Tiny leaves are emerging on the bushes in my yard, and the early stages of flower blossoms on my apricot tree.
It is officially spring. My favorite season is fall, but spring is a close second. The renewed energy, the signs of life after a cold winter.
Alas, I am confused. Fall was markedly imprinted with pain, sorrow, grief. A piercing moment in my soul and the souls of Jews and Israelis alike. And every moment since has been merciless for everyone touching this seemingly never-ending conflict. Every second of every day that goes by where this war rages on and there are hostages still being held and do they know it’s spring? Do they know that Purim is here, that, perhaps, their birthday has passed? Have they smelled the spring air? When was the last time they have seen light?
Time has stood still. Soon we will mark six months since that horrific and traumatizing day and now the leaves are coming out and the early signs of the tulips in my yard are here and we’re still stuck in the fall, frozen on that day. Fall didn’t happen, winter didn’t happen. How is it spring? How is that possible?
My silence on this platform hasn’t been for lack of things to say, in fact, I planned to write about something else today. It’s finding the strength to say them, wondering if anyone even cares anymore. Wondering who feels I am a monster for believing Israel has the right to exist and war is so awful and no it’s not genocide but that does not negate the immense suffering and grief and pain of the innocent Palestinians stuck in the crossfire of their government and Israel’s trying to end this vicious and unrelenting cycle of terrorism.
Spring is about renewal, yet I don’t feel renewed. I went to yoga this week and the teacher said “It’s spring, but who is feeling off their routine from the snow last week?” I was out of town and missed the snow, but I’ve been feeling out of my routine since October 7th. The sun, the snow, the birds starting to chirp, the flowers starting to say hello, all the things that used to make me feel something make me feel nothing because I am not in spring, I am in October, on the darkest day for my people in most of our lifetimes. Myy suffering is one of privilege, being removed physically from the situation, not living in fear for my life or the life of my children, not pleading with the world to let my family member be released as a hostage. I recognize this privilege and I wonder how those people do it, my pain and fear and sorrow and grief so intense it feels like any more would be unbearable.
I go through the motions, though. Last week we road-tripped to California to visit friends and for me to attend a natural food convention. We drove 1,000 miles each way, in awe of the beautiful landscape, recognizing how small we are and how young we are compared to the mountains and arches and desserts and rocks that formed over millions of years. We are just a blip in human history. And yet, despite the welcomed distraction, my mind constantly drifts back to the present. The friends I’ve lost, the existential threat to a land I love, my family in Israel, the hostages, the Palestinians who just want to live in peace, the constant threats against Jews, the college kids who are under attack for who they are, the copious misinformation that paints us as evil, the commitment to said misinformation, the communities I’ve lost, the members of my people that we’ve lost, that they were just there to dance and so many of them were tortured and murdered in a mass grave, the burned down kibbutzim, the humanitarian aid getting stolen, the children, those poor children, is this the 1930s all over again?, baby Kfir, the beauty of my people, and on and on and on.
I don’t know what it will take to move on from this, or if that will ever happen. I know the hostages need to be released and the war needs to end and healing needs to begin, if that’s even possible. I know things won’t ever be the same.
I constantly look to nature for inspiration and solace. Every spring the flowers still bloom and the leaves still emerge and the birds return and the days get longer and warmer. Nature keeps trucking along. Well, for the most part, because, of course, humans have screwed that up too.
It’s not the same, though. Not this year. I feel like a shell of a human trying to just keep making it through the day. My work has been slower than ever thanks to major market shifts, and that seems insignificant anyway (though only adds to my ongoing stress levels). And my mind is elsewhere, it’s in the tunnels in Gaza, it’s with those suffering, it’s fighting those who are committed to misunderstanding me or vilianizing my people in my Instagram DMs, it’s with my tribe. It’s wondering how this all ends, for good, in peace and silence. It’s going through the motions elsewhere, but knowing that life is precious and my identity is so essential to who I am and empathizing more than ever with what my ancestors went through.
Spring is here, but not for me. I will continue to enjoy the flowers and the leaves budding and the longer days, but I am stuck in the fall.