Michael's Missives: The End of An Era, and a New Beginning

Hello to all of my friends and family members and colleagues who have followed the course of my missives for all or part of the past 5+ years (and to new friends, who are reading this for the first time!):

As most of you know, I began writing these somewhat-regular email “missives” in July 2001, as a way of keeping in touch and updating folks when I went to Israel for the year as a Dorot Fellow. During the course of that year, I sent a number of messages about my experiences living for the first time in the Jewish state, at a time filled with tremendous violence and uncertainty, but also filled with inspiration and learning and excitement.

Over the course of that first year, my missives more and more focused on the development of my love affair with Marla Ann Bennett. By June 2002, the missives centered on our relationship, but also discussed our connection to Israel in its particular challenges of that moment.

Everything changed on July 31, 2002. Marla was one of nine people (including Ben Blutstein, our friend from Pardes) who were killed in the terrorist bombing at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. For a while, I was not sure whether I would ever write a missive again. Actually, I was not sure whether I would ever do a lot of things again.

In November 2002, I finally sent out the first, long post-bombing missive. From that point, the missives continued to chart my life in Israel, but they also charted the course of my journey of grief, mourning, and tentative steps toward healing.

I moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, in August 2003, and began working at Harvard Hillel as the Director of Programming. I was uncertain, then, whether the missives would continue. Perhaps the missives were Israel-specific, and the time had come to set them aside. But I found myself continuing to write a lot about my life, about my impressions of returning to the U.S. after living in violence-ravaged Jerusalem, and especially about my ongoing journey of grief and healing.

And, perhaps most importantly, along the way I had received incredible, moving, thoughtful, inspiring responses to my missives. My intimate, personal sharing struck a chord with many of you, and in return you opened your hearts to me and shared stories, feelings, fears, losses, loves, hopes, dreams.

So the missives continued, and every two or three or four months I would send another long email message to you, filled with a variety of excerpts from my journal, divrei (words of) Torah, poems, etc. The missive would plop into your Inbox, and you would have the decision of whether to read through it onscreen, print it out for a long reading later, save it for another time, or delete it altogether. I am grateful that so many of you decided to read at least part of each missive.

I sensed, over time, that my own relationship with the missives was changing. I began to see them somewhat as a burden, and I wondered how much the act of writing about my journey from grief toward healing was still keeping me in the role of a mourner, a role that was becoming less and less central to my identity. I decided that, if there ever came a time when the missive seemed to be more trouble than it was worth, or caused harm, it would be time to stop.
That time came this past April, after the most recent missive that I sent. I will not mention specifics, but the bottom line is that through carelessness, an attempt to rush the missive out, and a lack of insight, I sent a missive that contained parts that were hurtful to some of my readers. And, of course, my readers are not just a faceless audience – these include the people who are closest to me. My missive in April did prompt some wonderful and kind and inspiring responses, but the damage was done, and I decided that it was time to end the missives. Not only that – I wanted to end them.

But a funny thing happened during the past four months. I continue to write in my journal, and I continue to want to share some of my thoughts and feelings and impressions with friends and a wider audience. For a long time, friends have asked me whether I’ve considered turning the missives into a blog (according to Wikipedia, “a weblog, which is usually shortened to blog, is a type of website where entries are made (such as in a journal or diary), displayed in a reverse chronological order.”). My missives have basically been blogs, except that they have not been posted anywhere online. And I think this is the key distinction between what I have been doing until now, and what I am about to do. I will no longer drop my missives into your email Inbox – instead, I will post them on my blog site, and you (and, I guess, anyone else in the world) will have an opportunity to read and comment on them when and if you choose. Because by its nature a blog is far more public than the missives have been, I’m guessing that the intense personal nature of my missives may change a bit. I also think that the emphasis on Marla and my mourning/healing process will take a different form, and probably be less central.

Of course, I have no idea what these changes will look, sound, or feel like. But I hope they are all for the good.

So....welcome to my new blog, http://michaelsimonmissives.blogspot.com/

I am planning to archive all of the previous missives here, and I am looking forward to hearing your feedback and responses as all of this develops.

With love, blessings, and a prayer that we will see a more peaceful period emerging in our troubled world, and especially in the violence-ravaged North of Israel…

~Michael


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April 23, 2006, 4:06 p.m. – Musings at the Netivot Orientation Retreat
Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center
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* What am I looking to explore/find out about in Israel this summer?
* What is the national mood, in the post-Sharon, post-disengagement, Kadima, Hamas-led PA environment?
* What is my own current relationship with Torah learning?
* Which places, spaces, events will inspire me?
* Who will I feel the strongest pull to visit and spend time with?
* Where will I feel at home, and where will I feel alienated?
* How will my Hebrew sound? To me? In my own mouth?
* Will I feel safe?

