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Cole Heinowitz.

Cole and I had been talking a lot lately about the “heart”—for reasons that may or may not be obvious—as an organ of perception or “conduit,” as well as a metaphor…

And “broken” hearts, too—broken in various ways, by various people or events, by families and partners, by graduate school and professionalism (we went through that simultaneously, but separately)—but also broken open in and by astonishment, the Spicerean Outside, romance (w/ or w/o its isms), sublimity or ecstasy… Love, of course.

As it turns out—well, we knew it as soon as our friendship began over two decades ago (her capacity for empathy was so capacious and acute) but not quite to what extent—Cole and I were broken in many similar ways, and many places—and many similar senses too. We talked a lot about those similarities, but even more, perhaps, about the differences and different senses (of the heart, of brokenness, of broken hearts): about their commensurability (or not), their causal links (nor not) with one another, their resonances, mutual inflections, etc.   

Well, “heartbreak” in any colloquial sense hardly does justice to what we’re all going through now—I’m assuming we all are, whoever “we” are (I can’t and wouldn’t speak for anyone)—but reading this again, today, felt huge to me: solace, recognition, and restoration at once.

A Tribute to Cole Heinowitz (1974–2025)

Published on July 29, 2025

Edited by Felix Bernstein

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