Hilde Mosse comes from one of the wealthiest families in Berlin and stands to inherit an enormous fortune. But she longs for something more meaningful than the luxurious lifestyle her family provides. So Hilde decides to pursue her dream of becoming a doctor. As the Nazis take power in Germany and the Mosse family is forced to flee, Dr. Hilde Mosse lands in New York having nearly lost everything.. She finds her calling treating the mental health of Black youth – and the symptoms of a racist system. In addition to photographs, school records, and correspondence spanning Hilde Mosse’s entire lifetime, the Mosse Family Collection in the LBI Archives includes the diaries she kept between 1928 and 1934, from the ages of 16-22. Hilde’s papers are just part of the extensive holdings related to the Mosse Family at LBI. Learn more at lbi.org/hilde . Exile is a production of the Leo Baeck Institute, New York and Antica Productions. It’s narrated by Mandy Patinkin. This episode was written by Lauren Armstrong-Carter. Our executive producers are Laura Regehr, Rami Tzabar, Stuart Coxe, and Bernie Blum. Our producer is Emily Morantz. Research and translation by Isabella Kempf. Voice acting by Hannah Gelman. Sound design and audio mix by Philip Wilson. Theme music by Oliver Wickham. Please consider supporting the work of the Leo Baeck Institute with a tax-deductible contribution by visiting lbi.org/exile2025 . The entire team at Antica Productions and Leo Baeck Institute is deeply saddened by the passing of our Executive Producer, Bernie Blum. We would not have been able to tell these stories without Bernie's generous support. Bernie was also President Emeritus of LBI and Exile would not exist without his energetic and visionary leadership. We extend our condolences to his entire family. May his memory be a blessing. This episode of Exile is made possible in part by a grant from the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany, which is supported by the German Federal Ministry of Finance and the Foundation Remembrance, Responsibility and Future.…
Transmissions from the leafy green nowhere. Music, pop culture, pandemic life. Yard work, remote work and the eternal quest for discount groceries. Written and produced by Chad Andrew Dryden.
Transmissions from the leafy green nowhere. Music, pop culture, pandemic life. Yard work, remote work and the eternal quest for discount groceries. Written and produced by Chad Andrew Dryden.
We've come to the final(?) episode of The Suburban Abyss, a tying up of loose ends of sorts, featuring a long walk through the Streetsboro Flea Market, a short walk through our neighborhood in the leafy green nowhere and one big question I had not considered since moving back to Ohio nearly four years ago.…
Are you the same person you used to be? The question was posed in the October 2022 New Yorker article “Becoming You,” and it’s an easy one, perhaps an inevitable one, for a middle-aged person to ask while staring into the real or proverbial mirror. Especially after moving back to your place of birth after two decades away.…
Every family history has a few good “dumb shit” stories, when something happens that’s so dumb it crosses the threshold of stupidity into the absurd, and once it’s over the only thing left to do is laugh about it and file it away as another dumb shit story to be told and retold in the years to come. And when it came time for Travis and me to pick up our Rocco's Super Bowl sheet pizzas near the end of Dad's 75th birthday weekend, shit got dumb.…
Holiday drinking is an international sport, a holly-jolly right for all. The Christmas lights go up and everyone gets lit, ho ho ho and a bottle of rum. I’ve suited up and worked my elbow every season since my freshman year of college, but for the first time in 26 years, I took myself out of the game until Christmas Eve following the last underwhelming sip of red wine on Halloween night. Spending the season sober was a calculated decision, one I had been considering for months – for years, really – as I found my relationship with alcohol changing.…
Erica and I did not set out to make 2022 a big concert year, especially a year of big concerts, but that's what happened after scoring tickets to Nine Inch Nails' homecoming show and a shared bottle of wine led to an impulse trip to Long Island to see Phish while our kid was away at band camp. We are not tourists of our own pasts, but it's hard to ignore the nostalgic tinge to these two concert experiences or the aging Gen X vibes – different yet similar – that dominated both.…
Long before music, baseball was Mark Lanegan’s first love. Growing up in Ellensburg, Washington, Lanegan did what most 20th century American boys did: he played pickup games until it was too dark to see the ball. For certain music fans, it’s difficult to reconcile the counterculture lineage of an artist like Lanegan with said artist’s passion for popular sports. Billy Joel throwing out the first pitch at Shea Stadium? Sure, whatever, who the hell cares? But Mark Lanegan, the dark prince of grunge, a high school hurler with professional aspirations?…
Returning to Boise last summer for the first time since moving away in 2020 was particularly disorienting – seeing a place I once called home through the odd-fitting lens of a quasi-visitor – and a year into this new rhythm in my work life, the Hudson me and the Boise me feel like different people, and I haven’t figured out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.…
Listening to "A Bit of Previous," I get the sense the core members of Belle and Sebastian, now in their late-40s and early-50s, are at a similar juncture in their lives – perhaps, like me, asking themselves where the hell the last 20 years went – as the prevailing theme on the album is aging, and in the hands of Belle and Sebastian, it sounds incredibly dull.…
My initial response was to sit up in my hotel bed and guzzle water, hoping a little hydration would work the razor blades out of my throat. No luck. Soon enough, my nose started running. Then the sneezing. And coughing. Here we go. Clearly this was not from talking loudly in crowded rooms and noisy bars, nor a temporary reaction to a new environment, but something worse – hopefully not THAT something.…
Dewey Bunnell, Dan Peek and Gerry Beckley were punching bags from the start, dismissed as watered-down ripoffs of Buffalo Springfield, Crosby, Stllls, Nash & Young and associated Laurel Canyon luminaries, and while America did ride certain stylistic coattails to ’70s radio success, "History: America’s Greatest Hits" – which is being reissued on vinyl for Record Store Day April 23 – is one of my favorite best-ofs in our library, an album I’ve loved since high school and I'm not ashamed to admit it.…
I recently reread "On the Road" and "The Dharma Bums" to see what was there for me in my 40s, partly inspired by a comment my friend Marcus made last summer: how Kerouac’s writing, as a guidebook for life, is great when you’re between the ages of 18 and 22, but not so much after that. I didn’t dust off my Kerouac to counter Marcus and prove him wrong, but I didn’t want him to be right either.…
It’s safe to say I’ll never be described as “unrelentingly social” in real life, but right now I’m taking every waltz in my dreams. The pandemic is barely there, but people are everywhere, often in bizarre combinations of friends, family members and minor characters from different chapters of my life, and we’re all having a great time. Have you noticed a shift in your dream world? Apparently, it’s a thing. There’s mounting evidence that suggests the pandemic has rewired our brains – maybe permanently – and it’s affecting our subconscious, too. People are dreaming more, and our dreams are noticeably weirder.…
Andrew introduced me to Interpol sometime near the end of 2002, a few months after we took over my brother’s rental home on Collinwood Avenue in Akron’s North Hill neighborhood. I don’t remember the exact date "Turn on the Bright Lights" entered the house, but listening to it now, it’s synonymous with the uncompromising glare of winter on Collinwood. The combination of little money, low job prospects and a lack of direction created a crippling, quiet intensity within me, a pent-up urgency on the constant verge of implosion. And the house was cold. So f**king cold.…
Even when you’re happy, winter is like a boat without an oar that drifts you farther away from joy, and during the long first season back in the Lake Erie snowbelt, I lost sight of the simple pleasures that brighten the dark days.