Reunited after 30 years with Phil Brater, my mentor and dear friend who modeled for me what true witnessing, support and daring to love and create really look like
Today I gave readings at Brookdale Community College, my first and best college, and Temple Shaari Emeth, the synagogue that saved my life when I was a teenager. Although I’m tempted to say I was back at the scene of the crime, it was really back in the scenes of the anti-crime. At Shaari Emeth, I found a youth group that gave me community, meaning, and extensive nurturing of my talents and strengths while I was living through the hardest time in my life. At Brookdale, I found my legs and ability to move forward toward my life as a writer and people of community.
So here I am, 33 years later visiting the college where I began as a deeply
Reading at Brookdale Community College, one of the best colleges I know
insecure 17-year-old and the synagogue where I found a refuge as a freaking-out 14-year-old. Not only am I back, but I’m reading from my love song to New Jersey, The Divorce Girl, which traces my main characters journey from fragmentation, isolation, fear and grief to art, community and beauty. As if this isn’t enough, the blessings pile upon blessings: my family is with me — my mother at all the readings, and at the Shaari Emeth one, my aunts and uncles
Cantor Wayne, and we look EXACTLY the same we did back in ’77
and brother too; my main mentor and lifeline as a teen, old friend and guide Phil Brater, who I haven’t seen in over 30 years; and even Cantor Wayne, who led me and my peers in singing our hearts out.
Life has a way of returning to itself full-circle, going back to the roots of breakdowns and breakthroughs to spiral into what matters and why before taking us to the
Mom at Manalapan Dinner, another source for a different kind of nourishment
next discovery. I love the places that showed me love and possibility, and although everything was different, everything was still familiar and welcoming. But mostly, I’m grateful for the people who helped me through the dark: Cantor Wayne, who kissed me and called out, “Welcome Home”; my mom, aunt and uncle who talked fast and vibrantly with me in the car of what survived and how we love each other; my old friend Phil who sounds exactly the same — reassuring and like he truly sees me for who I am — as always. These voices and faces travel my heart and soul, returning me to the source that always is.
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