Drowning in despair

Last week was the lowest.

Last week was when one conserved mental energy, as one didn’t have to use their morbid imagination to consider what the 30s were like.

Instead, one’s mental energy was called up to battle the despair that has descended to darken the world I grew up in.

When the blood dried, victims identified, hostages sitting on their hands, mobilization in motion, civilian action, homefront command…

The antisemitism hits.

And it’s a firehose; it’s nonstop and it hurts, oh it hurts.

And I’m split into two: Israeli, and diaspora Jew. Half my life here, half my life there. I’ll never not be one or the other.

And so I’m face to face with an existential dread that was once only a series of nightmares – that I’m drowning,


a cement block chained to my legs,

dragging me down,

but I pull myself, I swim myself up, higher, inch by inch,

trying, anyway,

aiming for the surface,

all the while knowing that at the surface

is only certain death;

swords drawn, bloodthirsty haters

so I have to tread without treading,

live without breathing,

watching for the next threat

for all of us –

in the scheme of things,

what are we? But another generation


and some will make it

to tell the tale, another day.





Whadya got: