We are living in surreal times, in historic times, in miraculous times. These are days we will one day speak about to our children and grandchildren. We are witnessing events that we will recount at Pesach Seders and Chanukah and Purim celebrations. These are moments that feel touched by something beyond us, as if the world itself is leaning toward redemption. It feels messianic, as though something hidden is beginning to reveal itself.
At the same time, it feels raw and unpolished, rooted in the nitty gritty of real life, full of earthiness, moodiness, roughness, and sharp edges. We are still human. We are still living on this earth. There is so much to be grateful for, so many open miracles and quiet kindnesses. There is also so much we are still trying to process, so much we have not yet had the space or strength to heal from. Some of us have lost loved ones in this war, people whose names and faces we carry with us constantly, who do not leave our thoughts. Others have watched their children suffer in ways that are hard to bear. Many of us are struggling personally, whether outwardly or inwardly, weighed down by illness, stress, fear, or the private burdens we carry in silence each day.
There are moments that feel euphoric, moments of sudden clarity or light or connection. There are also long stretches when the days seem to drag on endlessly, when the heaviness settles in and refuses to lift, when time itself feels like it is standing still.
I do not know exactly how to make sense of it all. I simply felt the need to write this down, to give this feeling a place, to observe it without judgment, to notice it, to acknowledge that it is here with me, and perhaps to find a small sense of peace simply in naming it.
When we are able to recognize the pekel that we are holding, when we allow ourselves to sit with it rather than push it away, something begins to shift. From that place of honesty, we can begin to elevate what we are going through. We can draw it forward and upward, and slowly begin to zoom out and see a fuller picture, one that includes both the pain and the possibility. We can reframe how we see this time, not by denying its difficulty, but by placing it within a larger story, one that stretches far beyond us. When we are able to do that, when we open our hearts to both the struggle and the hope, we begin to echo the spirit of Mashiach that is already moving through our world. We allow it to take root in the places that matter most: in our homes, in our relationships, in the quiet corners of our lives.
This is not an easy time nor is the challenge a simple one. It demands more from us than we may feel capable of giving. In moments like these, the first step may be simply to notice. From there, we can begin to believe that within what we are feeling lies the beginning of something redemptive.