pie at least three times, then she nearly fell asleep face-first into one of them. Taren laughed, tipsy now on his wine, and Dorian rose from the table to scoop her out of her chair. Taren followed him down the hall, looking wistfully himself now at familiar walls covered in familiar pictures. 

They set her down in his old room. The walls were different, decorated now in new art instead of his old drawings and posters — though some of it was still his. The bed was different, set tidy for guests instead of strewn with his unmade sheets. The desk was new, the dresser filled with spare linens and summer clothes. But it was still his room, still the same place — sometimes the only place — that had felt safe and quiet when he’d been growing up. 

He hadn’t been much older than her, he thought, touching on bittersweet memory, when he’d first slept here. 

He watched from the doorway as Dorian toppled the little girl into the bed and tucked blankets around her. His heart melted in wine-drunk sentimentality, and just the very true joy of it, as he watched that tall, serious man bend a kiss to her sleeping brow. 

He took a breath and cleared his face as well as he could of his welling tears when Dorian turned to look up at him, and stepped into the room. 

“Goodnight, Bee,” he whispered, brushing back a thick fringe of tight brown curls to kiss the sleeping girl’s forehead himself, and ruffling it all a little extra as he left the bedside. 

Dorian’s hand rubbed a circle against his shoulder behind him, and then he caught him in a close hold as he rose up again. His hand came up to round over Taren’s cheek, then to pull his face close by the chin. They met in a long kiss, sweet wine and deep feeling between their lips. 

It was hours still before the fire in the living room burned down and the stories ran out. Auntie Dee told several embarrassing ones, while Taren shook his head with laughter and Dorian leaned in. She got them blankets from a cupboard as the clock passed midnight. Taren remembered how to roll the couch out into a bed, and he helped to set the living room while Dorian helped to tidy the kitchen. Then Auntie Dee took her yawning leave down the hall, and there they were, left alone with the glowing embers of the woodfire and the dim twinkling lights around the tree. 

Taren sat on the creaky old couch bed, taking it all in. Dorian came slowly to a creaking seat beside him, and for several quiet moments just held his hand. He turned a soft kiss into the side of Taren’s neck, now smelling of the aftershave and the wine on his lips, still soft and warm. The kisses trailed up until they nibbled at the lobe of his ear. Taren laughed, tickled, and turned into him. 

The whole house was so still and quiet. Soft snow continued to fall outside in the dark beyond the windows, while inside the warm air smelled of pine and cooked berries. Quiet and peaceful and perfect, though their every movement sent the bed into creaks and sharp whines.

Taren rose and slipped from his sweater, a heavy holiday knit that Dorian especially liked to poke fun at — and was already tugging playfully up from his waist. Dorian did the same, catching him skin-to-skin in another long kiss before he could slip out of anything else. 

“Vhenan,” he whispered, feeling the prickle of his moustache on his lips and then just his mouth again, digging in hard and full. He pushed his hands up against Dorian’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and rubbing down over the hair and muscle and belly of him, gripping fingers down around his sides and bringing him in again. 

He felt right, still. Always. Felt like strength and comfort and home, like a gentle tug of magic on all his too-sentimental heartstrings. Like love, always like love. 

“Amatus,” Dorian said, agreeing with his every sentiment. 

Dorian’s hands slid down, around his back with a playful grab to his ass and then to the waistband of his pants. He pulled them down and backed Taren up with an urgent knee between his legs and a press of his own hips. Taren backed up against the fold-out bed, and it creaked. 

“Careful,” he whispered, practically giggling, like he wasn’t an old man with a family but some teenager with a boy over, still living in Auntie Dee’s house. “Don’t make too much noise.” 

Dorian grinned and bit a feistier kiss into his lips. “You don’t make too much noise,” he challenged, as he pushed Taren down into a slow seat on the edge of the bed and pulled away his pants and the shorts beneath entirely. 

He slid to his knees next, quiet as promised, dragging kisses down Taren’s chest and then his thighs. He sucked spots against his hip bones and into the inner flesh of his thigh, hard enough to make Taren lean his head back and swallow a gasp. 

Taren dug fingers into his hair, pressing against the scalp and letting the soft black locks run through his fingers. Dorian left softer kisses, tempting and teasing closer as he handled Taren’s already rigid cock with teasing care. Taren pulled his face back, leaned forward despite the telltale creaking of the bed, and captured his lips in another long kiss. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

Dorian’s eyes glinted in the ambient light, his smile creased up to their corners. “I know,” he murmured back, “my sweet amatus, I know.” 

It was everything Taren could do not to rock and pulse and grind his hips against Dorian’s mouth in a noisy frenzy of old bed springs and moaned appreciation. He pushed Dorian's head in with his hands and held onto his gasps, letting out light, quick breaths and tensing all over as Dorian’s mouth and hands found his cock.

He felt so godsdamned good. Always had, and only better all the time. His wet mouth and tight hands pulled everything out of him, brought him to the shuddering edge of tension and relief like it was a trick he’d been practicing for years — because he had. Taren stood to finally come, bending his knees and struggling to manage a thrust that didn’t knock his husband right over onto his ass, but managing it. His hand in his hair, another on his shoulder, and then pulling him straight up and into tight, breathless kisses of praise and thanks. 

Taren’s hands slid down, returning the favour of pushing off trousers and wasting no time in finding Dorian’s hard cock between his legs. He pulled at him gently, kissed him tightly, and finally pulled him back and close to him while he slowly made his way back to his careful seat on the bed.

He took less time in working up any teasing gentleness with his kisses or the strokes of his tongue, needed less time. Dorian pressed firm and full against him and did a considerably worse job of stifling his groan as Taren took him in his mouth. His hands gripped harder at his hair, and Taren returned the force of that grip with his own hands over Dorian’s firm ass. He didn’t play with him so much as he fucked him, and helped him fuck back, moving into his mouth with urgency as Taren still managed not to move so much as to set the bedsprings rhythmically creaking.

He loved the frantic need of it, the hard, heavy push of his length up into his mouth and at times all the way into the back of his throat. He moved his hands to help with friction and speed, let Dorian pull his hair back and his face up and grinned at him for a flash while Dorian looked down in blushing, slightly dishevelled wonder. Taren caught his orgasm over the flat of his tongue and wrapped his lips around him to slowly take it all in one last time, sucking and swallowing and coming away with half a stifled laugh and wipe of his lips. 

“Maker,” he heard Dorian breathe as he stepped back. 

They returned to undergarments, took hushed turns tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom to wash, and finally rolled into the slightly lumpy bed together, arms clinging tight. 

Taren settled his head over Dorian’s chest, curled on his side, his arm wrapped over him while Dorian lay on his back with his own over Taren’s shoulder and back. He closed his eyes and kissed his chest, sleepy with wine and affection and all the warmth and quiet in the world. 

“Thank you,” Dorian whispered as his thumb stroked an idle line over his shoulderblade. 

“For?” 

“All of it.” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, agreeing with the sentiment. 

“I love you. I love our family and our life.” Dorian’s arm around him pulled tighter. 

“I know, ma vhenan,” Taren kissed his warm skin again, “I know.”

[pargolettasworld]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-35ffgGiJLk

Want to hear a voice that terrifies the BLEEP out of the Union of Orthodox Hebrew Congregations in London?  They tried to ban women from attending a concert that Bracha Jaffe was giving in Hackney, only for the concert to sell out -- in part because their prohibition let some women know that there was a concert.

Jaffe covers her hair, sings only for women, and her band is all-female.  You’ll notice that all the characters in this video are all women.  She’s following the rules of Orthodox modesty as they apply to kol isha.  So what are the rabbis of the UOHC worried about?  Well, if you were a member of an all-male power structure, and you saw a woman following all the rules and still managing to show a world where women have agency and independence and can act in solidarity with each other . . . that might give you the heebie-jeebies.

It’s not about showing self-respect through modesty in dress, and it’s not about showing respect for men by not singing where men can hear.  It never was.

[jewish-lgbtq]

A Trans Woman's Prayer Before Laser Hair Removal

Oh God, oh God! It is narrow for me! In the might of your Face's anger you shaped me with a beard that blocks the flow of my lifeforce. Sustain in me the spirit to know the secrets of the Expansion of your Face... to realize the revelation of the beauty of this body, in which You have desired to make Your Presence dwell. Establish in me the concealment of my beard, and I will find blessings, as it is written: "It is taught that when these two apples are revealed... all worlds are happy and complete with all completeness, and everything is happy and shining." Pour the good oil upon my head, and I will make your goodness flow to your creations. May the desire exist.

