A set of giant concrete blocks that serve as guard posts at the checkpoint near my house now has a fancy sign on it:
עמדה 2
Things here have always felt concrete – heavy, burdensome, temporary but permanent –
but they’re getting more and more more concrete over time and experience and murder and terror attack and town raid and pillage and pogrom.
It’s not that I don’t recognize where I am anymore. It’s that I recognize it as our cascading down a self-prophetized timeline. Like so many, I always hoped it would never come to it but probably knew it was the most likely path for a country as complicated as this one. Things here are so concrete and they’re so ephemeral at the same time. All I did was go out to buy paint at the next town over for my daughter’s fire truck perm costume. Come back to more and more proof at where we’re headed. Come back with no paint.
When the protests started they were a purr. Weeks later 8 or 9:00 to be exact. They are a roar but perhaps a clawless one?
There are two images of Zionism being shaped and described. Right now. One is fiery and violence and remorseless. Other is complicated and tortured
Is when we dress up to things were not celebrate the hidden mystery of how we were saved from genocide. It feels like nothing could be more clear in the way we’re dressed leading up to it.
Whadya got: