I haven’t been a good sleeper for many years, but since Oct. 7, 2023, let’s just say it’s been worse. Some people count sheep. Some people doomscroll in the wee hours of the dark, dark morning. I’ll let you guess which kind of person I am.
Darkness is an interesting place to spend your time. On the one hand, you imagine the monsters just beyond your field of vision. Any small object, hidden or distorted by the lack of light, or thought that might have escaped your consciousness during the day, can become larger than life, spiking your heart rate and preventing a good night’s sleep. On the other hand, the stillness — the quiet — affords you a level of reflection difficult to achieve during the busy hours of the day.
So what have I learned during my sleepless nights the past year?
That even within darkness — the inky, muddy, seemingly endless darkness — there will always be points of light. Yes, even among the harrowing images of war, rocket attacks, demonstrations, encampments, and broken glass are stories of heroism, kindness and a resurgence of Jewish identity.
Surprisingly, following the tumultuous Election Day in the United States this week, I woke up on Wednesday morning, for the first time in a long time, without my usual sense of existential dread. (Spoiler alert: It’s not because I think our president-elect will be a savior for Israel or the Jews, although I’ll be the first to line up and say “thank you” should that turn out to be the case.) Friends, colleagues and internet folks expressed a range of emotions. Some were elated, while others tended toward catastrophic predictions.
I took stock of my own emotions, and I couldn’t find the anxiety I expected, the feeling of the rug being pulled out from underneath my feet I experienced after the 2016 presidential election. “What’s wrong with me?” I wondered. The person I voted for didn’t win, and now, I’m supposed to be afraid of what’s to come. Shouldn’t I be upset? Crying? At the very least worried?
Due to the past year’s experiences as a Jew and American-Israeli, with family and friends in Israel in the path of rockets and danger, I considered the option that I might have simply become numb or desensitized, but I quickly dismissed that idea. I do indeed not only care, but care deeply, about the Jewish people, Israel, its neighbors and American society.
Then I realized that during those night shifts of mine, while reading, worrying and contemplating the world, I must have also been developing a toughness. I have, in some ways, turned into the famed sabra fruit — tough on the outside, sweet on the inside — despite not being a native-born Israeli.
The past year has been the most heart-rending one in recent history for the Jewish people and Israel. We’ve experienced unimaginable losses — loved ones taken from us, our psychological safety broken and perhaps unrecoverable — but as a people, we’ve also survived by coming together and by reconnecting with our Jewishness, whether cultural, religious or otherwise. As a Jewish writer trying to navigate the waters of an industry not overly friendly to Jews at this time, for example, I’ve discovered and leaned into spaces that support both Jewish creatives and those who seek comfort and representation in their works.
Avenues for enriching and advocating for Jewish identity and causes are sprouting up all around us, and we’re discovering allies we didn’t even realize we had, those willing to stand up with us in our fight for what is right. Young people — college students and even high school students — are forging paths to strengthen us collectively and promote Jewish values, Zionism, and the social causes important to our people.
So, you see, elected leaders, good or bad, come and go. But we define what our values are, and we must continue to work to realize them, no matter who sits in the White House.
Rabbi Tarfon’s teaching from Pirkei Avot (2:21), “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it,” has never been more relevant than now.
A newly elected leader — whether he was your preference or not — doesn’t change the fact that we have work to do. The only thing that has ever truly dispelled my worry about the state of the world and what awaits us is to get to work, so my plan is to continue to build, continue to repair, and continue to shine light out into the darkness. Except, of course, during the dark nights, when I’ll alternate between doomscrolling and trying to sleep.
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