El! God! Tzar li m'od. Bigvurat apecha y'tzartani im zakan shesotem et shefa chayai. T'kayem bi ruach l'da'at sodot orech-panecha, u'l'kayem otam b'gilui hadrat haguf hazeh sheratzita l'shaken sh'shinat'cha b'tocho. Taken na bi hester z'kani v'emtza b'racha dichtiv "tanya, kad etgalyan tarin tapuchin alin vachol almin chadan v'shelimin m'chol sh'limuta." Tarik shemen hatov al roshi v'ashpia tuvcha l'viotecha. Ken yehi ratzon.

Alexandra Rayzel the Priestess, aka Lexi Kohanski

This is an abbreviated form of the bracha, the full text is here.

[backjustforberena]

I am very interested to hear your thoughts on Bernie's views on mental health, psychological trauma and therapy... 😀

I'm typing this on my phone so I can't go FULL meta with quotes and references, so if you would like to follow up on any points, please do!!

My general thoughts were related to what we've seen of her interacting with others, really. We know she's worked with a lot of soldiers who suffered psychological trauma, she mentions that. And I was always taken by how she knew that Kieran's dad, in "One Under", as he approached Arthur, wasn't going to hit him like Essie thought. In her last episode as a regular, she speaks with some confidence about how amputees address the shock and recovery.

So I think Bernie doesn't shy away from the realities and maladies of the mind. She accepts it. However, I believe that's probably conflicted by her emotional empathy that she struggles with a little when she starts at Holby. There's the whole episode arc with the sisters with the BRACHA 1 gene and when they finally open up the woman to remove everything, Bernie states that what they are doing is trauma. It's an adjustment of her parameters, but once she sees that, she will be as... I don't know the word... She will be as supportive as possible, I suppose. Maybe that's the word. Supportive. She will believe you.

Bernie is the one who suggests to Serena to see a grief counsellor. She advocates for it. And she's SO pleased when Serena talks her she's been going to the appointments.

I think Bernie's just a very pragmatic person and therapy is a pragmatic, constructive thing to do. She will have seen it work. She pulls an old contact out of thin air in her first episode as a consultant, for that army woman who had gone AWOL. I expect she might know a few army psychologists, have made referrals to them over the years.

I'm not sure what else to put at the moment, other than list examples...

Allowing Arthur his autonomy despite his cancer.

Being respectful of Morven after Morven lashes out at Fran, citing the fact she's been through two major deaths in the past year (Arthur and Jasmine), and making her take time off.

Not wanting to label James Fielding.

"Look, I've seen enough guys with lower torso injuries to know that nine of of ten of them would rather lose the use of their legs than the use of their penis, and I mean that most sincerely. It can cause genuine psychological trauma."

Taking Danny Morrison's symptoms as he tells them, not believing for a second he was a hypochondriac or having panic attacks.

Again, ALL of the support she gives Serena.

Of course, one thing I haven't addressed is Bernie herself, after Mogadishu. All very well being the woman of action when it's others you're helping...

[historic-old-guard-lover]

I Watched Hartenstraat (Heart Street) And Have 0 Regrets

So, the last time I let a thirst-gif jump to the top of my watchlist, things went poorly. Yes, I’m talking about the fact that Luca Marinelli does not make up for the tragic movie that is Der Pfeiler der Macht (A Dangerous Fortune). This time, however, it was a gif of Marwan Kenzari (below) and the internet told me it was a rom-com which is my secret weakness (right after period dramas, Pride and Prejudice (2005) dir. Joe Wright ruined me as a child for cinema). I’m here to tell you that you will have absolutely no regrets if you watch this movie.

[ID: gif of Daan, stripped to his underwear and shoes, taking a tray of shot glasses from Katje.]

I had to borrow my friend’s Netflix account, use a VPN to set my location to the Netherlands, find and download English subtitles, google how to add subtitles to a Netflix movie, and then actually do it. The whole process took me like twenty minutes from impulse decision to beginning the movie with subtitles so that I could understand what was happening but it was totally worth it! (The fact that this is right after another Hartenstraat post is because of the magic of queuing. I seriously did not plan to rearrange my evening tonight.) If you ship Joe and Nicky, you probably have a soft-spot for enemies-to-lovers and this movie delivers it! It is low-key cliche, the high-maintenance business woman falls for the care-free and charming man that circumstance forces into her life, but there are a few subtle twists. I’m not going to put spoilers (or at least I don’t think so), but it’s below the cut just in case.

First off, Daan (undressed man above) is a single dad. He also owns a business. He has a male best friend, sure, but there is a very interesting twist. He’s also played by Marwan who is very nice to look at and would make up for a lot of shortcomings. Katje, played by Bracha van Doesburgh, gets her humanization arc in the eyes of the audience from her grandmother visiting and not just falling in love with a man. She’s so un-smooth that it’s amazing. The best part? There are so many side-plots! You will never get bored because it’s just as much about their neighborhood and friends as it is about their blossoming romance. It has all my favorite tropes that never seem to get grouped together. Oh, and Daan gets to push a racist out into the street. 10/10.

I like a good drama, but I got burned out from watching them all. This movie rebooted my soul. Very good film!

[maribatshipper]

Trollhunting Lantern Chapter 1

A/N: This was written down long before Wizards, about two/three years ago, so this is an alternate universe.

“It’s Marnie & Campo, on River 94.9!  We play the best music mix from the 80s till now!”

The song “Hungry Like The Wolf” starts playing as two strange figures fight in the early morning light. Technically, morning shadows. They don’t touch the light.

“Yield, Trollhunter Jim!” One of the figures exclaims.

This figure is terrifyingly tall, has glowing yellow eyes, and a crimson coloured armour all around him, only revealing the glowing eyes. He has a long sword in his right hand the same colour as his armour.

The other figure, who has now been identified as Jim, replies, “A Trollhunter never yields, Venjo! I’d rather die!”

Jim is a tall creature that looks like he was once human. He has teeth pointing out of his bottom jaw, blue skin, horns on the top of his head, messy black hair, blue eyes, and red/black armour on with a sword made of the same material as his armour.

A human female with brown hair, a white streak and hairclips in her hair, reddish-brown eyes and purple armour jumps into the fray.

“& I’ll kill you if you kill him!” She exclaims.

Venjo smirks, “Terms accepted Trollhunter. Flesh-bag! This is not your battle!”

Jim smirks, “I can take him, Claire. Get out of here. Stay with Blinky.”

Claire smirks, “And let you have all the fun?’

Venjo jumps at Claire, who dodges and slams into him with her armour.

She smirks, “I gotta thank Merlin for the armour.”

Jim scoffs, “You’ve already thanked him a dozen times!”

Venjo slams into Jim, causing Jim to come dangerously close to the sunlight.

“Master Jim! Careful!” Another male voice calls.

Jim jumps away from the sunlight and slams into Venjo. Venjo gets thrown across the ground. Jim holds his sword towards Venjo.

“Your reign of terror will soon be over, Venjo!” Jim frowns.

The sunlight touches Jim’s armour, causing it to burn. Jim panics, & Venjo takes this opportunity to kick him in the face. Jim flies away, close to another beam of sunlight, with his sword in the sun. Venjo gets up, ready to run into Jim. Jim reaches into the sunlight to grab his sword, burning his hand. Claire keeps Venjo occupied while Jim shakes the sparks off his hand. Venjo hits Claire away, into the sun, which doesn’t affect her has much as it does the other two creatures.

“There is nowhere left for you to run, Trollhunter! Give me the Amulet!” Venjo yells.

Jim looks towards the circle on his chest. He jumps up a tree, trying to get away from Venjo for a short while. But every now and then, the branches snap underneath his weight. Jim stops and looks around for Venjo, when Venjo hits him from behind.

“OW! That was worse than your breath!” Jim groans.

Claire jumps on the branches too; her weight being supported more than Jim’s and Venjo’s. Venjo pushes Jim close to the end of the trees, where the sun is shining.

“It ends here, Trollhunter. It’s either me or the sun. Either way, you’re doomed.” Venjo laughs.

Claire hits Venjo away from Jim, who is burning.

“Doesn’t matter. The Amulet will find a champion. That Trollhunter will stop you and your schemes.” Jim groans.

Claire gasps as she realises what he’s saying.

“JIM! NO!” She screams as he jumps into the sun.

As he burns, he turns to stone. He smashes as soon as he hits the ground. Claire runs towards Jim’s remains.

“No! No, Jim, no.” Claire cries.

 ***

An alarm goes off at 7:00 playing “Eye of The Tiger”. A girl climbs out of bed. She has brown, curly hair, blue shining eyes, and looks like she’s only 13. She sings along to the song as she gets changed. She slides to the kitchen and cooks herself some scrambled eggs. She sets the table for the rest of her family, with six plates on the table, at six chairs, then she removes a plate. She puts milk, Milo Cereal, oats, and Rice Bubbles on the table. She continues to sing. Her family comes out with a smile on their faces.

