It's Not Over (Ever) We Go On

Writing from the apocalypse, dispatch #4

Last year I sat my first seder with one of my closest friends, David, and his wife Elisa, in their flat in Clinton Hill.

There were maybe 15 of us, making an L shape in the living room, cramped together over wine and storytelling. There was a communion to this Passover dinner that I always long for; a togetherness of family that I never had. I remember …