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“Zoe did what civilized people do when they freak out: she drank tea. She had walked from her little bungalow to Coffee & Tea. It was always filled with the well-educated, the complicated, the people who read books with captivating titles. A perfect place to ignore and be ignored. She found the anonymity delicious.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Zoe leaned closer to Ruth, nearly nose to nose. “If they were made from better stuff, they would have pretended the fault was theirs. They would have made a moment of it--a pretty moment.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Being articulate is no guarantee of intelligence,�� Zoe said. “I’m not doubting the value of education. I’m doubting its reach. Highly educated politicians still do stupid things. Anthony Weiner was educated; Mugabi was educated; Assad was educated; Mussolini was educated. For all their education, look at them.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“I dread dinner with Father. I dread his suffocating shroud of silence. I dread his end-of-day rituals. Most of all, I detest what comes last: his lock-up-for-the-night clatter. These sounds rasp my already fragile nerves. Click, clang, grind, zing, clap, schlik: horrid sounds.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Persianality

“Luz cleared her throat. “I’ve always said, ‘Getting a foothold in a country that doesn’t want you is daunting, but determination and good manners can go a long way.�� So, be careful. Gays are outsiders too . . . just like us.��
Luz smiled. “But, life in the shadows isn’t so bad.��
“You don’t have a Green Card?�� Zoe asked.
“No. And I’m not attracted to men. But I’ll never be Mexican again. I’m a child of free enterprise, wandering through an international marketplace. I may only work in a nail salon, but at least I’m part of America’s circus of self-invention.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“The next day, the cycle starts again. We’re set out like decorative plates in this cavernous architecture, and such a craggy dining hall it is. Not exactly a Claude Monet cottage, more of a Medieval bastion—a vestige of Roman conquests. It still moans with the rickety sounds of age. I can almost hear the grumblings of ancient inhabitants.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Unhand me,�� Grandfather barks, “you badge-
bunny of uncivil justice.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“All the way, Zoe kept her chin up and pretended she wasn’t mortified, but his sour expression stayed with her. She wasn’t good at making American friends. She changed her language, conduct, and clothing, but it didn’t seem to matter. Whether she wore modest Middle-Eastern clothing or cute Western fashions, everyone knew she didn’t belong.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Saul stared at his Whisky Sour. He hadn’t heard from Zoe in about a week. Maybe she had lost interest.
All at once, the room was filled with people laughing, talking about how wonderful it was to be a couple. He was mildly amused at how disconcerting being alone felt. He had met Zoe about a month ago, when he helped her cross a busy boulevard. Yet, it seemed like he had known her for years.
He stepped outside to call and leave another message.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Zoe stopped one last time in front of the mirror, adjusting her new American dress. She didn’t see the dress, however. She saw what the big Russian did to her. She saw what al-Qaeda did to her. She saw a person shunned by her Persian village. She saw ugliness. Every time she looked in the mirror she saw deficiency.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“The trick is, don’t give in to the grief. Instead, I let myself feel it, embrace it, learn from it. In bed by 9:30, up at 7:00, breakfast, then off to school where I spend five mind-numbing hours living by the dictates of San Diego County’s Board of Education, the Western version of Mao’s Little Red Book.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“It’s been about a month since I stopped turning in homework. Life’s harder when you’re the only one who sees the actual gears of oppression at work—and I see no way out. Society has me in its machine.
I’m half-charged, half-concerned, half-awake.
Zonked.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“The less he says, the colder the concrete floor gets. The cold refrigerated air brushes over my feet and curls up my ankles. The coldness turns my toes inward, and I rock uneasily. Fear makes your body do things you can’t control. In battle, soldiers experience fight-or-flight, and their blood retreats into their core, their torso, depleting the extremities—which includes the brain.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“I’m officially giving myself permission to ask; What are Mr. Garcia’s intentions? Maybe I’m late to the game on this question. The thing is, I’ve seen myself in the mirror. Why would I suspect anyone of wanting this?”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“Not easy having her for a mom.
When did her ambitions die? If I had to guess, the day she graduated from Martha Stewart’s School for Stepford Housewives. Never inspirational, she’s more of an embarrassment for an already unpopular kid like me. What can I say? I’ve got plain-and-ordinary running through my veins. Maybe that’s why I can’t shake this stench of unremarkable. It goes back generations.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“It embarrasses me to admit this, but on the first day of school, I sat on a bench, next to one of the new kids. I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d talk to me. Either he didn’t notice me or thought I wasn’t very popular. I’m not. So, maybe the word has gotten out.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“I've heard about people gulping out loud, but this time it's me. I don’t have enough information to know if this grandfather is dangerous, but suffice to say, I’m on guard—giga-guard.”
― Michael Benzehabe, Zonked Out: The Teen Psychologist of San Marcos Who Killed Her Santa Claus and Found the Blue-Black Edge of the Love Universe

