Bøger af Kj Hannah Greenberg

Not only do dwellers in the Holy Land learn Torah and reinforce their Jewish identity, they also experience life in a Torah-rich milieu. Here, where every handful of dirt is a blessed handful, where the sky over Jerusalem is the blue of tzitzis and of Shamayim, there are words that everyone, regardless of their hashkafa, uses to welcome Shabbot. Eretz Yisrael's holidays are the feasts and fasts marked in Torah. What's more, here, the words of our prayers necessarily refer to our day-to-day experiences. When we pray for rain, here, it is not just a tradition, or a law, it is a reality, with newscasts frequently measuring the height of the Kinneret. When we conclude the Pesach Seder with a prayer for meriting celebrating that festival next year in Jerusalem, we are not referring to a luxury hotel, but to the holiness of our capital, to our yearning for Moshiach, and to our desire to witness the restoration of the Temple. When we sing the perek in Tehillim, which promises that we will not forget Jerusalem, we are not singing about the location of international embassies, but about whom we are and, more importantly, Whom Hashem was/is/will be.****Our life as olim has not been the stuff of storybooks, but the gist of narratives. Such seemingly topsy-turvy living, truly, consists of one blessing after another. From pilot trips to housing, schooling, language acquisition, and employment, my family's acculturation has been a gift.

In fifty essays, On Golden Limestone glimpses the Israeli people, their communication, their day-to-day goings on, and their momentous occasions. Living in Israel means embracing multiculturalism, joining in an array of lifecycle events, and easing up on relationship strictures. Although immigrants bring foreign particularities to this place of sand and sun, Israel pours an even greater depth of character into her newcomers. It remains important, in this unique quarter, to differentiate among: modes of gesturing, ways of bargaining, and avenues for seeking children's spouses. Few geographies proffer enormity per parking tickets, dentists, or ethnic violence, concurrent with ascribing significance to aureate sunsets.

In seventy literary bites, Sweet and Sour: Womanly Thoughts invites readers to explore the complex roles of females. This book celebrates moms' ability to simultaneously: mop carpets, diaper doll bottoms, chop beans, and actualize professional jobs. As well, this book regards, jadedly, some of the conventions surrounding womenfolk's socially prescribed limits.This assemblage is meant to be provocative. It is a collection of frankly noisy notions at the same time as it is a rationale for ordering more chips and dips, for triaging one's inflatable swimming pools, and for weighing the utility of papier-mâché parrots. Sweet and Sour: Womanly Thoughts makes readers scold their supervisors while simultaneously wishing to be elsewhere, hugging their children. It is a peppery itch without the relief of a rub. Above all, this assemblage is an invitation to engage in critical thinking.

Ladies (and their associates) of various miens populate this book; Amal offered a new conjecture. She suggested that the women had involuntary become medical guinea pigs. Weeks before she and her coterie had noticed their state of flowering, Amal had accidentally collided with a pharmacist. That pharmacist was walking through the locked hospital ward, where Amal's sister was a nurse. Maybe, that drug doc had not meant to dispense medications, but to surreptitiously test a rare gonadotropin. ****While Aya had no idea how the bandits, with whom the trash collectors were in cahoots, knew which families would be on vacation, at the office, or otherwise not present in their dwellings, she knew that contractors, like garbage men, go mostly unnoticed by the public. Elsewise, locals would have grasped that there were, amid their neighborhood, many innocent-looking piles of concrete in which single tiles had been arranged such that one among each stack pointed toward a potential target's front door. ****Quetta's nieces had advanced from s'mores to hot dogs. With Darren participating, family cookouts had become more interesting. Equally, waterpark outings had gotten better since Darren, unlike Quetta, was willing to ride the loop-de-loop slide that was her nieces' favorite attraction.****At first, no one believed that a "lady" could be an offender. I told them otherwise. I even pointed them to websites that show while men are most of the perpetrators, women are perps, too.****Once, not terribly long ago, there lived a green witch...Yes, she was mated! Not only did she avoid toads (they carry viruses and parasites), and not only was her lone, large cooking pot used for tincturing thyme, not for stewing spells, but she was married. Plus, her spouse was neither a warlock nor a narcotized sex slave, but a straightforward cybersecurity expert. It was his income that had allowed them to purchase the land on which their tiny house sat. ****Halleli submitted recipes for okrashka, a cold vegetable soup, and for solyanka, a smoky, sour soup. Those offerings represented content that appealed both to her gourmet predilections and to her readers' limited resources. ****Blue was horrified. Only parents feed inchoate penguins. She gulped down the last of her fish and then scuttled away. Prestige was one thing but living with a mate who couldn't mate was another.

