There are always a million thoughts and feelings swimming around the eternal perimeter of my mind. In the background, the sound of the nostalgic Friday night song, Shalom Aleichem. Floating on the periphery, the sundry details of the day that I mull over in my head, the tasks I must accomplish. At the forefront, the lingering questions of “When will we go?” or “What does tomorrow bring?” Thoughts of faith, doubt, and love. Tremors of anger, hatred, and disgust – for where we stand in the scheme of history as human beings, the crumbling precipice to which all of humanity now clings.
I am thinking about the end of the world, the random shooting of innocent Gilroy Garlic Festival goers; a place not so far from my own current stomping grounds, a sweet little memory from many years ago of garlic-shaped rides, the smell of garlic hovering in the air. I am dreaming about my future: a family, a home, a life – some day, hopefully soon, in Israel. I am hurtling forward through life, time pouring ever so quickly through my fingers, asking God all the time: until when? Until when? How much longer will we get up every single day with a smile, with a resolution to make the world a better place, and face more heart wrenching pain? How much longer can we pretend that we are doing enough, when it is so abundantly clear that we aren’t?
I am meditating on the experience of human life, this birth-marriage-birth-death world, this sneering death which, no matter how expected, somehow never feels normal. I am contemplating the miracle of birth, which no matter how commonplace it is, never ceases to amaze. I am fearful of the new reality, this new normal, that none of us, not one, is safe. I think safety is, as it always has been, an illusion, to which America is only now awakening. I think America was a short-lived dream, a momentary flash of brilliance that is gone as soon as you look at it, a creation of enlightened minds tucked away somewhere in the pages of an old history textbook, forgotten and soon lost – minds which even at that time, so long ago, doubted its viability.
I am reflecting on this new “normal:” this disease of narcissism, the age of the self and the selfie. Social media isn’t really brimming with genuine introspection or desire for truth; it is instead flooded with self-gratifying photos and videos which hide a desperate emptiness. It is a masquerade of joy and originality which ultimately degrades and destroys. I am thinking this even about myself, how I share my “self,” my writings, with the world, and to what end? To make the world a better place? At times, my writings have been few and far between because I have been struggling to work in the world around me. All along, even with all my online involvement, I’ve done my utmost to put concerted effort into life outside of the proverbial pen. The pen is mightier than the sword, but when everyone around you is sharpening their swords, what do you do?
And meanwhile, with all the loneliness and emptiness of this Western life, we still hungrily turn to social media, as if it will soothe us in our restlessness. It quietly bolsters our nihilism, and we urgently attempt to fill ourselves with even more meaningless content, our empty footprints left on the screens for all to see.
I am dreaming of the Land of Israel, in my waking and sleeping hours, a place which is not merely physical, but spiritual; the place wherein my people can truly embrace their God-given mission, the country which seems to breathe new life into us. I am hoping for the day when I see our spirit renewed and revitalized, and the world’s with it. I am praying for the moment when our pain melts away, our tears gently wiped away by the hand of God, and there is no more war.
I am watching for that day, every morning and every night, when each passing day somehow feels simultaneously longer and shorter, and listening carefully for the call of the Shofar to alert us to the new dawn.
And I know it’s coming.
