On Friday nights (for Shabbat dinner) my grandmother always made vegetable soup and chicken soup. Who wants vegetable soup, she would ask. Some of us would raise our hands. And who wants chicken. The others would raise their hands. And then my grandfather would say, I’d like a little of both. A little chicken and a little vegetable. Mixed together. Same here. A little of both. A little agony. And a little ecstasy. Mixed together. Good soup.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Interview: Sabrina Orah Mark
Is writing more agony, or ecstasy?