Is This Good Enough?
I woke up this morning to a stranger on the internet tagging me in a post about how disappointed they were. In me.
Listen, internet stranger (who supports my work — thank you!) I have a drama degree. I suck at math. I have a very basic understanding of science. I went to a performing arts school and paid very little attention in any of my history classes. I’m no expert in geopolitical clusterfucks or foreign policy. I’m just a person with crippling anxiety who went through a life-altering tragedy that finds solace in arranging words in an order that sounds good. I’m not an influencer. I get paid a sum total of zero dollars to influence anything. I’m just a sad woman trying to make it through the day like the rest of you.
There are many experts out there who can speak about the Israel/Palestine conflict in a way that’s informed, insightful, and solutions-oriented. You should follow them for their “stance.” I have no stance, but I do have feelings.
Here are some:
1. I hate the fucking internet. It’s not real. It’s a toxic cesspool of black and white thinking with all the most toxic traits of herd-mentality. It’s a two dimensional wasteland rarely representative of any complex issue impacting large numbers of humans and this gruesome week has reminded me of the general lack of empathy this chaos machine permits. (I wrote about this 7 years ago here.) We’re literally posting little flags in our bios from the safety and comfort of our homes, announcing which “team” we’re on like it’s a sporting event. It’s a bloody fucking war rooted in hate and terror. We’ve missed the plot. We should burn it all down and go outside.
In the meantime, stop guilting people for not showing up the way you want them to show up when you want them to show up! It’s been a brutal fucking week. Everyone is dealing with that in their own way, in their own time, and that is healthy and okay.
2. I’m extremely fucking sad. Swallowed by a black hole sad. Moving through the day in a dense fog sad. Water spilling out of my eyes indiscriminately sad. Just full of crippling despair. My sweet husband is a shell. The joy has been wiped completely from his eyes. We are in spiritual agony.
3. Being an American Reform Jew from a large metropolitan area has offered me the luxury of not having any real skin in the game. My people dabble in religion. Most Reform Jews do. Zack Braff said it best in that scene from Garden State that is incidentally too old for me to find on YouTube, but you know the one. Most Jews only go to synagogue one day a year (Yom Kippur), and most synagogues are built with moveable walls to accommodate the flood of atoners. Like Zach Braff’s character, I’ve never felt particularly tethered to my Judaism. The only time I felt remotely connected to its customs and traditions was when my brother died, and I needed a roadmap for grief. It was extremely helpful then. But on the day to day? Meh. I haven’t belonged to a synagogue in years.
But like many American Jews, my daughter is interested in becoming a Bat Mitzvah for all the wrong reasons, and my son is finally old enough to join a Sunday school class. So, a month ago, we started the time honored tradition of forcing irritated children into the car on a Sunday morning to drive to synagogue against their will. The words “No one wants to go to Sunday school!!!!” exited both mine and my husbands mouths several times this very morning.
Last Sunday, amidst the backdrop of the bloodiest day for Jews since the Holocaust, our Jewish son was consecrated. He walked into the chapel waving his handmade Israeli flag — on it, he’d drawn “the world” in purple marker. He was all smiles — most of the kids were. A complete juxtaposition to what all the adults in the room were feeling having awakened to such horrific headlines and images and videos coming out of Israel. Such pure and unadulterated hatred toward our people.
The rabbi started the service with a Midrash, or an interpretation of the Bible. The crux of the story is that a funeral procession and a wedding procession meet at an intersection at the same time. And the two clergymen leading the groups have to decide: Who goes first? After a quick chat, they agree that is has to be the wedding procession. The joy and promise for the future must take precedence.
It was a helpful story to tell that particular morning, as all of us were sitting there thinking, “How can we possibly celebrate anything at a time like this?” But in the midst of so much death and destruction, it was important to prioritize celebrating the young. It was important to go forward with the consecration ceremony.
It also happened to be Simchat Torah. So several congregants (one of them my husband) took the big Torahs out of the ark. The five year olds (one of them my son) held up the little Torahs they were gifted that morning during the ceremony, while the older kids (one of them my daughter) waved Israeli flags. The cantor strummed the guitar and sang joyfully as we all marched around the chapel seven times in celebration.
The ceremony culminated with the unfurling of the Torah in its entirety. The delicate document stretched out across the entire chapel and demanded all hands on deck.
Holding this sacred Jewish symbol of prayer in a Jewish building next to my Jewish husband and Jewish kids alongside a whole bunch of other Jews felt like exactly the right place to be on such a somber morning. The feeling of belonging was palpable.
