Every morning as I’m getting the kids ready for school and getting myself ready for work, I scroll through my Facebook feed on my phone.
(like you never)
I see you. I see school performances and Bar Mitzvahs and Sunday hikes through the lush fall foliage. I see what you’re eating for brunch, or dinner, or dessert. I see you newly painted nails and the pretty flowers your husband sent to your office. I see your new haircut car selfie and the portrait of you done by your kindergartener. I see your videos of your son sinking the winning basket, and of your daughter’s VIBE performance. I see your shares about the season 6 premiere of The Walking Dead and lip sync contests and funny things that Amy Schumer did. I see that you love that The Packers are 5-0 and that the Jays won last night.
And I’m so thankful for what you are doing on Facebook.
Because my heart can’t handle the rest.
My heart can’t handle the blood-soaked tallis.
My heart can’t handle the media bias.
My heart can’t handle the texts from relatives who are staying close to home because there is just too much happening, too many closed roads, too many risks today.
My mother-in-law, my stepmother, my sister and brother-in-law, my three nephews, my two nieces, my family, my friends, my people are currently under attack.
Israel is under attack.
Let me repeat that to you. Under attack.
Every time I refresh, I see the words dance across my screens: stabbing, shooting, car-ramming, wounded, killed. Terror and terrorist are thrown around the way I use the words Starbucks and fantasy football.
I am lucky and safe, here in my Canadian bubble. I can get on a city bus without fear of shootings. I can send my kids to the park and not worry about possible stabbings. I can walk down the street without fear of getting hit by a car. (I urge you to watch this video. To see what’s happening. To see what the news is NOT reporting.)
I can pray without the fear of blood ending up on my siddur.
I can sit here and be quiet. But I won’t. Because most of all, my heart can’t take the silence.
(Photo from Israel Hatzolah)