“Face to face, out in the heat

Hangin' tough, stayin' hungry

They stack the odds 'till we take to the street

For the kill with the skill to survive!”

A boy slightly taller comes out and yells, “Shut up, Scarlett!”

The girl now identified as Scarlett ignores him.

“It's the eye of the tiger, it's the dream of the fight

Risin' up to the challenge of our rival

And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night

And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger!”

The boy yells, “If you don’t shut up, Scarlett, you’re gonna regret it.”

Scarlett stops, then looks at him.

“You know, if you had taste, and were a proper brother, Nick, you would be encouraging me, not patronising me for being happy. I have every right to be happy. You, Nicholas, should be happy too. But you have no idea what it’s like to be happy anymore. You don’t even know what it’s like to work at Maccas! I had to slave over a grill, a HOT grill, & clean it while it was still on!” Scarlett frowns.

The boy now identified as Nicholas smirks, “How many jobs have you had?” thinking he has the upper hand.

Scarlett retorts, “How many jobs have you kept for more than a month?”

Nicholas stumbles, and two young girls laugh.

“Thank you, little sisters. Now I must be off, to my ACTUAL and real job. Unlike your big brother here, who, A, I didn’t put a plate out for, because he needs to learn to do things himself, and B, is a freeloader.” Scarlett smirks.

Scarlett walks out the door with a satisfied smirk. She grabs her bike and sees someone.

“Hey Greeny!” Scarlett exclaims.

A girl with short red hair, a yellow shirt, blue eyes, and a few bruises rides up and sighs, “What did I say about calling me that? I’m trying to keep my secret, and if you blurt that all over town, they’ll figure it out.”

Scarlett giggles, “No one’s gonna find out, Bracha. When someone calls someone else a Greeny, they think the person is either a vegetarian or a person who cares too much for the environment. Not…”

Scarlett points to a little green ring on Bracha’s right hand.

“I get it. I just don’t like it. What if there are other people who know about them?” Bracha asks.

Scarlett sighs, “It’s fine, Bracha. Talking about Extra-terrestrial’s is all the rage now. People are even going to storm Area 51 according to the internet. They won’t find anything. It’s all been moved to Area 49b.”

Bracha asks, “What makes you say that?”

Scarlett giggles, “It’s what my Arcadian friend Eli told me before he told me that he had to study abroad in Cantaloupia.”

Bracha asks, “Cantaloupia?”

Scarlett giggles, “I believe he actually meant he was visiting an alien planet to be the human ambassador or something. Speaking of, have you visited any new planets?”

Bracha smirks, “Akaridian-5. The species there are made pretty much entirely of energy, and their hearts they call “Cores”, and if someone dies, as long as their core is intact, they can come back to life through regeneration chambers. Or that’s what I gathered from the peace treaty. Queen Aja seems to be a wonderful queen. She recognised me as being human though.”

Scarlett asks, “Are they blue?”

Bracha falls off the bike in surprise.

“How did you know?” She asks.

Scarlett hops off her bike to help Bracha up.

“I’ll show you later. Let’s just say, Eli knows two. He was surprised I was actually sixteen. He swore I was alien.” Scarlett replies.

“Scarlett...”

Scarlett stiffens.

“Did you hear that?” Scarlett asks.

Bracha shakes her head.

“Scarlett...”

Scarlett notices a few rocks. She points to the rocks and sneaks over, as if a snake were going to jump out.

“Scarlett!”

Scarlett gasps, “Rocks are saying my name. If I get a ring from digging in that, and it’s green, I’m requesting to be on your team.”

Bracha makes sure no one is around and whispers, “In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight, let those who worship evil’s might, beware my power, Green Lantern’s light.”

A green costume forms around Bracha, and a mask appears over her face. She thrusts her ring towards the pile of rocks and what appears to be a laser goes over them.

“I’m getting an energy reading, but it’s not a Lantern energy. It’s something else. It registered the stones as k-spar.” Bracha frowns.

Scarlett turns and sighs, “Take that off. Someone could see you.”

Scarlett picks up a rock to show a glowing blue object.

“An amulet?” Bracha asks.

Scarlett sighs, “I thought it would be a ring. I was hoping. So I could hang out with you more often.”

Bracha’s green outfit disappears. Scarlett looks up and sees something white in the trees, then it disappears.

“Ever get that feeling you’re being watched, but you find no proof of it?” Scarlett asks.

Bracha nods.

“Let’s go. I’m gonna be late for work. Besides, if something does happen, I’m sure we can fight them off. Or you can.” Scarlett jokes.

The girls hop back on their bikes and ride off.

Meanwhile, above in the trees, a creature with blue skin and six eyes gasps.

“It chose a female human?” He asks.

Claire sighs, “I’ll keep an eye on the green girl. You keep an eye on the new Trollhunter. I have a feeling this isn’t going to be like Jim’s time as Trollhunter.”

 ***

 Scarlett smiles, “Will that be all for today, Ma’am?”

A woman replies, “That’ll be all honey. Too much damage to my account.”

Scarlett giggles and receives the payment. As the woman leaves, someone pats Scarlett on the back.

“Well done, kid.” A guy smiles.

Scarlett replies, “Well, like you said, Jack, at Macca’s, we strive to put a smile on every seat. Correct?”

Jack smirks, “Good job. You going soon?”

Scarlett sighs, “I gotta do some mopping, but I’ll go after that. Red bucket for customer space. Right?”

Jack smiles, “Right again, Scarlett. I’m going on break. Seeya tomorrow?”

Scarlett replies, “Sure Jack.”

Scarlett washes her hands and gets the mop. She mops the customer’s area, and a familiar figure comes up behind her.

“Anything interesting happening in there?” Bracha smirks.

Scarlett rolls her eyes, “Nothing really. I barely even know anyone outside of work. They are all old enough to be my cousins!”

Bracha smirks, “That’s rich. You have, like, fifty cousins. Half of them are much older than you. And they are on your mother’s side. I haven’t even met your father’s side.”

Scarlett smirks, “You & I both, kiddo.”

Bracha frowns, “I hate that nickname.”

Scarlett giggles, “I call everyone that looks young kiddo. Especially if they are younger than me. Like you.”

Bracha sighs, “Alright, Alright. But I still don’t like the name.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes and sighs.

“I’m done my mopping. I have other work to do. Seeya later, Greeny.” Scarlett smirks.

Bracha sighs, “Don’t call me that.”

Scarlett walks away and notices a young girl sitting down with a white stripe in her hair. It reminds her of Disney’s Princess Anna. Scarlett continues walking into the staff only area. She goes into the staff break room, where her workmates are having fun on their breaks.

“Is she still following you around, Scarlett?” A girl with blonde hair asks.

“She’s my friend. I’ve told her she can stay around as long as she doesn’t come into the staff area and doesn’t pick any fights. Besides, it’s safer when I ride home.” Scarlett replies.

A tall guy sighs, “Well, it’s none of my business, but a girl seems to have taken an interest in the two of you.”

Scarlett sighs, “Who, Caillou?”

Caillou replies, “A customer. Her name is Claire. She’s got a white stripe in her hair.”

Scarlett frowns, thinking.

“Could she know? No, she couldn’t know. Or maybe she does know Bracha’s Identity. Maybe that’s why she was looking at us.”

Scarlett sighs & realises her shift is almost up.

“Got to go, guys!” She smiles.

“Seeya later, Strange Scarlett.” Everyone smiles.

Scarlett laughs as she goes & grabs her bag. She shoves a jumper on so people know not to go to her for food now. She signs out & walks into the customer area.

“Scarlett! You ready to go?” Bracha calls.

Scarlett sighs, “Sure.”

 ***

 Scarlett frowns, deep in thought while riding.

“You okay, Scarlett?” Bracha asks.

Scarlett answers, “Yeah... I’m fine. It’s actually about a customer. I’ve been told she took an interest in us. She had a white stripe in her hair. Funny thing, I could’ve sworn I saw her in the forest, but no one was there.”

Bracha stares at her ring.

“Well, maybe the ring went haywire and didn’t see her.” Bracha suggests.

Scarlett smiles, “Well, we gotta split now. Seeya, Bracha. Good luck with the GLs.”

Bracha smiles, “Call me if that thing does anything.”

The girls split up and go to their separate houses. Scarlett opens the door and walks in.

“Hey, Scarlett!” Her father smiles.

“Hi Dad! How were the busses in Brisbane today? Anything special?” Scarlett asks.

