In every piece of art or writing, I’ve found a new truth layered in shadow, or dispelled old bitterness in an unexpected turn of phrase, or tugged an answer from a tangle of threads.
Maybe I didn’t realize it at the time, but as a kid I was soaking up many family stories. Every Sunday we gathered for dinner at my grandparents’ house, and while we feasted on stuffed grape leaves and squash, pita bread, hummus, shish barak dumpling soup, tabooli, and other homemade dishes, I listened to stories about life back in the old country.