PITCHFORKS AND HAMMER HANDLES

 I came across this phrase in a book I read over the past few days. "Raining pitchforks and hammer handles." I fell in love with it. So much better, so much more expressive, so more apt for our current situation than other phrases. No dream of cute little puddy tats and doggies floating down to us. No, it is the truth. It is the phrase of the time, when hard, hurtful, sharp things - statements, open hatred, violence, rain down upon us with the killing power of pitchforks and hammer handles. A throwback to more primitive weapons than are used today, yet still quite capable of killing, are they not. Perhaps symbolic also of the primitive level to which we have fallen, reverted to in our spite and anger, in the growing chasms within and without.

Duck as you might under this deluge there is no hiding from it. Be it the new terminology of a world riven with disagreements of deadly content - atmospheric rivers and training storms, global warming and desertification - or the stark growth of violent hatred and primitive emotions and motivations that should long ago have been declared extinct, the sharp points of the pitchforks and the strong, solid handles of the hammers will find you.

One day we will all understand that there are indeed reactions to every action and reactions to the reactions until we have come so far down a foolish and deadly road that we have forgotten why and how we ever stepped onto it and continued down its lanes. We have lost the methodology and the brain power, the will, to escape this dead-end road and so we slog on, growing ever more helpless and hopeless. Is there no way out? No exit ramp?

Perhaps, but they are silting up quickly, losing visibility and access. We indulge in the indulging of the lowest common denominator among us. We champion and cheer on those who urge the purchase of their self-praising books, even as they work so hard to limit the access to all books, seeking to censor any and all which oppose their views. I refer you to DeSantis on that. We elect people such as Cruz who sponsors a bill urging two term limits for senators and then runs for a third term. 

Or we raise haters, dangerous intellectually challenged vicious creeps such as Marjorie Taylor Greene, into seats of power. And we condone sheer dishonesty and incompetence of too many judges, including Clarence Thomas of the Supreme Court who has such a cozy relationship with a right winger whose cases have come before him, or the idiots who backed Trump in his seeking to escape rightful prosecution and the absolutely safe pill for abortion, and all abortion no matter the cause or reason, negating women in the process.

At times this oh so damaged world, these foolish people who do not see they are electing their own enemies truly depresses any thinking person. These are the legislators who demean the name and the position, traitors to their country and their constituents. They strive to limit the right to vote, access to voting, destroy the safety net which allows their constituents to feed their children and get medical care for the family. And still, the people vote for them in their delusions and ignorance.

But that which truly breaks my heart is the call after the holiday to check how Yitzy is, how he reacted to the daily chemo this week, holiday or not. I hear in my son's voice that there is not such good news. I wait, heart beating a mile a minute, pounding away. The good news, the great news, is the doctors are pleased with the response to treatment, some shrinkage, but caution there remains a long, hard slog ahead. Good news from Israel, even as the world cheers on their slaughter, as they bury the third pair of siblings murdered this past month, age 6 to age 21. They are working on a new treatment for solid tumors and are hopeful, very much so. 

However, the next sentence makes me cry, breaks that pounding heart, shatters it into pieces. Yitzy, so brave, so good, is sad, deeply sad, not understanding why this has happened to him, when will it ever end, when can he return to his life?  Why must he always go to chemo, have a strange tube inserted into him, feel nauseous beyond words? 

There is very little to say to console him. My son and I feel helpless, unable to do that which we are supposed to do - protect our kids, keep them safe from harm and hurt, but how so in this case?  No toy or book, or gadget will cheer him up, break down that darkness that descends upon him. Understandingly so. How much can be demanded of or understood by a kid. It is hard enough when we deal with an adult in similar conditions. But a child? How? How?

And so I cry.

And so I hope and pray and beg and plead with the One Above to spare my boy.

I pray for a successful treatment and a speedy one.

And I argue with G-d every single damned day.

And I ask of you all to continue your good wishes, sending them our way, praying, reading Tehillim, lighting candles, being there for Yitzy and his family.

And so I continue to cry, in the middle of the night and hope that we can 

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.