Her father says, “Just your normal day. There were a few grumpy customers. I met a weird old man. I think he was at a costume party. He had armour on.”

Nicholas comes in and says, “Hi, Michael.”

Scarlett gasps, “That’s Dad to you!”

Michael sighs, “I’ll deal with it, Scarlett. How about you tell your mother about your day?”

Scarlett smirks. She knows not to get her Dad angry. She walks into the loungeroom.

“Hi Mum. How was Joshua today? Did he give you a hard time?” Scarlett asks.

Her Mum says, “Not really. He was actually quiet today. And you know that’s hard for your brother.”

Scarlett nods.

“Hey, Heather, where are the Wasabi nuts?” Michael asks.

“In the pantry!” Heather answers.

“I’m gonna put my stuff away.” Scarlett smiles.

“Alright honey. Your dad and I have to visit someone. Can you take care of your sisters tonight?” Heather asks.

Scarlett answers, “Sure Mum. As long as Face-ache is gone before you go.”

She walks to the room she shares with her sisters.

“Scarlett’s home!” The youngest exclaims.

“Hi, girls. Oriel, did anything happen today?” Scarlett asks.

The girl with sandy blonde wavy hair replies, “Sophie wanted to hang out. But since Nicko’s here...”

The girl with straight brown hair growls, “I really want to-”

Scarlett sighs, “Crystal, I know what you want to do, but it’s not that simple. If he hurts you again, do all you can to fight back. Just use a broom to whack him. By the way, I’m in charge tonight.”

Crystal frowns.

“Ring-ring-ring, Ring-ring-aling. Ring-ring-ring, ring-ring-aling. Get your phone! When someone calls. Get your phone!”

Scarlett answers the phone.

“Hello.”

“Has it done anything yet?” Bracha’s voice asks.

Scarlett sighs, “Nope. Nothing yet.”

Bracha asks, “You’ll tell me when it does something, right?”

Scarlett giggles, “Yes. Should I Pinkie Promise to ease your worries?”

Bracha sighs, “Alright.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes, “Cross my heart, hope to fly, Stick a cupcake in my eye I will tell you when it does something.”

Bracha giggles, “Thanks. I’ll ask tomorrow. Got to report in for the corps.”

Scarlett smiles, “Got it, Bracha. TTYL!”

Bracha hangs up.

“She still a Lantern?” Oriel whispers.

Scarlett’s sisters are the only other people that know about Bracha’s secret.

“Of course. It’s rare to be fired from her job. She’s still one of them.” Scarlett smiles.

“Girls!” Heather calls.

All the girls run towards their Mum.

“It’s time for us to go. Scarlett, you’re in charge while we’re gone.” Heather smiles.

Crystal hugs Mum & Dad first and gives them both a goodbye kiss. Oriel gives them a goodbye hug.

“What? No kiss?” Michael asks.

Oriel exclaims, “Yukky!”

Everyone giggles. Scarlett gives them a hug & a kiss.

“Seeya later guys.” Scarlett smiles.

Michael and Heather walk out the door. Scarlett’s sisters almost immediately run to the TV. Scarlett pulls the Amulet out of her pocket.

“What exactly are you?” Scarlett whispers.

Suddenly, all the girls hear a crash in the basement. They see Joshua is sitting on the couch. Crystal and Scarlett grab brooms and Oriel stays with Joshua. Scarlett opens the door and walks down with a torch in her mouth. Crystal stays behind in case something comes up behind Scarlett. Scarlett holds her broom like one would a katana.

“I hope it’s not snakes.” She mumbles.

She goes over to a pile of boxes and looks behind it. She notices strange footprints on the floor. Meanwhile, something comes up behind her.

“Lady Scarlett!” It exclaims.

Scarlett turns as fast as she can and whacks the creature with the broom. She now sees it has six eyes.

“Ow… Master Jim wasn’t so violent on his first encounter.” It comments.

Crystal comes down and goes to hit it when Scarlett grabs Crystal’s broom.

“Before we start attacking, and sorry, it was instinct, what are you?” Scarlett frowns.

The creature smiles, “I am Blinky. A troll. And you, Lady Scarlett, are the Trollhunter.”

Scarlett and Crystal exchange glances, look back at “Blinky”, then laugh. Blinky frowns in confusion.

“Sorry, Blinky. We just had to get that out of our system.” Scarlett smiles.

Crystal grips the broom again and goes to hit Blinky. Blinky winces when Scarlett grabs the broom, again.

“As you can see, Crystal’s prone to hit things that she doesn’t understand. I have adapted after living with her for thirteen years. Now, better explanation please before she hits me.” Scarlett asks in a deadpan voice.

“You have to fight evil trolls.” Blinky replies.

Crystal seems happy with this answer, then runs upstairs.

Scarlett sighs, “I’ll grab a mattress.”

She pulls a mattress out from behind some other boxes and puts it near the stairs as Crystal pulls Oriel and Joshua downstairs. Joshua acts like nothing’s different, and Oriel screams, promptly fainting on the mattress.

“You need to go before my parents get home. Either that, or get another beating, only from my mother. GET!” Scarlett orders.

Blinky leaves.

 ***

 Scarlett throws water on Oriel, and Oriel gasps.

“What was that for?” Oriel coughs.

Scarlett replies, “Simple. You fainted after seeing a troll. Crystal’s fault. She showed him to you. If I end up hanging out with him, getting rid of evil trolls, you two have to cover for me. Especially you, Crystal.”

A knock is heard upstairs.

“Mum and Dad!” Crystal gasps.

Scarlett orders, “Not a word. Oriel, shower.”

They run upstairs. Scarlett prays it’s not Nicholas. Oriel runs to the bathroom and the others finish running to the door. They open the curtain to see-

“Nicholas. I jinxed it!” Scarlett mumbles.

They open the door and scowl.

“What are you doing here, you monster? Didn’t Dad tell you that if you’re not back before Eight, don’t come back at all?” Scarlett asks.

Crystal growls in a growl that sounds like a lion’s growl.

Nicholas scoffs, “You’re not Dad.”

Scarlett feels her face go red in anger when suddenly, Crystal jumps on Nicholas and pulls his hair out, little bit at a time. Scarlett stares in shock when Oriel comes down, shower finished, and stares, slack-jawed.

“Is Crystal…?” She asks.

Scarlett nods, “Uh huh.”

Oriel pulls Scarlett’s phone out and records the ordeal.

“This is going to be awesome.” Oriel smiles.

“What is going on here?” everyone hears a voice asks.

Oriel stops the recording and hides the phone while Heather and Michael stare at Crystal and a boy that looks like a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing.

“What did you just do?” Heather freaks out.

Michael just stares in shock.

“Uh… Mum, Dad, He had it coming for eight years. She’s done enough for both of us.” Scarlett sighs.

She pulls Crystal away from Nicholas and takes both of the girls to their bedroom, and collapses on the floor.

“This day went from normal to the craziest day I’ve ever had in my sixteen years of living. And I bet this is just the tip of the iceberg.”

 ***

 Nicholas comes back from the hospital, with his face and left arm in a cast. Heather walks upstairs and sits on the bed.

“I’m very disappointed in you girls.” Heather sighs.

Crystal frowns, “I’m sorry Mum. But he deserved it after all that he did to us!”

Scarlett keeps quiet, feeling ashamed.

“I know, but it wasn’t right. I know you have… issues, honey, but you should not do it. Scarlett, I know you were in shock, but please, take her off next time.” Heather frowns.

Scarlett nods. She walks over to the window and stares out.

“I understand Mum.” Scarlett frowns.

“I hope you all will be more responsible in the future.” Heather sighs as she walks out.

Oriel facepalms, “I can’t believe we let this happen.”

Crystal frowns, “Not my fault. He had it coming for years!”

Scarlett just continues staring out the window, a blue glow emanating from the amulet she now has in her hand.

“We have bigger fish to fry now. Like what showed up in our basement.” Scarlett whispers.

The girls stare at Scarlett.

“So, what do we do, Trollhunter?” Crystal smirks.

Scarlett giggles. It’s funny how her family can be upset and angry one second, then can be happy as Larry the next.

“Well, first, I need to find out more about this thing. It seems to be connected to Blinky. I have a plan.” Scarlett smiles.

Oriel frowns, “What are you doing?”

Scarlett whips out the phone.

“Hi, you’ve reached Bracha. Unfortunately, I am unavailable at the moment, but I will call you back as soon as I can. *Beep*”

“Hey, Bracha. Big news. I have to tell you something in person. One question I have to ask though. Ever heard of a Trollhunter?” Scarlett says into the answering machine.

