So moving. Living in Israel, I feel it every day. And as the days mount, and every day there is an announcement - so much so that you dread turning on the radio - of another soldier being killed or another dead hostage found., we become more and more desensitized. Because our hearts can't take it and our souls are filled to overflowing, thinking about the universes of life cut short.
I wanted to believe that the souls of people who are killed, ascend to the heavens and become stars in the sky. I would look up on clear nights and imagine that the brightest stars are the newest additions, the souls of those we have lost. Even those whom I don't know, but could have known. After October 7 there are so many, I wonder how there can be any space left in the sky for more stars? And sometimes I wonder how, if the the souls we have lost to become stars and shine brighter, how come our nights are not illuminated like 1500 halogen lamps shining down on us, blinding us with their brightness?
But, what worries me, is that as the days, and months, go by and we hear of yet another beautiful life cut short, we now stop for a few seconds, bow our heads in sadness, say "יהי זכרו ברוך", and move on. Because we just can't anymore. We used to mourn - really mourn - and think about the tragedy of a life taken: those they left behind, mourning and pining for them, their dreams unfulfilled, their loves which can no longer be consummated, the hole that will forever remain empty. And now we bow our heads for a few second and carry on. Life does not stop - for us. Because it cannot.
But while I read this article and these poems, my eyes prickled and my chest felt heavy again, The deep breaths I had to take, had that same familiar melancholy twinge of pain I used to feel. You reminded me of how we want to feel, about every loss. Hersch's, and Carmel's, and Ori's, and Eden's, and Almog's and Alex's - and all of them. And why we must do everything to bring home those still alive - even if it is only one.
Thank you. #Bringthemhome.
And I apologize for rambling on and taking advantage of this article to express what I am feeling. I hope it's OK.
You honor the work we have done here with this "ramble." Thank you so much for taking time to write this. I am very touched. I hope to continue this work. Stay tuned and if you write poetry, send me some.
So moving. Living in Israel, I feel it every day. And as the days mount, and every day there is an announcement - so much so that you dread turning on the radio - of another soldier being killed or another dead hostage found., we become more and more desensitized. Because our hearts can't take it and our souls are filled to overflowing, thinking about the universes of life cut short.
I wanted to believe that the souls of people who are killed, ascend to the heavens and become stars in the sky. I would look up on clear nights and imagine that the brightest stars are the newest additions, the souls of those we have lost. Even those whom I don't know, but could have known. After October 7 there are so many, I wonder how there can be any space left in the sky for more stars? And sometimes I wonder how, if the the souls we have lost to become stars and shine brighter, how come our nights are not illuminated like 1500 halogen lamps shining down on us, blinding us with their brightness?
But, what worries me, is that as the days, and months, go by and we hear of yet another beautiful life cut short, we now stop for a few seconds, bow our heads in sadness, say "יהי זכרו ברוך", and move on. Because we just can't anymore. We used to mourn - really mourn - and think about the tragedy of a life taken: those they left behind, mourning and pining for them, their dreams unfulfilled, their loves which can no longer be consummated, the hole that will forever remain empty. And now we bow our heads for a few second and carry on. Life does not stop - for us. Because it cannot.
But while I read this article and these poems, my eyes prickled and my chest felt heavy again, The deep breaths I had to take, had that same familiar melancholy twinge of pain I used to feel. You reminded me of how we want to feel, about every loss. Hersch's, and Carmel's, and Ori's, and Eden's, and Almog's and Alex's - and all of them. And why we must do everything to bring home those still alive - even if it is only one.
Thank you. #Bringthemhome.
And I apologize for rambling on and taking advantage of this article to express what I am feeling. I hope it's OK.
Paul,
You honor the work we have done here with this "ramble." Thank you so much for taking time to write this. I am very touched. I hope to continue this work. Stay tuned and if you write poetry, send me some.
Wishing you a meaningful shabbat.
Rachel
Just WOW!
So moving! Thank you for this.