Sunday, March 01, 2009

Flashback to after Amona...

I feel now like how I did then.

When I got back from Amona, I sat down on a street corner and cried and cried and cried. I only wanted to talk to my cousin. More than anything else, I think it was the sheer shock at seeing the sinah that went on there. Yidden against Yidden. Jew against Jew. Brother against sister. Sister against brother.

Today, what did I do wrong to them? Why did they talk to me like that? So derogatorily. So nastily.

After Amona, I was loathe to meet the eyes of the Arabs. We're doing it to ourselves, this time. So embarrassing.

The same was today. When we were walking home, I was ashamed in front of the local non-Jews. They riot and propagandize. But today had nothing to do with them. Today it was solely between us.
I stopped here, Motzei Shabbos. (Now it's Wednesday.)
I had been in middle of writing about my experience in the synagogue that day.
It wasn't only the attacks (in short, for being Chabad and missionizing); it was also the stress of dealing with everyone at home afterward. I didn't knew what I was allowed to say and to whom. Who twists words and who is here to help.
My rabbi was also traumatized.
He called his friend, a 'head' of shluchim, to tell him about Shabbos and his friend answered with "I can't talk now. My grandson just passed away."
I shut the laptop and left the room, crying...

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