I'm sitting at my kitchen counter at 3 AM, staring at my phone like it might explode. The deal is about to go through. A thousand terrorists for our hostages.
The pit in my stomach feels like it's housing a black hole.
Now, it goes without saying that we all desperately want our hostages back – but at the same time, we also know that this deal is a tremendous terrible disaster. The released terrorists cannot and will not stop blowing us up, stabbing us and then celebrating with Baklava when we bury our dead.
Here's the thing about living through historical moments: they feel less like history and more like trying not to throw up. So how do we stay sane? How do we function when everything feels wrong?
I've been repeating these mantras, not because they make everything better, but because they keep me from screaming at random strangers on the street:
1. "Hashem is in control"
2. "Hashem has a master plan" - Whether of not we will ever understand it is irrelevant.
3. "Ein od milvado" (There is none beside Him) - Because sometimes the only way forward is to remember we're never truly alone
4. "Kol mah d'avid Rachmana l'tav avid" (All that the Merciful One does is for good) - Even when it feels impossible to see how
5. "You can only control yourself" - Which is annoying but true, especially when I want to control everything and everyone around me.
6. "Ana Hashem hoshia na" (Please Hashem, save us now) - Because sometimes the simplest tefillos are the most powerful
7. "B'yad Hashem afkid ruchi" (In Hashem's hands I entrust my spirit) - When everything feels out of control
8. "Mi k'amcha Yisrael" (Who is like your people Israel) - Because even when we're broken, we're broken together, and that makes us unbreakable.
9. "Nachpesa dracheinu v'nachkora" (Let us search and examine our ways) - Because growth can come even from darkness
These aren't just nice sayings - they're spiritual lifelines that have carried us through generations of hardship. They're what our grandparents muttered in the camps, what our parents whispered during wars, and what we're holding onto now.
Let's be real: none of these mantras make everything okay. They don't erase the rage, the fear, or the helplessness. They don't make it easier to watch the news or scroll through social media. They don't stop the 2 AM panic attacks or the constant checking of WhatsApp for updates.
But they do something else: they give structure to the chaos. They're like handrails on a steep staircase - they don't make the climb easier, but they keep you from falling into the abyss.
I won't tell you to stay positive. I won't tell you this is all for the best. I won't even tell you it will all work out in the end. Because right now, in this moment, those platitudes feel like sandpaper on an open wound.
What I will tell you is this: You're allowed to be angry. You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to question everything. And you're still allowed to get up in the morning, make coffee, help your kids with their homework, and function in a world that suddenly makes no sense.
Because sometimes staying sane isn't about finding answers - it's about learning to live with the questions.
And maybe that's the real master plan after all.
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