By Mishi Harari
Lately, I am unsure about how to begin my writings. I was once a big writer. Colorfully documenting my life, the things we were doing, and the wild experiences my kids would get themselves into. Recently, my mind has been blank. How do I start? What should I write? I am always very careful with the words I say and how I say them. I’m sensitive. I’m an empath, a deep connector that craves true relationships with people who are willing and capable of going and seeing beyond what the exterior shows. Today though, I just want to write. I don’t want to say things nicely. I don’t want to express myself within the proper rules of communication that I try so hard to follow. I just want to be and to feel and I want everyone who feels that we are connected in some way or another to just accept me for what I have to say.
I am a Jew. I come from the depths of persecution and hate. I am a product of the Holocaust and all that it has brought along with it, even decades later. Generational trauma is real. The pain and suffering and death of my grandparents, their siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, teachers, neighbors, was something I grew up hearing about from a young age. My grandparents were very open about their traumatic childhoods. They didn’t hide what they went through. And yet they never complained. They came to America, built their lives anew and passed on to me their great strength. Their ability to persevere. To stand up for themselves. To be strong in the face of evil, and in the face of silence. If they were around right now to witness the horrors our people are experiencing all over the world, they would be pained, yes. Yet they would remind me through stories of their own, of the great courage we have had as a people for thousands of years. They would tell me not to be shy. They would tell me that everyone should know of the atrocities. They would tsk at those who are silent and at the end of it all, they would smile and say, “But after it all, we are still around. No one could ever erase us, they will never win.”
I am so blessed and lucky to have many friends from all walks of life. Being a military family in America has provided me the opportunity to meet people from all over the place, of different races and religions. And as much as I have bonded and connected and fallen in love with so many of them, I still recognize at times like this how alone I really am. I can’t expect anyone to truly understand because, after all, that would not be possible. I also can’t expect everyone to even know what’s going on right now, all over the world for the Jewish people, because for many, this story is irrelevant. And this is something I have come to understand. Yet it doesn’t take away the feeling of isolation, the feeling of wondering what it is I’m doing in this part of the world, so far from my people. Yet I also know and firmly believe that God puts each and every one of us where we are meant to be in order to make our own difference. To bring our own light into this seemingly dark world. It doesn’t matter who you are or from where you come. You can bring happiness, brightness, and hope into this world, each in your own unique G-d-given way.
As for me, I am a Jew. A proud one. And I will stand up for my people. I won’t ever stay silent, even if it bothers someone else. I won’t ever try to hide my identity or be afraid of it. I will shed tears alone for every hostage that was taken from their homes, every person who was murdered by terrorists, and for every single heroic, beautiful soldier who has fallen in battle to save and protect our mighty nation. I will continue to pray and I will continue to exude happiness. I will not let my spirits fall.
I may feel alone. It may seem that I am. Yet I have the heart and soul of every Jew inside of me and I will proudly carry on the flame that my grandparents, and all those who came before them, so courageously kept brightly lit.
Postscript: For my friends who have reached out, who have loved and shown concern and connection, who have encouraged me to be true to myself, I love you! You are true and beloved friends. Y’all know who you are.
Originally published in the Shavous/Three Weeks 2024 issue of The Jewish American Warrior.
