Chess in Damascus

It’s weird for a writer and speaker to feel empty of words.

Unfortunately, that’s the feeling these days.

It’s the enormity of the weight bearing down on us here.

The weight of expected missiles and rockets and drones.

The weight of expected booms, power outages, supply shortages.

The weight of outward normality and inward normalization, on the daily.

The ceaseless, increasing cry of our brothers and sisters abroad as they face an onslaught of hate.

The betrayal by supposed allies threatening to withhold weapons from us as we fight for our survival.

The peak of absurdity with hundreds of trucks daily entering - with OUR OWN HELP - to the enemies across the border.

The groaning rage of seeing our “friends” saying not a whimper to even support our fight to bring back our hostages.

The “as a Jew” kapos denouncing us and their Judaism.

Our own government seemingly capitulating to pressure from Uncle Joe on everything from aid to a pullback to invading Rafah to answering Iran properly.

There is a deafening turmoil inside that waxes and wanes, but never quite disappears.

There are work motions, home motions, throwaway jokes and unsurfaced ironies.

The head-shaking nonsense of sitting in court, defending our own legal rights challenged by our neighbors.

There are calls, calls and more damning calls.

A bright piece of news about a student saying she got a job thanks to my coaching.

The fleeting joy of learning some new piece of Torah or commentaries.

A flash of happiness in a new linguistic association.

A clever turn of phrase for someone who actually appreciates it.

And then, there’s the rare “big fish” news of a whole Iranian and Lebanese terrorist cohort blown to smithereens by our bombs in Damascus.

May they rot in hell, without reservations.

It seems our “chess” attack has caused massive ripples across the Middle East.

We’ve taken a big initiative, for once.

We’ve challenged the weight of the world on our shoulders, perhaps shifted it, even briefly set it aside.

We’re in the month of Nissan now, the month of miracles, the time of redemption in our history.

Redemption isn’t a train that ever arrives on time.

It doesn’t come with a pre-purchased ticket or with inherent merit or particular deeds.

Most days, it’s a train that seems never to arrive, only to whistle at us hopefully from a far distance.

We’re stuck in paralysis analysis (rather than vice versa).

G-d helps those who help themselves.

But we are frozen, even as we scramble to act and look busy and productive.

We are mortified under our superhero capes.

We are ready to collapse after our effortless strain.

In late-night moments of weakness and fear, we barely fall asleep, snatching packets of far-away noise before exhaustion takes over.

Imagine - all this, without even a single “real” bomb or missile or rocket landing nearby, G-d forbid.

There are pings and dings of more terrorists eliminated, sons of this SOB or that one.

There are tabs with e-books open.

I’m reading “Nudge” a few years late, but enjoying it.

Really wishing to start writing a novel again after these last 6 months.

War is Much Ado About Everything, with Nothing Gained.

F-ing Peter and the Wolf starts playing in the background.

We’re very much fighting that wolf.

Our Peter’s happy-go-luck is still with us, despite everything.

5th happiest country in the world, despite the war.

WTF, but thank G-d for it.

Relatives from France are visiting.

Do I make shnitzel for dinner tonight?

Yep, that’s where we are these days.

Our leaders are playing some 11-D chess, we’d like to think (but know isn’t true), while fighting protests, allies, wolves in sheep’s clothing and sheep in wolves’ clothing.

“Balagan” is a uniquely Israeli kind of chaos, impossible for others to understand.

How we manage to keep shooting ourselves in the foot daily and yet pray for healing like enthusiastic children.

Pray for us.

Even better, help us materially.

Hire us Israelis for whatever you would hire someone else for, anything really.

None of this is easy, friends.

We’re fighting your war here, just as much as our own.

Some - hundreds of thousands - on the actual front, with our bodies.

Others - millions of others - on the home front, the work front, the advocacy front.

We won’t let you down.

Don’t let us down, either.

Whatever your version of prayer or faith, it’s never hard to support those fighting homicidal maniacs intent on our destruction.

Seek our your Jewish friends, check on them.

Don’t be satisfied with “I’m fine.” Press further.

We’re hurting like hell as we smile and grin and bear this.

They can’t kill us, but they sure make us bleed.

Make no mistake, we will win.

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Handel’s Menuet in G Minor is a fitting way to end today’s screed.

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