NO, NOT RAINDROPS

  No, despite all the wishes and denials, it is most definitely not raindrops running down the face. No, it is those same damned drops that should long ago have been dammed up, ended, its cause eliminated. But, no, on it goes and on it goes and on it goes.

Of late, I have come far too familiar with the need to cry. Generally, it is when I am hit by a tidal wave of surreal disbelief. No, it cannot be true that Yitzy has cancer. It cannot possibly be true, and soon, very soon, cannot be soon enough, I will wake up from this nightmare and all will be well once again. That bright child should be out playing baseball, celebrating holidays with his family, going on vacation trips, wandering the parks and forests of nearby areas, keeping his amazing and impressive bird watching journal.

 No, as much as I wish, as much as I deny the truth, those are not raindrops, but teardrops. These drops will, we pray, so many praying alongside, joining, melding their pleas with ours, will transform into tears of joy when we get the final news of a complete and total never to return report. But until then, we will continue to drip those tears, knowing they are so not raindrops, and wait, wait, wait, for the best news possible. And believe.

Also of late, those not raindrops have been joined with the not raindrops of fear and protest and anger and hopelessness. When, when is enough enough? Have we not faced sufficient over the top displays of ruthless, bloodied hate? Have not enough Jewish children been forced to realize the unbelievable, yet so tragically true? That one is in danger simply due to the fact that one is of Jewish origin. Are those tears flooding the plains of my face ever to go away? 

Am I to cry for the duration of Yitzy's chemo and radiation treatments only to cry anew at the existential danger he faces, he and others of Jewish origin, that to some, too many somes, value them less than trash? That around every corner, every curve in the road, danger lurks. Because they are Jewish, tormented and targeted by a hate and haters who never go away, but wait, hidden in the darkness below until summoned forth once again by the worst aspects of humanity. Because and only because they are Jews. 

Benjamin B. Ferencz, aged 103, the last surviving prosecutor at the Nuremberg trials. But the scourge he fought remains alive after him. His particular area of expertise is the Einsatzgruppen, those traveling gangs of murderers, Germans and their local collaborators, who killed in a hail of bullets in what is known as The Holocaust of Bullets. Whose murdering squads killed and buried, dead and alive, hundreds of my father's relatives in 1941, filling the ravines of the land. The ground continues to heave.

The funerals of two sisters, beautiful, full of life and goodness, killed, murdered in yet another Holocaust by Bullets, shot because and only because of hate, of Jews, slaughtered as they lay helpless in their rammed car, as 22 bullets were shot into them by a murdering coward. So their friends sang sadly, eyes and faces dimmed by tears, sang songs of faith, of belief that they were awaiting their friends and families in a better place. Where being Jewish was not a capital offense. Where peace and truth live side by side. As truths are unveiled so clearly that even the blind can and will see the truth.

Today, though, Jews live once again, forever, it seems in a world which does not want them, only their mammoth contributions to mankind, in every field of endeavor through centuries of persecution and death.

Our world needs help. Last night we watched the first of seven episodes concerning endeavors of Varian Fry and his group of brave souls who risked their all in the effort to save Jews, refugees in fear for their lives, no matter their contributions, famous and not famous, simply people. Why? Because  no one else stepped up to do the right thing - so they did. Coincidentally, one grandchild recently wrote a research paper on Fry and his Commitee. Watch it. It is streaming.

Ani ma'amin b'emunah shelaymah

I believe with a full, complete faith.

But, dear Lord, for how long?

For how long will we fear for our children, our future. 

But till when, dear Lord, till when, for how long must we cry those teardrops of blood and agony.

How I, we, so long for the sounds of laughter.

When will we finally be able to 

HEAL THE WORLD.

HEAL YITZY!

Yitzchak Elimelech ben Chana Sarah

May he be granted refuah shelaymah bimheyrah beyameinu. 

May he be granted a timely and complete healing.

May Hashem hear all our voices raised in prayer. 

Amen. Amen.