 ***

 Scarlett looks at her glow-in-the-dark watch and sneaks out the window. She looks at her sisters as they put pillows under her blanket. Scarlett gives them a thumbs up and walks as far as she can down her yard. Living in the middle of nowhere gives you a fairly big property to live in. She stops near the dam. She never goes this far from fear of snakes. Especially at night. She looks at the Amulet, which is glowing blue. A language comes up, which Scarlett finds familiar. Maybe Japanese or Chinese. It changes to another language, and another, then English.

“For the Glory of Merlin, Daylight is Mine to command.” Scarlett reads.

A few blue lights start going into the left side of her chest, and she floats into the air. Armour appears around her, which is slightly bigger than herself. The Amulet is right where the blue lights went. The armour glows blue, then changes its size so it fits perfectly.

“Awesome. Now my sisters will want one.” Scarlett laughs.

She holds out her hand and as another blue light goes into her hand, putting a sword in her hand, only slightly bigger than she can hold. It drops to the ground, making her groan in pain.

“I hope it works for this sword too.” Scarlett sighs.

The sword slightly shrinks to fit Scarlett’s muscles.

“Much better. So this is what that guy meant.” Scarlett giggles.

She waves the sword around and gets it stuck in a tree. She relaxes, then the armour and sword disappear, and the amulet falls onto the ground.

[eesirachs]

Very interested in theology from your blog. I've seen you mention 'fascinance' once or twice and despite my interest in psychoanalysis I've never heard the term. Google isn't giving me too much satisfactory info on it, do you have a specific text on it you recommend?

it emerges against the lacanian, phallic term of fascinum (the penetration and preoccupation of the gaze of the Other). fascinance, its cognate, is explored by feminist psychoanalyst bracha ettinger. it refers to the mutual regard of girl-becoming-woman and the femme-fatale-autre-Mére, a woman who offers the girl the opportunity to re-enact matrixial, pre- and post-natal co-emergences wherein two beings (mother, child) share in affective space. ettinger's work on matrixial borderspaces and co-emergences has been, i think, the most formative to my own psychoanalytic rubric. starting with her matrixial borderspace might work, but also, griselda pollock (an art theorist whom i also adore) writes of ettinger in ways that sometimes exceed the latter's content and style

[femmedplume]

Welp, just watched Red Sea Diving Resort. It was visually stunning, (Chris Evans, I’m looking at you,) but that was...the least Jewish movie about Jewish people helping other Jewish people I’ve ever seen. 

I mean, they didn’t have to play it up, but nobody did Israeli accents? They’re all supposed to be Israeli and NOBODY did the accents?? They changed the real Ari Levinson’s story so Chris Evans could sound like a bro and like...why, dude? Get a dialect coach, you can afford one! There was no shabbat, no brachas, nobody spoke Hebrew for even a second, they out here eatin’ lobster and talkin’ like they’re from the Midwest. 

And who was that chick?? Was that not the most Aryan looking woman they could’ve gotten to play Rachel? You’re telling me that there was not ONE Jewish actress who could’ve played her?  Not that there aren’t blond Jewish girls, but that was NOT what the actual Rachel Reiter looked like. She had cute mid-east curls! Dark hair! She was full on Ashkenazi-adorbs, and they couldn’t even find a brunette or dye the actress’ hair? Boo-urns! 

I literally could not tell that the story wasn’t about a bunch of Americans rather than Israelis, and that is reallllly fucking weird. 

Also, for a movie about refugees, it would’ve been nice to have the refugees get more face-time, more lines, more something. A scene or two that shows us what it means to be Jewish in Ethiopia. A Rabbi leading a group in prayer in the Sudanese camps, something. The whole impetus for saving these particular refugees was shared culture and religion, bringing a lost tribe home to Israel... and there wasn’t one scene of brotherhood in that sense in the film. There’s footage of the real rescues over the credits that shows the rescuers and the refugees dancing the hora together and like...yeah. That’s what I wanted in the actual movie. 

I just...I had such high hopes, man. Sigh. 

[mameleh-life]

Likes Navy Shells [yes with the right skirt it's a look thank you very much] and Long Walks on concrete: A social rejects dating profile for the end of the world and other things that might make you laugh 🙈

So the world is ending and I realize my chance of getting to Deal New Jersey for a beach walk [last summer my bubby was niftar and I never made it] is probably slim to none, my chances of getting to Miami and finally having that girls vacay possibly with a munchkie tag along and like an endless calorie limit because hello I'll be tanning and also I never eat that much on vacation anyways except coffee yogurt and chocolate cake and actual coffee [oh wait that's every day of my life no wonder I'm deficient in about a gazillion vitamins #thuglife] and so Yes, yes please give me the slice of chocolate cake with like five different types of chocolate and the thick layer of chocolate molded on top perfectly smooth like a really good facelift because yes I want to gain ten pounds by the end of this because I can and yes if I say a bracha before and after my neshama yeseira gets half the calories. And yes I did check to see if you can marry chocolate cake in America and no, no it's not yet a viable option but if I read enough Cathy comics I could convince myself that yes the chocolate cake is telling me how beautiful I look in this latest kiki riki shell it's so different than the one I wore yesterday 🙌

Also my dating profile needs alot of photos because let's face it my chances of meeting someone who actually can date me is probably less than the chances of me being mistaken for a mama who doesnt tell her kids "yes sheifeleh yes Terra chips are health food look how colorful they are they're vegetables and unicorn chips at the same time and mommy doesnt feel guilty about giving them to you because they were once healthy also they are just so yummy and they are the unicorns of the potato chip world🦄" and so the photos are really just for myself to be like okay okay so I'm single for life but look at that navy shell! I'm so chic I'm a french fashion editor I dont need men anyways I need Vogue and a summer getaway with a well curated edit of 'effortless hippie fashion' and like a pair of pink sunglasses because life should be tinted with Joy theres no other way to live and make it through the day with two babies pulling your hair and telling you mommy I just made a mess [translation: woman your mother is about to go ballistic and you will be cleaning for the next three days because you weren't watching your kids for five minutes so stop getting snacks from the fridge while reading the cat and nat book!]

Oh also I love reading female comedians who are authors: Amy Schumer, Ali Wong, Mindy Kaling and Cat and Nat [mamas!] And my personality is happy go lucky and hyper and my sense of humor is huge and I probably should not talk so much but I cant help it so save yourself the money on the coffee and just swipe left 👍

And lastly when asked my personal goals I probably should just write to have my babies my basherts in my arms my besties all beautiful amazing girls also my basherts on speed dial and a whole closet full of navy skirts, navy cardigans navy shells and headbands just like five million headbands and okay okay cool sneakers are the one fashion thing I still do right👟

So when I'm iy"H fifty and with my still babies and I'm still eating chocolate cake from Sage with my bestie to regain my calm after I just was adulting and you know had to do five million things with mommy brain and slight post traumatic stress disorder [but hey now well all have it together:)] I will say Baruch Hashem life is beautiful and that my friends is how we can find true inner peace by eating chocolate cake and focusing on the brachos 🙌

[blarrghe]

would be really great if adorable domestic ficlets about sequel!Twelve Nights (a thing that DOES NOT ACTUALLY EXIST there’s NO PLAN) would stop jumping into my head while I’m trying to finish this chapter of the Merrill Sessions and you can blame Taren and Dorian and the baby if I don’t. anyway this one is called Favourites: -- Kindergarten is a time of self discovery.

Bracha is five years old now, which means she can start kindergarten, and she is very excited. Taren is excited for her, in a your-happiness-is-my-happiness kind of way, even if he’s openly shedding tears as they pull up to the school parking lot. Dorian is not so generous. He is, frankly, just upset. He’d made a very good case as to why she should continue to learn from them, at home, including: they have more advanced degrees between the two of them than the entire staff of the elementary school put together, Bracha can‘t take field trips to the library or the valley to learn about ancient Tevene history or Dalish trail-signs or bugs every day if she goes to Kindergarten, and also, Kindergarten doesn’t have cuddling.

But apparently, Kindergarten actually takes a lot of field trips to the library and to the valley and even to the next town over to the science museum, Kindergarten’s teacher is a well-loved Dalish woman with wonderful credentials and two upstanding young teaching assistants whom Taren knows personally, and apparently having advanced degrees in astrophysics and business does not better suit one to teaching reading and social-emotional skills than ones in early childhood education and developing pedagogy. Also, Bracha really wants to go to Kindergarten, all her friends are going to Kindergarten, and ever since Autie Dee bought her a backpack in preparation, she hasn’t taken it off. So Kindergarten won that argument, though Dorian made a deal with his husband that they would reevaluate the situation in a year or two, because by that time beginning her education in astrophysics would be warranted, anyway. And now they are in the school parking lot and Taren is quietly weeping and Bracha is bouncing up and down in her carseat with her bright green backpack in her lap and her hair in already-messy braided pigtails, and Dorian has to be the one to get them inside.