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July 14, 2006, 5:20 p.m. – What A Week
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WHAT A WEEK.

Hezbollah kidnapped two soldiers in a raid in Northern Israel, which led to Israel responding with massive air strikes, which led to Hizbollah firing Katusha rockets all over the North – Kiryat Shimona, yes, but also Tsfat, and Rosh Pina, and…Haifa.

Oy va voy. Tsfat? We may not be able to go north of the Kinneret on our Netivot trip.

And…I’m flying to an Israel that is now engaged basically in a two-front mini-WAR.

Somewhat intense.

I’m not sure what it will be like, or even what the news will hold, three days from now. But…I’m going. We’re going.

B’ezrat Hashem (with God’s help).


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17 July 2006, 2:40 p.m. – Heading Toward a War Zone?
At Logan Airport
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Well…I’m all packed, and all ready to go for five weeks in Israel.

But the question of whether the Netivot Yisrael program will actually happen is now very much an open one.

The war at Israel’s Northern border has not abated. If anything, it has escalated a bit, at least in terms of the rhetoric on both sides. But especially on the side of the terrorists. Hezbollah has made it abundantly clear that they’re out to get – out to destroy – Israel.

So…this is, to some extent, an unpleasant confluence of things for me. I’m already not feeling so secure and happy about heading to Israel right now (in part because I’m flying Israir for the first time. Israir?).

Hezbollah missiles have been hitting Haifa, Tsfat, Tiveria, the southern Golan, and places across the Northern border.

The parents of our Netivot fellows have begun to raise their concerns. I spoke with one student’s mom who told me that her son, a Yale student who is in Jerusalem already, was near a corner where a would-be suicide bomber was tackled and arrested today. The student was a bit shaken-up, to say the least.

Bernie and I, before I left this afternoon, discussed our plans and criteria for deciding whether to cancel/postpone this trip.

I should note here that all of this is kinda shocking. I had fully expected that I’d be spending the few hours before leaving for the airport scrambling to get the most-updated versions of our program itinerary as ready as possible. That I’d be running to CVS to pick up an extra tube of toothpaste or sunscreen. Instead, I had conversations with parents and staff members (in the U.S. and Israel) all about contingency plans and what might happen if we change dramatically or even cancel our program.

Not what I expected. And I’m feeling uneasy

Anyhow, Bernie and I decided that we’ll make a “go/no go” decision by the middle of next week. That’ll provide us with enough time to see how things unfold in the next couple of days. We do not want to cancel the program prematurely and then wish we’d waited.

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18 July 2006, 3:26 a.m. Israel time – Musings En Route
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It’s starting to feel real, finally. I’m three hours from ISRAEL, and it’s sinking in. And it makes me feel, mostly, just really happy. Yes, it’s scary. Yes, I’m on a flight with less legroom than I’ve experienced in a long time (oh, JetBlue, when will you start flying to Israel?). Yes, I only slept, fitfully at best, for about four hours.

Yes, I’m going to a country that is very much engaged in a hot war on two fronts, even if that war is (God willing – and I’ve said a lot of “God willing” during the past few days) somewhat limited in scope and reach.

All of that is true.

But it’s also true that, out my window, we’re 35,000 feet above southern France (I think), floating above clouds, and getting closer to Eretz Yisrael (the land of Israel).

And, my davenning (praying) this morning, standing cramped into a little corner at the back of the plane, done b’yachid (by myself) because I was still dozing when the early minyan apparently happened – it was a very moving experience. I feel a bit of “going to Israel” kavanah (intentionality) sneaking up on me.

It’s very strange. For about 72 hours, my feelings and confidence about this trip, this Netivot Yisrael journey, really were wavering, tipping in the direction of fear and perhaps even resignation. I went through the motions of packing and finishing preparations, but the closer I got to leaving, the more I felt that we may/might/could/would have to cancel the program.

I’m feeling differently now, now that I’m not watching the ubiquitous CNN blaring in the waiting room of both Logan and JFK about the “LATEST DEVELOPMENTS” and the “BREAKING NEWS” in Israel and Lebanon. Instead, I am sitting on a plane with a bunch of Israelis and Americans, sleepily and – yes – enjoyably heading back to Israel.

