For the Watchers

Shabbat shalom from Jerusalem!

It has been a beautiful week in many ways.  I've continued exploring and debating texts in my classes at the Pardes Institute, and I also began an ulpan program that has empowered me to feel ever so slightly more proficient in Hebrew.  I spent some quality time with some special teachers of mine, got to snuggle a baby, and had a glorious reunion with two friends I hadn't seen in a year or more.  Also, the weather has been close to perfect.  So, that's all wonderful.

And yet.

As I write this, Israeli troops are waging a ground operation in Gaza; one IDF soldier has already been killed and several more have been injured.  Nearly every time I've checked my phone in the past week and a half, I have seen a notification that another rocket was launched from Gaza into Israel.  I've seen and read reports of the suffering of the Palestinians in Gaza who are trapped, largely by their own leadership, in what seems to be a hopeless situation.  And, I've watched as a ceasefire agreement failed and took with it the possibility of peace and quiet for civilians on both sides of the conflict.  Added to all of this has been the seemingly endless stream of status updates on Facebook and other media posted by people who, most of the time, have very strong opinions despite not having many facts.  Although my life has gone on relatively uninterrupted in Jerusalem (thank G-d!), there is a part of my brain that is always occupied with the larger struggle in which Israel is enveloped.

It is painful to watch, all the more so because I know there isn't really anything I can do to help as an American citizen who is only here for five weeks.  I'm not in the army, nor do I have any other skills which would potentially be useful in this conflict.  I can't bring aid to soldiers, nor can I offer shelter to families who are under near constant fire in southern Israel.  My contributions have basically been limited to donating food to the Pina Chama, a soldiers' rest stop in the West Bank, and trying to daven with a little more kavannah aimed at the current situation.  While I know that "every little bit helps," it still feels like a small drop in a very large bucket.  I have realized, over the past two weeks, how emotionally challenging it is to be relegated to the role of a bystander while people (and a place) you love are suffering.

As I've struggled with the task of watching a problem unfold in front of me without being able to do anything to "fix it," I've thought over and over again about the parallels between that situation and that of parents who are watching their child struggle with an eating disorder.  In the work that I do as a co-facilitator of a support group for parents and loved ones of individuals with eating disorders, I hear on a weekly basis about the sense of powerlessness, fear, anger, and anxiety that these parents feel.  How excruciating it must be to watch the suffering of your child, the person whom you love most in this world!  Parents, despite their purest positive intentions, cannot fix eating disorders.  They can't eat for their children, provide "quick fix" therapy, or relieve the problem with any manner of rational discourse.  All they can really do is love their children, provide support whenever possible...and watch, as their children do battle on the front lines.  As I reflect on the many years in which my parents were stuck being witnesses to my struggle against anorexia, I can honestly say that although my work was grueling, painful, and exhausting, I think their role was just as agonizing.  Although bystanders are held back from the actual combat, they are forced to watch the suffering of those they love...and being a watcher comes with a pain all its own.

Going into this Shabbat, I am going to continue to try my best to support this country I love from the sidelines.  I will pray for the safety and security of the Israeli soldiers, as well as for the protection of civilians, Israeli and Palestinian alike.  I will also take this opportunity to publicly thank my parents for enduring the challenge of watching for so many years, and for never once wavering in their support.  And, for all the parents out there who wish they could do more to move their children along toward recovery...sometimes, the best you can do is let your children know you are in it with them for the long haul, that you love them and won't give up on them, and that you stand ready to do whatever you can to support them.  I wish that you and your children find some peace in the process of recovery and that you can resume your full lives with energy and joy.

May this be a peaceful and quiet Shabbat for all.