Taren wipes his eyes as Bracha drags them up to the door, one of her tiny hands in each of her fathers’, and Kindergarten’s teacher is wearing overalls and a bombastic smile, greeting each child with a fun name-tag sticker and slow, patient directions for navigating her classroom: cubbies for their snacks, a reading nook with pillows if they get tired, activity tables, colouring sheets and markers in one station, a table filled with water and toys, bins of costumes and a kitchen set, a colourful carpet by the board where they’ll sit for stories and songs; a five-year-old’s dream. Dorian gets the feeling that the information package is more for them than it is for her, especially considering that Bracha practically sprints off to an easel equipped with water-colour fingerpaints the moment she spots it, and the teacher continues explaining the plans for the day without her.

Taren smiles, somehow finding one at the sound of Bracha’s laugh when she spots a friend across the room, while Dorian wonders if he can inspect the reading nook. But they make it out of there, somehow, and before driving them home, Taren drives them both over to Auntie Dee’s, and she sighs at them and gives them ice cream. Taren blushes, and Dorian is distracted: when Taren was little, ice cream always helped, she says. Taren protests that he has never mended a hurt with ice cream, while digging into the container for more, and Auntie Dee says chocolate chip was his favourite.

Favourite is an interesting word. Someone at Bracha’s school introduces her to the word, the blighted teacher, probably, and then soon Kindergarten is her favourite. It stings the first time, Kindergarten is her favourite, Miss Jessa is her favourite, but then Lara is her favourite, Eirlana is her favourite, Daven is her favourite, rocks are her favourite, animal-shaped cookies are her favourite... Dorian is pretty sure that she doesn’t know what the word actually means, and he calms down. A little.

But Kindergarten teaches her many things, not just new words, but new skills. He still won’t admit it, but when she comes back with letter recognition and blends, reading sight words and rhyming word families, when she starts counting in three languages and subitizes the numbers on the dice during board game night, when she tells him a story one night and evaluates that the problem in it was solved by sharing without any prompting, he starts to think that maybe Kindergarten is actually doing her some good. Soon, she figures out that with ‘favourite‘ you can have as many as you can come up with categories, and so the obsession continues.

Bracha loves to tell anyone who will listen, and with even more enthusiasm ask in turn, about favourites. It makes for surprisingly stimulating dinner conversation. The entire family learns many things about one another. From favourite colours (Bracha’s is rainbow, Dorian’s is green because black isn’t a colour, and Taren’s is also rainbow), to favourite foods (Bracha’s is waffles, Dorian’s is something he had once in Antiva but can’t remember the name of, made better by its unattainable mystique, and Taren’s is soup, which is cheating because anything can be soup — this argument takes up all of dinner, and by the end of it his favourite is determined to actually be pumpkin pie.), to more substantial questions like “what is your favourite day” (clarified to be as in ever in the history of ever — they all pick her birthday), and “what is your favourite book” which all of them flatly refuse to answer.

Dorian learns things he never thought to learn about his husband. His favourite flowers are pink heather, his favourite fish is starfish, his favourite animal is a blackbear, his favourite shirt is the one Dorian gave him three Satinalia’s ago and his favourite number is twelve. He winks at Dorian like it hasn’t always been. Dorian also finds himself taking stock of things he never has before; considering his favourite socks — knitted by Auntie Dee, obviously, his favourite toy — a duck he had when he was little, and hasn’t thought about since, his favourite colour of apples — after determining which, he starts buying the green ones more. She asks for some truly bizare determinations too, such as his favourite sense; Kindergarten went to the science museum that day, so he takes the teachable moment to say proprioception and then teach her the hidden-hand trick, because he needs to solidify that he is still smarter than Miss Jessa.

He learns that Bracha likes green apples too, and that she knows because they did an experiment at school where they tried all the different ones and filled out a graph, that her favourite toy is the bear he got her the day they took her home (though he knew that already, its name is Chauncy and it follows her everywhere), her favourite socks were also knitted by Auntie Dee and they are her favourite because they are rainbow, and her favourite sense is definitely proprioception — she cannot wait to tell Miss Jessa about it. When he puts her to bed, he reads her her favourite story, which they’ve agreed is a designation that can rotate each week, and she points out all the sight words. (Her favourite sight word is “no” — she doesn’t declare this, of course, but considering how often the five year old uses it, Dorian can’t be fooled.) When she is sleepy and slumping, her head nodding into her pillow, she reaches up towards his face and pulls his cheek into a kiss, before he can finish the tale.

“Thanks daddy,” she mumbles, and it squishes into him like a hug every damn time, “you’re my favourite.”

“What about papa?” he smiles softly, returning the kiss with the softest scold — it’s probably not okay to let her pick favourites — and she nods, eyes closing as he pulls the covers up over her.

“Papa is my favourite too. Miss Jessa says you can have lots of favourite people, it’s not like colours.” she says, then opening her eyes with a sudden thought, she adds “and actually, you can have lots of favourite colours,” very seriously. Dorian nods in serious agreement.

“Okay,” he says, “then you and papa are my favourite too.”

In the living room, after he tells him of this new rule to the game of favourites, Taren resoundingly agrees.

[wenevergotusedtoegypt]

If one is unwilling or unable to fulfil a mitzvah in the fullest or proper way according to Orthodoxy, do you think it's better not to acknowledge it at all, or is it still preferable to do something partially/symbolically? For example, for a person who isn't shomer shabbos in terms of using electricity/working/etc, should they bother lighting candles? Should a woman bother to cover on shabbat if she doesn't all week? Should one bother to keep kosher at home if they won't outside the house?

The question you pose in your first sentence could refer to two different types of situations. The examples you give, though, all fall into the same category.

Yiddishkeit isn’t all or nothing, and it is clearly preferable to do some mitzvos rather than none (if you think about mitzvos bein adam l’chaveiro, this becomes an even more obvious statement - just because someone, say, steals, doesn’t mean they should give up on the whole no murdering thing). In all of the situations you listed, you’re talking about either doing 1 mitzvah while not doing another mitzvah, or doing a mitzvah sometimes but not all the time. It’s unquestionably preferable to do either one of those than to do nothing. To explain:

1. Keeping Shabbos and lighting Shabbos candles are 2 separate mitzvos. On top of that, in fact, each act of work is its own separate prohibition, so even if you refrain from some work but not all of it, you’re better off than if you did all of it.

2. It’s always a mitzvah for a married woman to cover her hair, and the time that she doesn’t cover it doesn’t negate any time that she does.

3. Each act of eating non-kosher food is its own violation, so keeping kosher some of the time involves fewer violations than keeping kosher none of the time.

The point is that in all those situations, a mitzvah or mitzvos are done. More could be done, but there’s a mitzvah there somewhere.

The other category your initial sentence refers to would be a situation where the person’s action does not actually constitute a mitzvah at all. For example, if someone is unable to obtain a lulav and esrog for Sukkos, so they shake a lemon and some other plants with the idea of doing the mitzvah symbolically, they aren’t actually doing any mitzvah at all. They aren’t doing an aveira either (although making a bracha would be a problem because they would be making it in vain), but there’s no particular value to their action. If someone is unable to obtain matzah, so they eat saltines thinking it’s sort of similar symbolically and maybe the next best thing, then not only are they not doing the mitzvah of eating matzah on seder night, they are violating the prohibition of eating chometz. With this category the action is valueless at best and negative at worst. But again, none of the examples you listed fall into this type.

[writingwithcolor]

I have a wip featuring a race of monsters who for the most part attack and eat humans aside from two mcs. I would like to make one mc ashkenazi while also avoiding any semblance of blood libel possible. It's made obvious from the start that he isn't the only monster or the only jewish person, just the only jewish monster. He doesn't eat any humans, but he does cause harm to some at one point. Would it be pushing it to make him Kohen as well? Thank you

Jewish Monster Character Doing Harm 

At first glance, I would have to say I’m uncomfortable. I think a story can be carefully told with Jewish monsters, and I love monsters so I’m honestly keen to see more of them, but I question some of the choices you seem to be making (or wanting to make), and you may want to question yourself on them as well.

Why do you want to make this character a Kohen? 

What do you think you are bringing to the story by making this character have a special role within Judaism, especially as blood libel accusations were so often against religious figures? 

Why did you choose to make the character Ashkenazi? 

The liturgical traditions of the Ashkenazim solidified in an area of Europe that was infamously happy to levy blood libel accusations.