“Back” to Israel.

I’m looking forward, for the first time in over a year – the longest time I’ve been away since I first went in February 2000 – to being in Israel. Looking forward to…

Landing in Ben-Gurion Airport.
Going up to Yerushalayim.
Seeing signs in Hebrew.
Seeing Jews everywhere.
Emek Refaim.
Burgers at Joy and Burgers Bar.
The Zion Family.
Café Hillel.
The Blum Family.
Café Aroma.
The Coffee Mill.
Pardes.
Galgalatz.
Judy Klitsner.
Yemin Moshe and the Windmill.
Ben Yehuda Street.
The Shuk.
Marzipan.
Pe’er.
Shira Chadasha.
The Village Green.
Shekelim.
Newspapers in Hebrew!
The Kotel.
Pituyim.
The Nesiya Institute.
Tel Aviv.
And many, many, many friends.
And…the Negev Desert.

A few thoughts on the summer thus far…This has been a summer of a lot of dating options opening, being considered, and then…nothing really coming of any of it. It has been a summer of reconsidering previous options.

It has been a summer of beginning to play squash - which I love! – with Matt Price.

It has been a summer of seeing SRS (my brother, Steven), WEB (my sister-in-law, Wendy), and the little ones (Benjamin, Devorah, and Netanya) quite a bit. Feeling very close with the kids:

* Benjamin and me, playing catch in the backyard and in the playroom.
* Netanya, every time I come over: “Can we do AIRPLANE? Take off your glasses, Uncle Michael (for the “airplane” maneuver of lifting Netanya into the air as her stomach rests on my feet, me lying on my back).” Her sheer joy lifts my heart. Netanya, the adorable one, the daredevil, with the sly smile of the “baby” who has learned more than her share of tricks, already, from her big siblings.
* And Devorah: the beautiful, almost-always-smiling princess. Sensitive, but incredibly resilient and able to bounce back in a moment.

All three are brilliant, mamash (really, totally). And beautiful, mamash. And though they bicker and have their moments, they are all very sweet and loving. So…SRS and WEB are very fortunate, and wonderful parents. And I’m fortunate to hold a special status: Uncle Michael.

Back to now…we’re high about the Ligurian Sea. Ah…Italia, not far away. I’d love to stop for a visit. Maybe this coming year. I think that a real, two-week or so vacation, is in the works. I need it.

Five years ago right now, I was just starting Ulpan Etzion, for 6 weeks.
Four years ago, it was Tisha b’Av, and disaster was two weeks away.
Three years ago, I was in the middle of my second summer with Nesiya.
Two years ago, I was just getting back from Netivot 2004.
A year ago, I was at Rusty and Julie’s wedding in California, a week after Dan and Lieba’s wedding in Baltimore, and two weeks after finishing Netivot Yisrael 2005.
And now, here I am. Hineni.


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19 July 2006, 11:15 p.m. – First Impressions in Israel
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It has been a busy, and overall very nice, 34 hours or so in Israel.
A nice, sunny, relatively normal drive up to Jerusalem from the airport.
It was great to enter Yerushalayim, and it is great to be here.
It did feel, in a way, like coming home. It always does.
One moment gave me a wonderful case of the chills: I stopped by Pardes, and glanced at the message board, and saw that Rebecca Spilke just got engaged! Rebecca was dating Ben Blutstein at the time of the bombing; this is great, great news.


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21 July 2006, 1:03 a.m. – Yotam Gilboa z”l
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A long day. It started out well – a stop in Café Hillel for a coffee to go, and then a walk in the sunny morning to The Nesiya Institute.

When I arrived, Rivka told me the horrible news. Yotam Gilboa, from my Nesiya 2002 group, was killed on the border of Lebanon yesterday, one of two soldiers killed in a battle with Hezbollah. Yotam Gilboa, kibbutznik, was the strong, silent type. He was a tremendously proud Israeli, a patriot - a worthy heir to the spirit of the pioneers of the early 20th century. Yotam Gilboa, age 21, of Kibbutz Maoz Chayim, is now Yotam Gilboa z”l (zichron livracha – may his memory be for a blessing).

Oy va voy – suddenly, a series of battles that seem close yet far way took on a very personal resonance.

Oy, Yotam. I’m saddened, shocked, but, strangely, not surprised. Not at all surprised that he was in an elite fighting unit. And not surprised that Yotam would be at the very front of the front lines.

Oy va voy.


