Yesterday, an artist involved in the creation and functioning of Hostage Square Chicago used that term “losing touch”. It describes the ever-ongoing torturous situation of people ripped from their lives, slaughtered in captivity. brutalized until they breathed their last, forgotten by the world. For most already the only release possible is that of their remains for proper burial. Instead, there they remain in the dank, dark, stifling tunnels, starved of food, denied water, denied air to breathe, all the while facing conditions inconceivable to the normal mind and brain.
These hostages have been consigned by the world to a trash pile of discarded and discounted humanity. They count for naught in the ledgers of the world. The horror of October7 is downplayed and downright minimized, playing the numbers game, reporting on dead and wounded as declared by a branch of the Hamas government - the 'Health Ministry' of Gaza. Yet another branch engaged in the dissemination of lies, always lies. Allergic to truth. No dissemination of methodology as to the supposedly precise numbers of men, women and children killed or wounded, no numbers of combatants as opposed to noncombatants. No proof other than replayed scenes and photos of purported casualties - some openly dolls, of corpses capable of movement beneath the shrouds, and agile personnel able to be at rescue in different sites at the same time. So gifted!
These Gazans who now weep, playing the poor victims! now were cheering when the parade of hostages was triumphantly presented. Dead, alive, wounded, raped, burned, brutalized, through the streets of Gaza paraded before rejoicing crowds shouting and whooping and shooting guns into the air. They have forgotten the captives they guarded, tortured, starved, held within their own homes. They disremember the tunnel exits and entrances hidden in the walls and floors of their own homes. They call for pity for the consequences of their own misdeeds. Such combat ready hostages they held, oh so brave - 2 infants less than a year, children of 3 and 4 and 6 and 8 and12. Half dead wounded and beaten men. Young women in shock at the immediate brutality inflicted upon them at capture. The elderly, so fierce with canes and medicine bottles, so worthy of warrior status. And always, etched into our very being the face of Shiri Bibas as she clutched her two babies tight.
While the world has decided these hostages are of no import, the people of Israel, the Jews of the world have not done so. We have not lost touch. We never will. We remember with every breath we take, with almost our first and last thoughts of the day: Where are they now? Where are our people? Where are Kfir and Ariel. Where are our people? And so. as the animals of hate and bloodlust rage in the streets and inside as well, creating and encouraging havoc, violence, hatred, calling for the annihilation of the Jewish nation, of Jews, worldwide, masking their faces in cowardly shame and fear, we recreate the Israeli Hostage Square, presenting it to all of Chicago, to all the delegates who can see and hear past and over the noise of those calling for support of murderers, and bloodshed.
Thus, right in Chicago, we paint the faces of those remaining hostages. 115. and now 109 with the recovery of 6 more dead captives. There is the painting of an Israeli tree. dripping drops of blood. There are the personal objects left behind as they ran for their lives. Chased by the ravening beasts of Hamas. There are representations of despair, of loss, and of hope and love and of determination. to bring everyone home. Habayta. Home. We do not write off our family members. We are one family, whether or not the deluded Jews who stand with those calling for their demise understand that truth or willfully deny that fact.
Presently, push has come to shove. Whatever metaphor we choose - the rocks and hard places, the devil and the deep blue sea, there is no more time to waste. There is no more room in which to maneuver We, the nation, the political parties, must choose. We are at that fork in the road where those who make deals with devils are buried. The Democratic Party especially must decide whether it will sell its soul for the sake of 100,000 votes of Arab Americans in Michigan. Why is it necessary that we play these partisan politics and remind all that there are far more than 100,000 Jewish votes in many states.
Who can I, we, trust? Who will have our backs? At this point in time, I cannot make any decision with a surety of being right. It is a decision eating away at my soul. It eats away at the once proud patriotism for how is it possible to be a patriot of a country which does not have my back, which allows crazies of both parties to spout words of hate as official representatives of our nation? How to be a patriot and the lover of a country which allows those who do not want me to prevail, who shout over the voices of others of sanity and truth.
How do I trust in a county, in the structure of a nation which allows its institutes of higher education to not enforce any and all regulations regarding protests espousing hate and incitement to violence, of disregard of all laws, who seek my exclusion from society? All consequences for rampaging through campus and its buildings, for occupying land, for threatening of the students, for demanding that they denounce their faith, again, in America! How can this be? How can this be my country?
The whole situation is exacerbated. as all violations and charges, rightful and righteous consequences dismissed. Twisted professors within the classrooms bullying students, encouraging others to do the same- have at it! All these dangerous, yes, dangerous students and agitators who return free and clear will do it all over again. Why not, as there are no consequences of import or permanence?
There are no easy answers, no magic spell or cure, no magic powder. It is a question, a situation, an ugly fact of reality. Quite frankly, I, along with many, many others walk in confusion. The path ahead is not clear at all. Most of us are doing what we can. Will it be enough? My questions have no answers etched in ink. I can only make demands upon myself. The rest comes from you and you and you. All of you out there.
Emotions are high. Fear is high. Every cell in my body has warned me. Beware. Beware. There be monsters. Here they be. No bold knights in sight. It is a battle we must fight, depending mostly on ourselves along with our friends.
In the meanwhile, I must strengthen my soul as I prepare for a difficult weekend next week. Beautiful but difficult, straining the tethers of emotion and control. Miss you, my boy.
Always and forever. Always and forever.
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