“Civil order mattered.
Zoe didn’t know why Farah continued to wear the headscarf, but most Middle-Eastern women wore modest clothing to anchor themselves to a moral order, in an upside-down world.
Zoe wore the chador as a protective shell, to erase herself, to avoid thinking, to envelop herself in the complete custody of her adopted Muslim sisters. In their care she would come out healed, able to process the bigotry that caused the murder of her Jewish parents. Then, when she was whole again, she would reclaim her place in the world.
Though others couldn’t see it, behind the nameless, shapeless, Middle-Eastern garb, she was healing. The chador cocooned and nurtured her. Dour exteriors meant blossoming interiors . . . to Zoe. Judaism centered her, but Islam shielded her. Both served their purpose . . . for now.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“A stained and wrinkled lab coat, no doubt, hid an even worse choice of clothing. Rolled-up sleeves displayed beefy forearms covered in tattoos. Frank grimaced at Mario’s shameless immaturity. Cartoon tats?”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Mario’s high spirits soon took a somber turn. He rolled himself closer to Frank. “I need this job, but you were right. More than a job, I need a way out.��
Frank had him. He was about to detour the rest of Mario’s life. Build a team, deploy them, scoop up the data, get the hell out of town. Frank had left an unhappy trail of ruined technicians. Spies do that kind of shit, were his usual parting words.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Some people want you to call them rabbi; some people want you to call them American; some people want you to admire their tats. We’ve all got our facades. At least the dean’s self-qualifier is based on merit. Can you say the same about your tattoos? Come on, he’s a sad man. Leave him alone.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Zoe returned by rail to Claremont Village. After the train pulled away, she stood alone, beneath a security camera affixed to a lamppost. She looked up, and its lifeless eye looked straight back. In some uncontrollable fancy she turned and curtseyed, imagining someone wonderful on the other side of the lens would be captivated by her new American dress.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Saul had gained his six-foot frame at sixteen, but his muscles didn’t arrive until his early twenties. Between those lost years, he was a gangly, uncoordinated klutz. He was told that he could improve his dancing by watching himself in the mirror. He tried. What he saw was so repulsive that he resolved never to inflict himself on a dance partner.
These days, Saul hid those memories behind weight lifting and jogging. His new athletic physique hid his aimless decade as an outsider, an odd and lonely kid--as he remembered it.”
― Michael Benzehabe

“She closed the distance between them and gave him a tentative hug. He was liberally cologned, with a scent that incited bewildering memories. She circled him, not knowing why. She had only met him a few weeks back, yet tonight, something about him triggered old memories, of a time, a person.
Maybe not.
What she did know, he lacked that special ingredient that moved her. Dull as ditch water. He was sufficiently polite, but that was about all she could say. –Michael Benzehabe, from the novel Unassimilated”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Kam glanced back at Zoe. “Me and Saul are close.��
Zoe smiled. “We are all Americans here. This is how this great nation was built--all for one and one for all.��
Kam looked at Saul and rattled her head. “Wasn’t that the Three Musketeers?�� –Michael Benzehabe, from the novel Unassimilated”
― Michael Benzehabe

“She doesn’t shake hands.�� Saul smiled at the reverend and shrugged. She had other odd behaviors. Saul never viewed her idiosyncrasies as a problem. Rather, he enjoyed her ongoing revelations. She was a piñata of surprises every time they went out. –Michael Benzehabe, from the novel Unassimilated”
― Michael Benzehabe

“Mother-Judah trampled on Jehovah’s offer when she betrayed her marital vows. Disappointment is inevitable, when your partner throws away all the beautiful possibilities. For the narcissist, however, they struggle to see life through anyone’s eyes but their own.”
― Michael Ben Zehabe, Lamentations: how narcissistic leaders torment church and family

“Treat them as you’ve treated me (וְעֹולֵ֣ל לָ֔מֹו כַּאֲשֶׁ֥ר עֹולַ֛לְתָּ לִ֖י) literally; “and-do to-them to-them-as You-have-done to-me��.
An odd request from an unfaithful wife—asking her ex-husband to beat up her new husband. Obviously, her mind is still on the kings of the earth, not King Jehovah.”
― Michael Ben Zehabe, Lamentations: how narcissistic leaders torment church and family

“Lots of “I�� and “me�� in this chapter. Mother-Judah has a very egocentric manner of speech. Maybe Judah hopes she can out-talk God. Maybe Judah hopes she can convince God that, all things considered, she ain’t as bad as the other nations. (De 18:9-14)
Narcissist partners rarely miss an opportunity to point fingers—and that’s how Judah decides to end chapter one.”
― Michael Ben Zehabe, Lamentations: how narcissistic leaders torment church and family

“I’m sick at heart. (וְלִבִּ֥י דַוָּֽי) literally; “and-my-heart faints.��
. . . she says, back-of-hand-glued-to-forehead pose, cutting her eyes toward Jehovah, to see if He will buy into her manipulative drama.
Again, it takes the gall of a narcissist to destroy a family and then pretend the real victim is their, poor sick heart. Even at a distance, it must have been a terrible thing for angels to watch—powerless to comfort the Father they loved and admired. But, no angel was capable of feeling God’s depth of anguish. And how well they knew Jehovah’s anguish.”
― Michael Ben Zehabe, Lamentations: how narcissistic leaders torment church and family