Let's pretend everything is normal.

As if that's even possible.

A slice of my vintage Israel postcard collection, which is as close as I can get to being there at the moment.

It was great to have our youngest son with us for a few weeks. For starters, it brought our other sons home for visits, too. <3

By day three of drinking my morning coffee with him, and of him brewing it for me, I could almost imagine that he’d not flown the nest years earlier. Then he said, “Ima, want to keep me company while I pack?” and I snapped back to reality.

Off he went to Israel, Back home, taking a tiny chip of my heart with him. But we’re proud and happy and grateful, for this is good. Plus, he landed at Ben Gurion on Delta just hours before the airline canceled its flights to Tel Aviv. The blessing of that timing was not lost on us.

So here we are, while he’s there. Not an easy moment to be far apart. But that’s the way it goes.

Wherever we, the Jewish people, find ourselves now, it is unbelievably, devastatingly Day 300 since the war began and the hostages were hauled violently into Gaza. Amid the narrow straits of the Three Weeks, it strikes me that the Jewish calendar has caught up with the collective mood we’ve been in since October 7.

We hold our breath and worry. We pray, we scream heavenward. We perform acts of kindness, hoping to turn the tide with ahavas chinam, the antidote that is free love.

I spoke with my son and several friends in Israel today, all of them sort of carrying on with everyday life because they have to, knowing-feeling-breathing that in fact, nothing is normal. Here, too, though in a different way because we don’t live beneath a burning sky. But still, because we’re all watching with lumps in our throats to see what happens next and our hearts can beat in two places at one time.

For the past 300 days, I know my writing has veered into territory that is less upbeat than it used to be. What can I tell you? This is where I’m holding, and I imagine many of you are with me. I try to laugh and live and see the good and the beauty that still exist in this world. As scared as I am, I cling to the hope that everything will work out. That G-d will keep Israel safe and protect His people everywhere, that He will be present with our soldiers on the battlefield, that He will bring a swift and decisive defeat of our enemies.

The rest of the time I pretend because laundry still needs washing and Shabbos food requires cooking and my essays won’t write themselves.

And when I can’t stay focused on all of that, I distract myself the best I can.

How? I read. I’m crocheting my fourth batch of hearts, one for each of the hostages, that I will bring with us on our vacation to give out as a random act of kindness to total strangers.

I’m also decluttering, taking stock of what still matters to me and what needs to be recycled, trashed, or passed on to someone who will love it in a way I no longer do. For example, I pulled out the postcards I’ve been collecting since I was eight, which was a long time ago. There are several more boxes to sort through, but I’ve already given away a generous bunch, keeping all the Israel ones. The picture above features a drop in the bucket.

Looking at the pile transports me across the sea. And in this way, the postcards have become touchstones, worry beads to help me through. Because it feels strange to be anywhere but there.

Other Distractions

Here are a few things keeping my mind off the news and other sources of gloom:

• I totally adored Catherine Newman’s book Sandwich. Haven’t laughed out loud like that in months, though there are also bittersweet moments that will make you cry. But still, it’s all so wonderfully normal.

• This stop-motion Lego reel is delightful and hypnotizing.

• If you’ve been reading Days of Rest for a while, you know I enjoy a good typewriter concert. Thanks to my friend Riva, I’ve just discovered typewriter art. Check this out.

• This video of 100,000 toppling dominos works magic on your brain.

• And this is a lovely reminder not to lose sight of our dreams and plans, no matter how old we get or chaotic the world becomes. Go you, 98-year-old Rosemary Fowler, PhD!

That’s All I Have

Sending love and support out through the interwebs. May it be a peaceful, quiet, and restful Shabbos.

Please use the link above to subscribe to Days of Rest if you haven’t already. And check out my weekly #gutshabbosshorts on Facebook every Friday morning.

Grateful to have you with me. #bringthemhome

Gut Shabbos, Shabbat Shalom!

Love,
Merri