One of the beautiful things about this time are the connections with people.
Meaningful, deep, straight-to-the-heart-of-the-matter conversations with strangers; new friends.
Reconnecting with friends and family from all over the world.
Earlier this week, my second cousin Steve, whom I have adored since I was a small child, reached out to me with a beautiful email. In it, he shared a teaching from one of his mentors.
We can’t stop the waves, but we can learn to surf.
The California girl in me gets that.
Relates to that.
The Golan girl in me says, “rak rega.”
Hold up now.
In addition to the barbaric mass murder we are collectively grieving through, the renewed awareness that monsters are real, have been found in our closets and under our beds. In addition to our fears about our soldiers (our sons, daughters, husbands, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends) in the direct line of fire, facing uncertain and frightening outcomes should the order come to enter by ground. In addition to living with Hamas supporters within our borders, the growing concern over the pro-terror protests erupting all around the world, and an international community that questions Israel’s humanity, all while our hostage crisis rages (refer to parenthesis above).
In addition to all that, Iranian-backed Hamas in Gaza, Iranian-backed Hezbollah in Lebanon, Gd knows which Iranian/Russian-backed terrorist group(s) in Syria, Iranian-backed Houthi rebels in Yemen, have all already fired missiles at us.
And, it’s not like I’m being dramatic…
The United States has already deployed two aircraft carriers — and supporting ships just off our shores, poised at the ready.
This doesn’t feel like waves; doesn’t feel surf-able.
This is a freaking tsunami.
And yet… through it we move.
We learn to break it into smaller pieces, because there is no vessel large enough to ride this whole thing it all in one shot.
So, we learn to take it one step at a time.
We lean hard on support wherever we find it.
Learn to ask for help.
I’ll tell you what I did today.
I had coffee with my man in our garden.
I walked Harley while I caught up with an old friend and chatted about war and ground invasions, free will, faith, and what it’s like for her being the mother of an elite combat soldier stationed at the border crossing to Gaza.
I finally beat Shishi in a game of backgammon (after a long string of stunning losses).
Batya and I delivered blister bandaids, a few big jars of tahini, cough drops, and a double-batch of homemade, browned buttered, chocolate chip cookies to my dear friend’s son and his platoon who is stationed a bit north of here.
I decided to send Shishi to school tomorrow in Tiberias. Arranged it all. Then changed my mind and called it all off. School-shmool.
I sent out a list of emergency trauma supplies to a group of doctors in the US that offered to help bolster our stock.
I watched a few IDF hero videos with Chezi.
I slow danced with my man to this song.
He swayed with me and held me while I wept.
“Loving you’s a sweet, sweet symphony
That all of heaven and earth join to sing
My heart trembles at the sound.
Even if the world that we built falls at our feet
We’re still right where we’re supposed to be
Together through ups and the downs
Dungeons and ivory towers.
Even in the valley, baby,
When the rivers too deep
Let me be your comfort, darling
Wherever this road leads”
Maybe this is just what learning to ride a tsunami looks like.
P.S. As of 9:37 pm this evening, prior to publishing this message, two Syrian rockets were fired into the southern Golan Heights. They landed in open fields. We did not have sirens in our community. Shishi chose to sleep in the bomb shelter tonight, “So I won’t have to wake up in the middle of the night.”
Fine by me.
Love and blessings for all good things, revealed.