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Thoughts in the midst of war


My house gets messier yet as the day goes on.

Breakfast cereal glued to the floor, yesterday's toys collecting crumbs on the couch, and laundry that knows no end.

Thoughts and feelings come and go like the fall breeze that visits for a few moments here and there.


It’s been a blur of emotions, that seem to get lost with the sound of far away but too close bombing my ears have become accustomed to.


A lot is still yet to be processed.

Perhaps it’s the mess

Or the kids

Or simply the lack of capacity caused by circumstances too great for a soul to handle.


Here I am, a few days in, trying to make sense of what makes no sense at all. Trying to put into words that are far beyond words. Trying to formulate paragraphs out of what seems to know no rhyme or reason and has no clarity to be found.


Yet it’s right there, in the lack of clarity, in the confusion that feels like a dysfunctional home and bored children, that the immensity of the reality lies.


Because this is beyond us. It’s bigger than us. It’s more than we can have ever been prepared for.

So however it looks, however, you and I feel, it makes sense because it makes no sense at all.


For some the anxiety is kicking in, for others the trauma hits hard.

For some the way to connect is to stay glued to the media.

For some it means depression.

For some it means not knowing what to make for lunch or what day of the week it is.

For some it’s nightmares.


War comes in all shapes and colors, and hits us each differently. It hits every single individual on so many different levels.


Whom do we know

Where are we located

Who’s at home with us

Who’s out working/serving/volunteering/learning

Who’s watching kids all day


I spent the past few days in a total haze. Kind of wandering my house, putting in a load of laundry to be reminded of it the next day. Sometimes patient, sometimes snappy, sometimes in pain, sometimes numb.


I spoke to two people today who said they broke down for the first time since Shabbos. That gut-wrenching cry that rips your heart apart, tearing every fiber of being out of you. That kind of cry that we shouldn’t experience, but we do.


Yet I thought to myself, that’s pain. Real and raw pain. It’s ok to feel it. We’re a nation that has seen much pain and suffering, and here we are, experiencing it once again.


It’s the kind of pain that’s humbling because it puts us at a loss. It reminds us of the world we are not in control of, and of the One Who is.


It’s pain that sometimes paralyzes us, and sometimes wakes us up. And sometimes those two happen at the very same moment, which is where the duality of the Jewish people lies. There is no black and white, there is so much in between.


There is so much pain and loss, and so much beauty and unity. There is so much destruction and so much support.


What does all that mean? Who am I to say.

But it means we can take it all in.


It means we can embrace the lack of capacity, the confusion, the fear and the loss. We can try to function in a way that’s different and new, because this is different and new.


We can embrace the miracle and gift called life, while we mourn the death and unknown of others.


And while we don’t understand, we believe in a Master Plan.

We are a nation of believers. I believe - Ani Maamin- doesn't mean I understand, it means I believe.


Sending hugs to everyone, everywhere

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