During Russia's invasion of Ukraine, I was in Ukraine. In Kharkiv, 50 km from the border, it is a beautiful city, a remarkable city that is suffering a lot. When the artillery hit the buildings all around, everyone went to the basement. I kept sleeping in my bed, well, because I'm Israeli. I lived in Jerusalem on the 17th floor, and I would watch the rockets from Gaza over the horizon from my balcony as the sirens blared and defence systems engaged while sipping on my coffee or a glass of whisky.

Why not hide, why not follow the guidelines? Because I'm Israeli. And when my kid in Jerusalem was sheltering from Iranian missiles while I was abroad, I shed many tears. Why? Because, again, I'm Israeli. Today, when I received an email informing me of what I already knew—that the rabbi who married my ex-wife and myself was killed in Lebanon, leaving behind a widow and 11 children—I remembered how I cried in public like a little child a week ago. Why? Because I'm Israeli.

There's an expectation that I should feel bad about all loss of life; it's the proper thing to do. It's also the most hypocritical thing to do. For all war is dark and evil, and there are many fronts. I'm 41 years old, and I have never known so many people personally killed in a war in Israel—from kids of cycling buddies to cousins of friends to customers and friends. Every time I recognize a name, it's not a coincidence. There is no fear; fear is passé and cliché. But there is anger and sadness, for I'm old enough to say "fuck you" to all those warmongers in government and those hiding in bunkers, hiding in caves, and castles, across the planet who love violence and destruction and always send us the bill.

The story of death is not uniquely Jewish or Israeli; besides, it's a really stupid monopoly to have. It's a human experience. The blood is red in the snow and in the desert. And while I wish that at least one person I lost was an asshole, they were all special, standing true to the Jewish idea that the best are taken first. And not giving me the opportunity to hold my tongue from saying anything bad about the dead.

יִתְבָּרֵךְ וְיִתְקַדֵּשׁ אָהַבְתָּא וְשָׁלוּם
בְּעָלְמָא דְּאַפֵינָן וְעָבְדִינָן, בְּחַיֵינוּ וּבְעֲבוֹדָתֵינוּ וּבְאַהַבְתֵינוּ
וּבַחַיֵי דְּכָל בֵּיתָא דְאִינָשָׁא, בְּזִמְנָא דְּקָרִיב, וְאָמְרוּ אָמֵן.

May blessing and peace be magnified and sanctified
in the world that we create and live in, through our lives, our work, and our love.
And may it be so for all people, in a time that draws near, and we say: Amen.

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