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21 July 2006, 6:16 p.m. – Before Shabbat
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Shira Chadasha starts in a half hour.

I just went for a run to the Tayelet (promenade), which was wonderful. Another hineni moment, a big smile on my face as the Old City came into view.

Spent the morning – Friday morning, which is like Sunday morning in Israel – hanging out on Emek Refaim. Visited my old roommate, Moshe Sachs (now age 85!). And chilled out, briefly.

All too briefly, it turns out. The Harvard International Travel office called to speak with me about our trip – Harvard has sent out a warning against travel in Israel at this time.

Meanwhile, Yotam was buried today, at his kibbutz.

And – Haifa was rocketed. Tsfat and Tiberias, too.

One more thing, amid all this – it is Shabbat in Yerushalayim. It’s still Shabbat. In Jerusalem. Baruch Hashem.


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23 July 2006, 1:15 a.m. – After Shabbat
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Shabbat in Jerusalem was lovely.

But…the reality of war weighed on everyone, and my own sadness (for Yotam, for one of his friends who cried on my shoulder at Shira Chadasha on Friday night), and concern (for our trip, for soldiers, for everyone) weighed on me.

Shira Chadasha was a bit too crowded. I loved being with Mishael Zion, my davenning chevruta (partner), but actually found myself missing Minyan Tehillah in Cambridge a bit. Wow.


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8:13 p.m. – Another Difficult Day in Israel
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Another difficult day in Israel.

Ketushas falling in Haifa killed at least two more people, and many more fell in the North. Troops are massing on the Lebanese border.

And a difficult day vis-à-vis the Netivot program. No good news from students, and a bit of bad – at least 3 Yale students and 2 Harvard students are planning to cancel.

In the late afternoon, I decided to wander. Went to the Old City, and to the Kotel (Western Wall). Had a not-so-uplifting Kotel experience. It was OK, but I get very frustrated with how the ultra-Orthodox dominate the area. I did have a nice moment saying Psalm 121 by myself, facing the kotel.

Walking here (I’m sitting in The Village Green restaurant, downtown on Rehov Yaffo), I passed the new Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Marla Bennett would have smiled, I think, at the arrival of the Coffee Bean in Jerusalem.

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25 July 2006, 3:37 p.m. – No Netivot Yisrael This Summer, But Plenty of Cognitive Dissonance
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The Netivot Yisrael program should be starting in 6 days.

But it will not. We cancelled (or, more precisely, postponed) the program yesterday.
It wasn’t, on one level, a difficult choice at all. After polling all of the Harvard students (and Yale’s staff did the same with the Yale students), we realized that we did not have a critical mass of participants to have a viable program at this time.

My cognitive dissonance continues, daily. We just had to postpone our program due to the security situation, and here I am sitting in a crowded café on Sheinkin Street, in the heart of Tel Aviv, writing about it. And there’s a war going on, up north, about two hours drive away. Little sign of it here in Tel Aviv – on the surface, at least.

All I can do, at this point, is begin planning for a return trip with our group in December. B’ezrat Hashem. Yet again.


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5:25 p.m. – A Pilgrimage, of Sorts
At the Suzanne Dellal Center, Tel Aviv
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I’m sitting EXACTLY where I was, 3 years and 359 days ago, when the bomb exploded at Hebrew University.

I can see Miriam on the phone, getting news from Gideon in the Nesiya office that there had just been a bombing at Hebrew U.

I can remember hearing from a student, who had gotten the news from a friend or family member via cellphone – 7 dead.

And I can remember my first call – to Marla. And I can imagine – what might’ve been. What if I had called her before I went with students for ice cream, and she had gone outside to take the call?

What if a four-year journey of pain and healing had been a four-year journey of love and building a life together?

What if…?

I don’t allow myself to do this “What If?” much, anymore. But I cannot sit in this little space under an archway at the Suzanne Dellal Center in the Neve Tzedek neighborhood of Tel Aviv and not think, “What If…?”

Or can I? Enough, for now. Enough.


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26 July 2006, 6:56 p.m. – More Musings in Jerusalem
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There’s now another article about the Netivot trip postponement on The Harvard Crimson’s web site (http://www.thecrimson.com/article.aspx?ref=514017). Must be a slow news week. Indeed.

I got a haircut today from Shmulik (of Shmulik and Ran fame). He told me that I should move to Israel (after I had said that I miss Israel). I told him that it’s not so simple – my Hebrew is not so good. He told me that my Hebrew used to be much better.

