And yet the
buckets are ever replenished. The waves of the ocean soak the sands of the
shore. The eyes are overflowing, and the tracks of the tears are carved on the
faces of those who cannot believe what they hear, what they see, what they feel;
hence, how are they ever to end the weeping, the deep sobs ripped from their
souls. The horror cannot be ameliorated nor denied. There seems to be no way to
halt its contagion, the spread of its toxicity.
As we investigate
this ugliness as its fetid waters spread throughout the globe, tainting and poisoning
more and more, we are at our wits end. How is one to confront this evil
phenomenon? How to end It for once and
for all? These are questions I cannot
even begin to address. It appears to be as we feel we are nearing a positive
reality, the virus with no cure jumps at us, in our faces, and we are once
again back into the Middle Ages, back into the modern ages with the additional
hair raising worry - Is it going to be
back into the future as well?
We must raise
the level of our awareness, be alert, knowledgeable, and understand what faces
us. Of that which demands our demise at the end of it all. Of that which grows
ever worse, day by day, until it seems as if there is no one left on this earth
to have our back and be ready, already there, to stand with us. In fact, is
that even a possibility, especially in long term manner? As we flip back the
pages of history the answer would not be in our favor. Time and time again the
level of JewHatred rises, hour by hour, day by day, year by year, century to
century, millennia to millennia. If no antidote to this disease of the mind,
the soul, the heart, even despite some strong efforts to do so, when all fails,
where do we seek and find succor, a reassurance that we know that this is not
the end. That it has been worse, and we have come back stronger, more vital
than ever before.
Still and
all, no matter how we try to reassure ourselves, to reassure our parents, our
elderly, that history will not repeat itself, and they will not be cast in the
shoes and footsteps of other elderly refugees wondering how and why this
happened. We need to reassure our children, to dry their tears, to soften the
harsh corners nearing them in threatening advance, as they fear what awaits
them, exactly what has caused their parents such overwhelming change in manner.
Enough we
say. Enough with the hate. Enough with the buckets of tears. But that enough is
being shouted into a deep void; no one hears, and no one cares.
Yesterday in
the afternoon I sat down in my chair to finish a novel, perhaps to take a nap, but
that was not to be. Beside me on the armrest of that chair was a very large,
very heavy tome entitled October 7 Bearing Witness. It contains the
documentation in both pictorial and written manner, and I had bought it to join
with the other books in that section of my home library discussing October 7 in
all its ugly manifestations, causes and consequences. I meant to page through
it. Perhaps a few pages at a time, for did I not know what happened? Am I not
aware of the ramifications of its tragedy, its Niagara Falls of tears remaining
from that day and the years that followed? But again, this was not to be.
I put aside
that novel which, incidentally, raises the question of where the place of G-d
in all this horror and tragedy is. I turned to the opening essay written by the
President of Israel. To my relief, all was written in both English and Hebrew.
And so I read and I so wish I had not and yet I am glad that I did. Because the
horrors reflected on these pages must be read, must be seen, and must be
internalized by all in the world. For three hours I placed myself in a world
which should be impossible. But there it
was. The destruction of homes, of fields, of infrastructure. But we have all
seen pictures of destruction almost every night. But not so embedded, drowned
in pieces of people, in blood smeared. Babys’ cribs soaked with blood, or a
blood trail left by an elderly person dragged along the floor. All taking place on a day meant for singing
and dancing, a celebration of G-d’s Creations, a family day, a day to share
with friends. To understand, if it can be understood, of what this meant to
people to take place on a holiday morning turned into a day of blood and cries
and ugliness. An ugliness so severe, so unthinkable, so real that all one can
do is have the courage to turn the next page and see further shredding of one’s soul, yet another tissue to be plucked
from the box.
For over
three hours I turned those pages slowly, with trepidation, with the fear that I
would not be able to pick it up again. But I had to. I must. I owe it to those
1200 slaughtered, for the 251 kidnapped and brutalized. To be murdered in those
dark tunnels of the beasts. Still, today, we have our slaughtered remaining. In
those tunnels, their bodies being refused to be returned to Israel, to their
families, to be buried properly. Instead, Hamas plays this very cruel game of
sending back bits and pieces of people whose pieces had been buried already.
People who are not matching any of the DNA of those still missing. Even as the
tears of their families pour endlessly down their faces and down ours.
Most
heartbreaking, which totally broke me, were the letters written by young brides,
couples who had barely begun life and family together. Their husband is stolen
from them or the letters written by those young men, going out to defend their nation
and its people, so brave, in the face of death. Letters of the bereaved parents
were most awful of all, as these bereaved parents tried to understand what happened,
struggled to understand where their child had gone. Why they had not been able
to do the duty of a parent and rescue their child from harm, from the horrors
they had undergone, the ignorance of what they had indeed suffered. Seeking
answers for the whys of this terrible event. Trying to rehear their voices, to hug
them again, to stroke them again. To scream at the heavens and hear an answer.
A complete
and satisfactory answer - we received none.
The ending
of the book was equally as heartbreaking as it was of encouragement and a
knowing that we will, we must, dance again. Our enemies will not overcome us
nor disappear from this world of ours. We are resilient, strong enough to
overcome anyone and anything thrown at us. Everything.
The Jewish
nation covers their unspeakable wounds, we begin once again to grow a shell, a
scab over these wounds so deep, and bloody and unthinkable. As always. But we
do know that there will be a day of celebration and glory when the world will
know where the right is, and where the wrong. They will know truth.
They will
look at yesterday.
They will look at today.
They will look back in shame.
But they can and will look to tomorrow.
With intention to be better and to do better,
to understand that Israel is resilient above all others, and the nation of
Israel lives forever and nothing will
ever change that.
.