Smiling and Nodding with Alacrity is an omnibus containing the best essays from KJ Hannah Greenberg's humorous, transnational collections; The Nexus of the Sun, the Moon, and Mother, Whistling for Salvation, On Golden Limestone, Rhetorical Candy, and Dreams are for Coloring Books: Midlife Marvels. This assemblage, in general, offers glimpses of Israeli people, Israeli communication, and everyday Israeli goings-on. More specifically, this book provides accounts of how Hannah, her husband, and their growing sons and daughters awkwardly, joyously, and hilariously crossed a cultural divide.

In this new collection of poetry, KJ Hannah Greenberg takes on the topic of love with full poetic abandon. Tangling with fairy tales, disillusionment, regret, break-ups, hardships, and longevity, Greenberg doesn't shy away from the sticky side of sweet. Her poetry, didactic at times, representational at others, employs devices of style and unconventional usage to delve deeper meaning in narrative. A collection for those who know the course of love is as often fraught with adversity as it is suffused with light.

It is not so effortless for women to integrate their roles. Whereas women are pushed to "accomplish," they are simultaneously chided for embracing traditional female functions.Women who have advanced degrees, 401Ks, or late model sports cars receive more positive feedback from men, and from women, who have taken on"men's jobs," than do gals who deign to define themselves by: how actively they engage in communication with their spouses, how mindfully they proceed through their pregnancies, and how well they nurture their sons, daughters, and, later, their grandchildren. Simply, as a society, we've made girls into boys, while dismissing any reverence we had for girls.The Wife/Mom explores possible answers to this dilemma by addressing communal stances on both visible and hidden, gender-based strata. Thi sassemblage of poetry puts front and center our culture's need to return to cherishing women as "women" and to esteeming "womanly" goings-on, per se. In these poems, females might be intrepid visionaries laboring in complex math, might be maestros of major orchestras, or might be Olympic athletes, but they are beloved first and foremost for being wome

Harbinger Asylum is a literary journal based in Houston, Texas. We anthologize a wide spectrum of voices. This edition brings the reader poets at all levels of the craft, including first time published poets and popular contemporary poets. All who purchase this edition will get a free copy of a chapbook by Albanian poet Ardita Jatru. Please email a screenshot of your purchase to Editor@transcendentzeropress.org with ALBANIA as the subject header.

It's better to attach life experiences to poems than to let them fly high and out of sight. Literature worth resources speaks to our guts. More specifically, when groupings of words, like these one hundred instances in Flames and Fire, make us feel uncomfortable, we're on to something good. Writing's ability to interact with our viscera can save us, or, in the least, can shepherd us toward achieving vital goals.Whereas it's hardly useful to lark about, perusing worlds where venomous wildebeests run amok or where two-headed hedgehogs rule, it's equally ineffective to stay closeted while attempting to legitimize the entirety of civilization. We might not be able to be friends with everyone, but we should, in general, manifest a little understanding and a lot of tolerance. Accordingly, the questions raised by the poems in Flames and Fire are important.More exactly, this assemblage puts forth the idea that each of us, individually, and all of us, collectively, ought, immediately, to take accountability for our culture's choices. This book further suggests that whether we are in the social minority or in the majority, our vociferations make a difference.On balance, neither leaders nor insurgents can synthesize communal harmony where personal or public views emphasize contrast. Sadly, our protracted hunt for incommensurabilities creates the type of strife that leads to riots, government brutality, and terrorism. We win only when we look upon each other favorably. Hence, at the same time as we follow the trajectories of our individual stations, we're helped by concurrently looked right and left toward other folks' situations. Forbearance is great; nonetheless, it's smiling and acting with kindness that are phenomenal.

Relationships are blessedly commonplace. The manner in which each of us carries out negotiating, maintaining (and possibly dissolving) our connections, however, is bespoken. Consider that many communication scholars flounder when social climbing, and that many politicians, as well as other individuals possessed of great applied communication skills, tend to mess up romantic and familial links. What's more, most of us become so obsessed with the ways in which external points define us that we neglect our vital, intrapersonal comings and goings.Rudiments explores much of this fuss. It jabs at the ways and means by which we coordinate our management of meaning with the conflicting voices in our heads and with the folks with whom we are involved. That is, this collection of poetry investigates how we get along with ourselves. It also investigates how we get along with others. While this book might romance the notion of sticking together, this book, simultaneously, makes no pretense that all liaisons are good; Rudiments espouses that some of our affiliations adversely impact our well-being.To wit, while we struggle to reify ourselves over and again, sometimes, we succeed in making sense out of ourselves, and, sometimes, we succeed in making sense out of our associations with other people. Other times, we fail. Nonetheless, whenever we appreciate ourselves or our couplings, we discover that each amalgamation of cognitions and feelings are dissimilar. Hence, it's our distinct modes of handling self-talk and of handling conversations that ought to get celebrated. Rudiments strives to honor these particularities.

