by Amanda Leigh Lichtenstein

1992: Jesus for Jews

a love story

AI started bleeding when I was 13 years old—on the morning of my bat mitzvah. I was feeling especially chosen. I was a woman now. My older sister Nina taught me how to insert a tampon, and off I went to get my hair braided at a salon in a strip mall before heading to the synagogue. It was January 1988. Skokie, Illinois. The world was flat and gray and speckled with invisible sorrows. I wore a wool floral print dress suit, and just minutes before reading from the Torah, I ripped out that awful braid and wore my hair loose and wild at the altar of God.

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