I joined the synagogue that afternoon.
4. Turns out, people really do hate Jews. I’ve always understood this intellectually. Like all Jewish kids, I studied the Holocaust in Hebrew school. I saw Schindler’s List in the theatre. Those horrific images were seared into my brain early and often. Admittedly, I’ve never been able to register the sheer volume of such a massive number: 6 million. A genocide. But I’ve heard it uttered hundreds of times over the course of my life accompanied by sentiments of “never again.” My own grandfather put his life on the line in Mississippi in the 1960’s when members of the KKK burned down their local synagogue. My grandfather kept Kosher and davened every day. His Judaism was a primary focus of his life. I grew up hearing the story of his bravery and resistance — all the news articles sit in a box in my garage. Still, I never internalized it. I never FELT that hatred personally.
Until now.
There is a gigantic line in the sand. Last Friday, I was able to earnestly say, “Yeah, I’ve never felt hated for being Jewish.” Which in and of itself speaks to the privilege I have as a white American Jew. After Saturday, the narrative shifted. People hate Jews. People I know hate Jews. And if you’re like, “That’s outrageous,” please know that I’ve had like 5 people check in on me and my Jewish family after 1300 of my people were slaughtered for sharing the same genetic material. It feels shitty. Do with that what you will.
5. Every human life is precious and worth saving. Every single one. I mourn the loss of 1300 innocent Israelis. Babies, children, concertgoers, parents, grandparents. I also mourn the loss of 2400 Palestinian lives, a number that will surely rise. I mourn the children who never had a chance. I mourn the mothers and fathers who have to walk this earth from here on out without their children. I mourn the young. I mourn the old. I mourn the fallen soldiers. The loss of life is harrowing.
6. Turning the image of a terrorist paraglider into the symbol of a valiant freedom fighter will haunt me forever. A music festival turned into a bloodbath is something we know all too well in America. Can you imagine the Las Vegas shooter being turned into a silhouette and shared widely on social media in the aftermath of the Route 91 music festival mass shooting? As, like, a symbol for freedom? Or the Sutherland Springs church shooting? Or the Atlanta spa shootings? Aside from being profoundly stupid, it’s cruel. It’s disgusting. It’s disrespectful. If you posted it, fuck you.
7. I believe Israel should exist. I believe Jews need a safe place to be Jewish. This week has only emboldened that POV. AND BEFORE YOU COME AT ME, ITS NOT AN EITHER/OR…
8. Mike and I were talking about this in one of the dozens of conversations we’ve had amongst ourselves this week. A two state solution is the only way. You can’t have two divorced people who hate each other living under the same roof, splitting the rent. It’s toxic and impossible.
9. If Netanyahu represents all Israeli people, Trump represents all Americans. Maligning an entire group of people with their government (this point is for you, my progressive friends) is incredibly myopic. Stop fucking doing that.
10. The terrorism worked. I’m terrified. I’m terrified to send my Jewish kids to Sunday school. I’m terrified of being the target of a hate crime. I’m terrified of how much more destruction and bloodshed we’re about to witness and how much more antisemitism it’s going to provoke. I’m just a tangled mess of fear and anxiety. And frankly so is my kid who urged me last week to not “post where we live online.” A 9 year old. Let that simmer.
11. I hate war. I hate violence. I hate guns. I hate hate. I don’t want anyone else to die ever.
12. Im thinking constantly and obsessively about the babies and children who were ripped away from their families and are still being held hostage in Gaza. I’m sick about it. I’m sick with worry. I am praying that they stay safe but also know that this trauma will impact them for a lifetime. It’s horrific.
13. I’m thinking constantly and obsessively about the Palestinians who are now without water and power, trying to figure out how to sustain and care for their families. Who are making an evacuation plan because more destruction and annhiliation is on its way. I’m sick about it. I’m sick with worry. I am praying that they stay safe but also know that this trauma will impact them for a lifetime. It’s horrific.
14. I started typing this today before the sun came up. I haven’t slept much this week, admittedly. When I finished jotting down these notes, the daylight was seeping in through the curtains. My son was sleeping soundly beside me. I could hear every breath he took. I could feel the warmth of his body. It was grounding. I am so grateful for him.
15. Do whatever the fuck feels good, friends. Here’s my In-N-Out order from yesterday:
16. I love you. Even if you hate me, I love you. I remain committed to empathy, kindness and compassion as my North Star.