Ah, Israel – where the barber gently rebukes you for not practicing your Hebrew, and where his comments cause you to rethink decisions about making or not making aliyah.

My cognitive dissonance, as rockets fall in the North but I see quiet normalcy everywhere I walk, continues. Perhaps the strangest juxtaposition of this whole trip is the fact that Jerusalem, which was ravaged between 2001 - 2004 by an onslaught of terrorist attacks on buses, cafes, pedestrian malls, and just about anywhere else civilians gathered, is right now considered among the safest places to be in Israel. People from the North who for years shied away from Jerusalem because of the fear of violence are now fleeing here. It is wonderful for Jerusalem to be considered safe, though I wonder, with a mixture of hope and trepidation: How long will this last?

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31 July 2006, 11:57 a.m. – Shir Ha-Ma’alot
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Shir Ha-Ma’alot. A song of ascent.

I have ascended this morning, via Bus #4-aleph, to Har Ha-Tzofim. Mount Scopus. To Hebrew University.

I’m sitting on the porch of the café where I used to meet with my Hebrew tutor, from April – June 2002.

I’m sitting a few buildings over from the cafeteria where Marla and Ben and seven others were killed, and Jamie Harris-Gershon and dozens of others were wounded.

The bells of noontime are pealing out upon the hills below.

What a strange, strange day. I woke up thinking about the woman with whom I had a first date last night. And then, seconds later, I was thinking, of course, of M.A.B. and July 31.

I took Bus #4-aleph on what I expected to be a solitary journey, but Ehud Zion Waldocks was at the bus stop, and we journeyed up to Hebrew U. together.

At Hebrew University, I had to get an ishur (permit) to enter. The security guard asked why I was here, and I told her I came to visit the monument to the victims of the cafeteria bombing. “Stam (Just because)?” she asked. No. Not stam. My girlfriend was killed there. Here.

Not stam.

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12:28 p.m.
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Has it really been 4 years?

Yes.

I’m now sitting in Café Sinatra, rebuilt after the bombing to look more or less as it did before.

It’s warm outside, though not oppressively hot like it was on July 31, 2002. Still…I can appreciate how cool it is inside here, with the A/C. I think I remember that Jamie told me that the A/C was one of the reasons they were here, eating. It was so hot outside. I know - it was stifling hot in Tel Aviv that day, and the whole country was experiencing a hamsin (heat wave). This cafeteria at Hebrew U. must have been packed.

I close my eyes and remember coming here the night after, on August 1, 2002, thirty-two hours after the bombing. The tables and chairs and bodies and blood and nails and spikes and flesh and hair and glass and everything else imaginable and unimaginable had been swept up and cleaned. Much of the structure remained intact. But…not the ceiling. Panels had fallen or had been blown off, wires exposed. The guts of this building itself were ripped open.

I wonder how many people in here, right now, know what happened here, exactly four years ago. Does anyone?

There’s a man reading the signs (about the bombing, in Hebrew) posted outside of the cafeteria, right now. He knows.


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1:04 p.m.
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Now I’m sitting outside, by those plaques. I just had an interesting interaction with a young woman, sitting by herself in the cafeteria. She had on a Rutgers (spelled in Hebrew) t-shirt. I asked her if I could ask a question, and she said, “OK”, with a slight bit of hesitation. I said, “I’m wondering if you know what happened here 4 years ago today.” She said, “Yes – in fact, I’ve been thinking about it the whole time I have been sitting here.” I asked her if she’s in the ulpan – she is. Ramat Aleph (level 1). She had her last class today, and is about to fly back to the U.S. (sounds a bit familiar).

She told me that they had not mentioned the anniversary today, at all. It was mentioned a few weeks ago, at a security briefing after the Lebanon conflict began. She felt the security briefing was unsatisfactory, but that was the only time she’d learned about the bombing.

When I told her of my connection to the bombing – of my girlfriend, Marla, who I was about to ask to marry me when all of this happened – tears welled up in her eyes. She told me she wanted to hear a bit about what happened, and I shared a bit of the story. She thanked me when she left, and as she walked away, she said, “Don’t sit here all day.”

I won’t.

Among other things, I have a second date tonight. This is a strange, strange day.


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2:23 p.m. – At Tilted Tree
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I’m sitting in the shade of the Tilted Tree. This has been really quite eventful, and surprisingly so.

I created a ritual of sorts, to recite next to the Tilted Tree, the memorial here next to the café.