Avoiding blood libel

If your monsters are cultish, just having your Jewish character be a monster (and therefore associated with them) is flirting with blood libel. If the people your character harms in the story are children, your story is shoulder to shoulder with blood libel. If your character used to eat people, or lusts after blood, or has urges to eat people, your story is unquestionably immersed in blood libel.

It’s good that you want to make your Jewish monster not consume human beings, but I argue, because of our long history of being victimized by blood libel, you would need to put in a lot of extra work beyond that to make sure that you separate your Jewish monster from the others. Having other Jewish characters who aren’t monsters is something, but you will have to show that this monster:

Doesn’t have any urges to consume people

Doesn’t harm children

Isn’t tripping on other canards (powerful, pulling strings, etc)

If you can do that, proceed very cautiously and please do more research on blood libel, Ashkenazi history, and engage multiple sensitivity readers, from multiple Jewish traditions. And definitely don’t make him a Kohen. 

More reading: Blood Libel Wikipedia 

–Dierdra

Your “race” of monsters

OP, what did you mean by a “race” of monsters? How does someone from a specific genetic background (i.e. Ashke) become one of these fictional monsters, in your hypothetical set-up? Because whether they’re born into it or turned that way by being bitten like werewolves or Spiderman, to me if it can happen across all real-world “races” that means the monsters don’t constitute a ‘race’ – sorry if I’m splitting hairs.

Example of handling Jewish Monsters - Cinnamon Blade

As far as the monster himself, I’m pretty much where Dierdra is, but I wanted to walk you through my own logic when I created Captain Werewolf, a side character in Cinnamon Blade. 

I knew writing about a Jewish werewolf could go to some weird places, especially since between him and Cin, he’s the devout one (so to some outsiders he might seem like the “more Jewish” one.) So what I did is to approach it very deeply from the inside: how would a young man developing werewolf powers react, if he was devoutly Jewish? 

This character believes that, even more so than an ordinary human, he has a special obligation to use his supernatural abilities for good. Wolfie takes tikkun olam (repairing the world) very seriously, and the other characters see him as the ultimate Good Dog rather than the out-of-control attacking beast from most werewolf tropes. That is the only way I was comfortable writing a Jewish werewolf, because most werewolves are not as safe as this even when they’re supposed to be good guys. And that would just be too close to blood libel for comfort.

So, yeah. I made him a goody-goody, and deeply observant. This man only works on the Sabbath when it’s a matter of lives at stake – pikuach nefesh meaning that the other rules can be laid aside to save a human life, but given that this is a superhero team in fictional Miami I figure he has to do it a lot. Also, he has a blessing (a ‘bracha’) for his werewolf transformation, which Cinnamon explains to one of the gentile team members who had mistaken it for magic words that caused the transformation.

Cinnamon, in contrast, would be a bad fit for a Jewish character with literal beast powers. She’s got a criminal history, is callous with safety and enjoys adrenaline, and has probably bitten someone despite being 100% human. It’s safer to write a character like her as just a regular human woman.

This having been a long-winded explanation of my thought process that I hope you find helpful, but at the end of the day, looking into blood libel to understand what the magnetic north is that you’re trying to avoid, is the best way to approach this. 

–Shira

[manicpixiedreamjew]

ok i rewrote and revised my letter! let me know what you think

2/9/19

Rabbi Randy,                                              

As our Into class comes to an end, a lot has been on my mind. My spirituality, my values; how my perception of the world has changed as I solidify my Jewish identity, especially as a young woman. I spent a few hours poring over journal entries dating back all the way to 2016 this Shabbat, and a consistent theme stood out in all of them: an overwhelming, genuine urge to live an authentic Jewish life. I read, thrown back into the innocent curiosity, the puppy love, the childlike fascination with Jews and Judaism that began with a book. The Chosen, the very first Jewish book I read, and I’m sure I’ve told you this story before; I’ll spare the details.

Anyway, those first inklings of interest, say, early 2016, were academic. I was a vehement atheist born to a family of atheists. Then again, who has a nuanced understanding of religion and people-hood at sixteen? My atheism was an obstinate, cynical world view triggered by traumatic experiences with Christianity. When I picked up The Chosen, though...I was slapped right across the face. Judaism was the first thing that challenged my philosophies; it forced me into an entirely foreign universe I never thought I’d know, need or understand. It taught me empathy foremost, in those early days...studying Judaism exhorted me to bear the burden of others, to feed the hungry (a MAZON seminar comes to mind), comfort the weary. Looking at my journal, an entry dated 3/3/17 elaborates on the effects of antisemitism in America, and next to that a newspaper cut out of a Magen David. It wasn’t quite personal then, but it was something I wouldn’t have looked twice at a few years earlier. It disturbed me deeply.

Then, mid-late 2017. The journal entries shifted, as you’d expect; I’d been exhaustively involved in reading and researching by then. I see a lovingly inscribed entry detailing, religiously, my first Kabbalat Shabbat at CRC. 7/1/17. The smells, the melodies, my friends, the birthday celebration of two elderly men who loved baseball. “A deep, riveting admiration for something ancient and pulsing with life.” That puppy-love stage was in full effect, my love of Judaism and its personal implications blossomed over the springtime, although its fragrance wasn’t entirely sweet: I was forced to confront my identity and ask myself that looming question. Do I want to become a Jew?

That question threw me for a loop. It was an emotionally intense time. I confided to my closest friend that, although it may sound absurd, converting to Judaism was something I was interested in. I remember crying myself to sleep some nights because the decision was so massive, so heavy, so entirely suffocating for someone with no background in religion, no sense of community or family. Eventually, though, my fate did not seem so dire, and I came to my senses: I loved Judaism. I loved it, I love it. One of the first things that stood out to me and comforted me was the Jewish emphasis on family, something I never experienced. I clung to it: how someone’s always there for you;  how you’re adopted into world-wide support network called the Tribe. How no matter where you travel, anywhere in the world, someone will enthusiastically invite you over for Shabbat lunch. How, because you are Jewish, you will never suffer alone.

That, then, began my serious resolve to be Jewish, do Jewish and live Jewish.

Ever since I met with you on 11/21/17 (I have an entry for that, too!), my life has been a foray into Jewishness. You told me to start observing Shabbat and Yom Tov, and I did so with vigor: I bought a chanukiah, acquired the shiniest candlesticks I could, and read every book the local library had regarding proper observances. I look back on my first few holidays and laugh now, playfully admonishing myself for my mistakes and mishaps. But that’s the fun, right? If I learned anything from this week’s Parsha (Terumah), it’s that the means are more much important than the end, the intention more meaningful than the actualization. Late 2017 to early 2018 was all that: learning, doing, experiencing, interacting, existing with a fat dose of humility. Organizing a basic Jewish vocabulary, and through Shabbat services and working with the community, pinning down what it means to live a Jewish life.

Enter 2018! This was, perhaps, the most frustrated and chaotic year on my Journey to Jewish. To start, it was my last semester of high-school. Everything, and I mean Everything, was dependent on my graduation—most saliently my own happiness and sanity. My synagogue attendance was dwindling, my ambition and motivation was all but absent. I’ve always suffered from depression and severe anxiety, but its clutch tightened horribly those first few months. I managed to attend a Kol Nidre service in early September—and, it remains one of my most beautiful and cherished memories to date. December, I know, was the hardest. Between my Catholic father making crusade jokes and my Jesus-obsessed mother spewing casual antisemitism, between unending loads of coursework and no free time, I felt my spirit literally withering. This never weakened my resolve to live Jewishly, but some days I just couldn’t bring myself to enact the values I knew I held in my heart. Some days Judaism felt like a beloved friend, and others Judaism felt like a stranger. Nevertheless I continued to live as Jewish a life I could, but even kindling the Chanukah candles felt joyless. I was like Tevye standing in the middle of the woods, anguished, as his horse refused to budge. Through all of it, though—the sadness, numbness, friction—I was never, ever, once deterred. That’s how life is sometimes. But to be a Jew, as our own Reb Tevye zealously insisted, you must have hope.

And I did. This is when Judaism became real to me, when I realized it was a part of my life and etched into my very being. If I could live Jewishly, study, be a part of my community and find solace while also dealing with these hardships, this was clearly meant to be. I’ve been using “us” and “we” pronouns for a few months now, referring to myself as Jewish even though I’ve yet to immerse in a mikveh. When our class visited the Holocaust museum, the loss and heartache I felt was profoundly intimate...a personal loss, the loss of family I never had the opportunity to know and love. I had never experienced anything like that before, and it continues to haunt me. I’ve been the target of hateful and ignorant remarks. People have glowered at my Magen David; they’ve called me names and insulted me. “Christ killer, money hoarder, dirty Jew.”

