Each Yom Kippur I find myself digging into the primary historical documents of my life. It's an odyssey laced with shoeboxes and type setting.
This year I waltzed gently through Grandma Lu's "schtick book", a tattered 20"x16" bound opus of comedy she used to deliver to Haddasah.
The material was dated, soulful and rich. It left me welled up with pride in family and conviction (sometimes conflicted) in my culture.