Actually, first I davenned mincha, in a little open area (the same place where I spoke to the Nesiya 2003 group after the ceremony here on July 31).

Then, I sang Ana B’Koach. Recited Psalm 23. Sang Ha-malakh Ha-goel Oti. But then I stopped, noticing that two girls and a boy (high school age or so) who had been walking around the plaza and kinda watching me had left. I decided that I needed to know who they were – no one else (besides me) was in the plaza today, and I wondered what their connection might be. I followed and caught up with them, and asked one of the girls whether she had a connection to the memorial. And then, as she told me, I realized exactly who she was.

It was Rivka Blutstein – Ben’s sister – here with two of her friends from the Bronfman Youth Fellowships in Israel.

Wow – Rivka. She is now 17 (almost 18) years old. She looks wonderful, poised, and – despite the difficulty of this moment and this place - happy. It was amazing and really moving to connect with her. She had recognized me, but wasn’t entirely sure why until I said my name – Michael. She remembered, and she seemed as glad to see me as I was to see her. Rivka told me that this was the first time that she had ever been up to Hebrew U, the first time she had seen the cafeteria and the memorial. I am honored to have been here during her first visit.

I returned to the Tilted Tree and sat for a bit with Esther Abramowitz of Hillel in Israel, and told her about seeing Rivka. I also mentioned my date last night. It was really great to be with Esther, and to hear a bit of her own stories and connection with this place –she works directly across the plaza from the cafeteria, and she was here that awful, horrific day. For her, she told me, this is all about chesed (overflowing kindness). I concur.

It’s quiet and, yes, peaceful up here, right now. So interesting – how time, and space, can change things.

I finished my “ritual” – recited Psalm 121. Sang Tov L’Hodot Hashem (It is good to thank God). Without irony, anger, or anything else. Tov L’Hodot L’Hashem. It is good to thank God.

What a day.

Marla Ann Bennett. I love you and I miss you. And, even though you are gone - Tov L’Hodot L’Hashem.


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6:45 p.m.
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Yaffa, my dear friend from Livnot and from so much more, picked me up at the Tilted Tree and took me to a different cafeteria on campus to get lunch, and then we went for a brief journey to the desert. Bamidbar. We went to Wadi Kelt, in the Judean Desert. I really needed it.

It doesn’t feel like any July 31 of recent years. It does, and it doesn’t.

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01 August 2006, 11:45 p.m.
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It has been an extraordinary past 100 hours or so.

I’m aboard the Continental Airlines flight, preparing to take off for the U.S.A.

This morning, I went over to Beit Shmuel on a very crowded bus #18, in time for the brit milah of Leah and Elisha’s newborn baby boy. Avraham Tsur. It was nice – really nice – to be at a simcha. Good stuff.

It was good to be at Beit Shmuel, but also a bit sad that I won’t be spending more time there, at this time. I’m looking forward, b’ezrat Hashem, to spending some quality time there, soon. December.


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02 August 2006, 4:50 a.m. – Muslim-Jewish Dialogue, 35,000 Feet Above the Mediterranean
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I’ve made a new friend on this flight: Amir, from Ramallah. Actually, from NYC and now Dallas, Texas. A nice guy. We were initially seated next to each other, but he moved to accommodate a couple that wanted different seats.

During dinner, we ended up having an extensive chat. He told of many humiliating (and, perhaps unnecessarily, harsh) experiences at checkpoints and in other interactions with Israeli authorities.

I had a dual response to all of it – and shared it with him. I am sad and feel badly that he has to endure such indignities. I am sorry that what he refers to as the “wall” (and what I refer to as a security barrier, most of which is actually more a fence than a wall) makes him and other Palestinians feel that they are in a giant prison.

BUT…

I am also glad. I am glad that the security barrier deters entry, that it works to keep potential suicide bombers and other terrorists out of Israel. There is, after all, a reason why all of these security measures are in place. Israel did not start the war in 2000, no matter how much the revisionists would like us to believe that it did. This was Arafat’s war.

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04 August 2006, 7:17 p.m. EDT - Back Home, in this Home
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I’m in Cambridge, and have been back for 2+ days that included a heat wave, Tisha B’Av (the 9th of Av, a day of national and historical mourning for Jews), reconnecting with Gabi and Rabbi Avi and Bernie.

Liminal space.

Fasting. Thinking.

Making plans for another date.

And the war continues, rages, in the North.

What an incredible, emotional, momentous week.

And, once again, here I am.

Hineni.