But, and I’m a bit weepy remembering this, living Jewishly (and loudly at that) is a blessing. Maybe two summers ago I catered to an older family for their son’s graduation party. An uncle approached me, blinked at my Magen David and muttered “bless you.” I was visibly shaken; I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Later in the evening the grandmother touched my shoulder and asked, “are you Jewish?” I told her I was a conversion student. She embraced me, dug out dreidels from her kitchen drawer, and told me that she was separated from her Judaism during childhood. That it was too dangerous for her to practice, that she wanted to go back to synagogue now that she was safe. I encouraged her daughter to finally have her bar mitzvah. My heart was full. Another memory I’m fond of: wishing a stranger chag Pesach sameach and Shabbat Shalom on the street. He was wearing a kippah. The smile on that man’s face was unforgettable.

Those moments, to me, were godly. Actions are a conduit of holiness; I’ve learned that over the years. To act with intent and sanctify the mundane is second nature to us. A bracha, a kind word, charity, song...everything is a vessel for godliness.

Fast forward a bit: 2019. As I grew into my adult identity, so did I into my Jewish identity. I had my 18th birthday, graduated, passed my driving test. I began to wrap my hair on Shabbat, meditate on the Sh’ma swathed in a tallit, give tzedakah. Often times I sat in the little CRC classroom and pondered on the application of my learning: how it translated into my everyday life, how it reconciled with my values as a progressive woman in today’s society...but mostly, I think, I thought about how at home I felt. I walk into CRC and immediately feel at peace; a part of a family, the member of a loving household. I walk into the sanctuary and about a dozen people are ready to greet me with big, heartfelt smiles. It melts me every single time.

Alright, I’ll quit boring you with all this schmaltz.

I’m not sure that there was one definite moment when I knew, for sure, that being Jewish was the right choice for me. In fact, to assume all that soul searching could fit into one tiny, fleeting, ephemeral moment is ridiculous...as you know from the absurd length of this letter, which is only a minute fraction of my story. Seriously, I could go on, and on, and on; but I digress. Sitting at our Sukkot celebration and dancing with all the other people, looking up through the sukkah and marveling at the hanging plants and leaves. Baking challah on Friday morning and realizing that somewhere, other Jewish women are doing the exact same thing. Feeling warm summer wind on my face, seeing fireflies flicker through the bushes and knowing that HaShem is there. Touching my siddur to the Torah for the first time and bristling, feeling as though something breathed new life into me. Group Aliyah, a guiding hand on my shoulder as we chant the brachot in clumsy unison…

Each moment (and many more, and yet more to come) reaffirmed the fact that Judaism is my home. Ruth said it more succinctly and eloquently than I ever could: Your people shall be my people, and your God shall be my God.

Randy, I never thought I’d be doing this. Ever. Looking back at the learning and growing I’ve done, reading those journals and reminiscing on my journey, I can firmly say, if you agree, I’m ready to enter this Covenant officially.

Thank you for everything, as always,

Zoë

[nataliesnews]

Wadi, Jew from Afghanistan, boy in the striped pyjamas, the blue box, Alsiena 9.9.2021

I had a very pleasant experience in the wadi yesterday.  I met a man coming from the little Shul in the area and he asked if I had heard the shofar. I said yes from afar and from many of the small shuls around the area. He took out his shofar and blew it for me. I told him I am not religious but that was a bracha. So many of the religious men in the wadi on shabbat and on chagiem act as if they do not see me. I asked if I could photograph him and he said sure.

  The papers keep writing about the last Jew from Afghanistan. He has refused for years to give his wife who lives in Israel a divorce. By archaic Jewish law only the man can divorce a woman. Now he is begging some American Jew to bring him to America. As far as I am concerned if this rabbi had any decency he would demand that he first give his wife a divorce before he brings him to America and if he does bring him he should be boycotted by all Jewish communities which have any decent values. They say he had a miraculous escape. A great pity. And he does not want to come to Israel because he will maybe be forced to give her the divorce. Check out the PDF

  I am watching “The boy in the striped Pajamas” and it is not easy. The boy asks his father whom the people are whom he sees in the camp and the father says “They are not real people.” Which is what many people here on the right think about the Palestinians.  The mother does not realise that Jews are being burned and I ask how decent Germans  could not have known what was happing. Then I think that people do not know what is happening in the occupied territories  and if they know they do not do anything to stop this but hide their heads in the sand or find reasons for it. We, the Jews, are as bad as every other nation. No. We are worse because we know what  happened to us and we have not learned from it.. Maybe the extremists on the right or those who find excuses for them should watch the movie and see themselves in the Nazis.  For example when the lieutenant beats up the Jewish doctor because he has spilled the wine….or is it because suddenly he himself finds that others do not think he is such a good German. And I have to asks myself if I were there at that time would I have had the courage to stand up and be counted. Because yes I go to demonstrations but I know that I am in a privileged place……I am a Jew and an old woman. Two factors which protect me from being beaten up at a demonstration ….although I know from experience that it will not save me from being beaten up by an extremist Jew. But would I have the courage. And I find myself asking as I watch the two children….how did they get  the little boy in the concentration camp  to act such a painful role. Did anyone explain  to him. And I ask how Germans of that generation who felt guilty manage afterwards with parents who had been ardent Nazis

 The day before I had been watching a documentary which appears on utube . It is about the Blue Box for the Keren Hayemet in which I dropped pennies as a child with such wonderful ideas about the Jewish state we would build. This link says it all and I ask myself had I seen what would happen in our new state would I have come. At the time yes. After the terror of the Holocaust when we thought our people would be wipe out for sure. Even in the first years when I saw things so differently when I thought too that it was either them or us. It was a different period. I long for the days when with so many ideals and such dreams that we were truly a people who would bring light to the world….when my conscience was so clear.

 https://povmagazine.com/blue-box-review-the-big-moral-problem-of-history/

 It is so true what Weitz saw in the end…that the occupied territories would not bring us joy and as his granddaughter says he bought us the Blue Box but today we have the black box. How even then could we speak about a country for a people without a country in a country without people. How could he have spoken of sending them back to their own countries.  No wonder that at one stage he said that the silence of the destroyed villages scared him. At least then there was the thought of giving them compensation…….not like today when we throw them off their lands and out of their houses for the settlers.  But again different times I guess

 And it always surprises me how some people will just live in their own cocoons and will not take responsibility.  A friend took the trouble when I invited him to a picnic to say that it had to be without fire. I told him as I had done in previous years to other friends that these instructions are about live fire and not about barbecues in what we call a mangel. He argued with me and I said anyone who does not agree with this does not have to come. Also that in twenty years and more of picnic we have never had a problem. Soneone is always next to the fire or keeping and eye on it including I myself and Chaim who does the braai always has water and fire dousing material with him. You don’t have to agree  with this but what struck me was that when we were driving back later in the evening of the picnic I saw the woods, not even in a designated picnic spot, a live fire being made. I immediately said that we should call the fire brigade and the reply was that they do not interfere or phone the authorities. I was shocked and immediately did so myself  and before we had exited the area I saw the police on their way.

 I was reminded how years ago we had neighbours above who were always having terrible fights and one could hear the little girl crying in fright. I went to the opposite neighbours and asked if we should not contact the police and they said they did not interfere in family fights. I phoned myself and in a very short time that police arrived and there was silence. Afterwards the woman actually ran up and down the stairs to ask who had phoned the police.

 There is also the woman who screamed at me once when I saw a child of about three playing on the pavement next to the road all alone and I insisted we stop the car to see if there was anyone near him and she wanted to know why I was interfering!!  And if there is a tragedy afterwards people ask why no one did anything.

 And again on a light note. I have been listening on audible to Anne Perry’s Inspector Monk. She herself with a friend was convicted at the age of 15 with a friend for the murder of the friend’s mother. A strange story. It happened in New Zealand. Anyhow they were both released from jail and she rehabilitated herself and is now an acclaimed authoress. Her heroine is a nurse whose surname is Latterly . The author has done an amazing amount of research about the period. The Crimean war with Florence Nightingale appearing in one of the books ….but what is so interesting is the attitude towards nurses as at time when women were not allowed to study medicine and yet on the battlefield nurses sometime even acted as surgeons….the attitude to women is of course also part of the book. Anyhow why I started laughing when I was listening  was because Kelly (late Oscar’s daughter) was looked after by a black nurse Alsiena who could not say my name and called me Latterlie. One day I heard her saying to Kelly , “Kelly if you don’t behave, you will grow up to be like Latterlie.

 And on that note   bye for now

 Natalie

   Wadi, Jew from Afghanistan, boy in the striped pyjamas, the blue box, Alsiena 9.9.2021

                  https://variety.com/2021/film/reviews/hot-docs-review-1234964681/