Rhetorical Candy reflects on images of, suppositions about, and lived experiences indigenous to Israel. The Jewish state is neither an ongoing beach party nor a perpetual war zone. This country's fruit crowns world agricultural, her high tech is second to none, and her military know-how remains superlative. The Holy Land equally embraces foreign laborers, BUL M5-toting rebbes, and public transportation-using five year-olds, who accompany their three year-old siblings to school. Additionally, this great realm is comprised of: sunsets over Jerusalem, Eastern and Western traditions woven into local milestone celebrations, egrets, camels, and hyraxes, plus an awesome national medical system. Most importantly, Israel is this word's most concentrated sphere of supernal energy. Come taste the truth about this fantastic geography. Come read about Israel one essay at a time.

We often get bogged down with assumptions about what we ought to receive in our relationships with people and with G-d. We suppose that our partners ought, for instance, to prioritize chatting with us when returning home from work, or that our children ought, for instance, to give up their precious leisure hours to help us with household chores. Similarly, we might suppose that the ends we've determined for our careers and for our health, and that the means by which we think that we ought to achieve those ends, are the only ways in which we can move fittingly through life. Such beliefs are unrealistic, and even harmful. Our dear ones' urgencies don't always match ours. Our urgencies don't always dovetail with theirs or with G-d's. That's okay. In learning how to weave together their needs with our own, and in learning how to accept, rather than to fight against, the measures that G-d gives us, we grow personally, parentally, and professionally. We become happier, too.

It doesn't matter that I cobble together ideas about womanizing linguistics, make hallucinatory word salads, create poetics about invasive social orders, or write plays about imagined interstellar beings. My offspring, by dint of being mine, have a duty to prize personal growth and to value social contribution over externally assigned accolades. A writer's sons and daughters might influence a writer, but she affects them, too. ****While neither gigantic starfish nor shrunken behemoths are meant to replace clergy, therapists, or beloveds as guides for self-improvement, fake fauna constitute viable vehicles for processing otherwise unreachable corners of interpersonal conundrums. Simulations are especially important to those among us who need to flee the malfeasance of ostensibly mild-mannered citizens, i.e., from individuals akin to axe murderers or other villains. ****It's tough to refute that choices, chances, partners, and presumptions are colored by private acts and that not every answer comes from cutting away connective tissue with a scalpel, i.e., from forsaking one's identity. Belief can and ought to be made manifest in expression. ****When I construct works about the incredible or the barely conceivable, I'm happy and I'm providing audiences with fresh mental architecture. ****Not only is the employment of pretend friends useful to entice audiences, but that choice is similarly valuable for educating them. In particular, readers that are fatigued by differentiating among intentions, decisions, and actions, professionally and personally, care little that the literature, which they deem tastiest, is riddled with masked intentions, misrepresents social fidelity, or is devoid, overall, of pointers toward private answerability. It's not for nothing that genre fiction keeps growing in popularity. ****My use of funky critters is my sugarcoating of social linctuses. ****Gone is the era when writers sacrificed profits for principals. These days, most of what gets posted or printed is tripe. Ironically, vanished, too, is the span when writers sacrificed principles for profits. Today, even if authors play strumpets on Naked News, declare an eating disorder on LinkedIn, or snuff baby rabbits on YouTube, no one cares. Most audiences no longer even regale such acts as "performance art." **** The realm of healthy relationships sits beyond philosophy and rhetoric's disciplinary limits. It's useless to assign comparative worth to needy others' statements and almost always harmful to counsel, rather than to be present as a quiet witness. Additionally, shaming, and other forms of coercion never helped anyone heal but has led to broken friendships and even divorces. There's a reason why wise ones are relatively silent. "Command" is rarely synonymous with "sagacity." When strategizing over reactions to other peoples' tribulations, it's nobler to be wordless that to spout "eruditions." ****My kids remain the most precious commodities in my life. They deserve all the celebration that I can manifest, so I write about them. ****My burgeoning belly, my leaking breasts, and the many years I spent away from my career while surrounded by diapers, larking at museums and playgrounds, and cooking all manner of child-sized treats, yielded a self-understanding that was very different from that which I had been forced to accept earlier.