Letters

Never once did I think that I’d be spending an evening riding around in a cab with a dead fish and a very live octopus in a plastic bag, but,…

The kid, no older than thirteen, dressed in torn jeans and a coat smeared with brown stains, stuck his nose in the brown sandwich bag and inhaled the glue fumes,…

Sitting at Café Central in the Petit Socco, the main square in the old Medina of Tangier, I take in my surroundings. I hear the familiar sounds, with Arabic, Spanish,…

I stuffed my bright orange two-hundred-fifty dollar Osprey backpack with clothes. In my one-hundred dollar Patagonia backpack, I stored my two-thousand dollar camera. My bags were heavy and the air…

As we walked down the streets of the Medina leading to the antique shop, I reminisced about the sweet days of my childhood. I followed a group of fellow students…

I often find that when I wander on my own, I can submerge myself into the culture of Morocco and can fully appreciate the beauty and people around me. Some…

Gray clouds filled the sky and a light mist turned to a drizzle. A group of us—Sarah, Emmy, Elissa, Jennifer, and I—climbed into the tan taxi our campus manager, Mourad,…

“You and Ohana Will Always Be In My Heart” say the two bracelets you gave me before I caught my plane for Morocco. I remember the tears pouring down your…

As I sat on my one-person balcony, I breathed in the crisp air of Tangier. It was the kind of air you get when the seasons are changing. Fall was…

The morning I learned about the shooting in the Pittsburgh synagogue was also the final day of the shiva, the ritual seven-day period of mourning. It was a cold and…