I never said I was a journalist.
I can’t take the facts on the ground and shape a narrative that is both unbiased and revelatory. I can’t take the tiny truths and shape them into a cosmic whole.
I tried. It just isn’t how I roll.
But I love to write. I have to write. And so, I reveal a teeny tiny corner of my universe. I take the neurotic nuances of a life spread way too thin, and shape it into something that I can almost hold — that I can almost make sense out of, and I throw it out there — hard — in the hope that someone will catch it, and bounce it back to me.
I throw it out there in the hopes that someone will say “Hey, I feel you. Let’s have coffee.”
I throw it out there in the hopes that someone will say “deal with it and move on.”
Because that’s dialogue, people.
And that kind of thing leads to friendships. Even if it starts from a point of contention.
I write about the things that many feel and few say. And when I put that shit out there, others respond in kind. And then we have something very rare: authenticity.
And that’s what’s beautiful about The Times of Israel. Two Jews, three opinions. We’ve got great news coverage and unbiased reporting. We have poignant feature articles that help shape a narrative of a country that is constantly learning on its feet.
And then we have the blogs. Powerful, passionate posts offering insight into the minds and hearts of the people who are engaging in the sticky complexities of what it means to be connected to Judaism and to Israel. People who struggle with these issues, and with their own “issues.” (Ahem.) People who are willing to put their lives out there so others can feel less alone. These blogs offer a rare and real reflection of a country in an identity crisis — a country of people who are trying to pull it together to stay together as a people.
It isn’t fluff. It’s feeling. And if you don’t like it, don’t read it.