The Morning My Finally Healed Heart Shattered

I will never understand how the insurrection on January 6th wasn’t the end of Trump as president. How he encouraged a mass of people to commit political violence because he lost, because the American people voted him out. I will never understand how two impeachments didn’t end his presidency. I will never understand the rot in America and how easily swayed the American public is, when propaganda and lies are being doled out on a spoon. I wish, I wish, I wish, it was Haley. She is an intelligent individual who would always put her country before self. I hoped for Kamala every damn day. I should have done more to get more votes for her. I could have done more. I have to do more.

Today, I have no more fight left in me. So today I’ll mourn, today I’ll let the tears fall, I’ll let the panic sink in. Tomorrow, though, I’ll pull myself up, and I’ll start the fight again. The hope of America is that it’s never finished, it will always be a more perfect union, never complete, an unfinished symphony (The Hamilton Musical). Human rights will always be on the line when education stays the same, never changing, never accepting the truth. Why are we back here? Why did this happen? How can we prevent it next time?

In 2016, my heart broke a little, one long crack, and it stayed that way until 2020, when I yelled at the top of my lungs “Madam Vice President” a little piece healed. When I went to the polls, and got my sticker, I healed the high schooler who watched her rights get stripped away. I woke up this morning (Nov 6) in Israel and my heart shattered this time. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs- “Madam President and our modern day Queen Esther are moving into the house.”  We would have had a Mezuzah for the first time on that doorpost. Protecting those inside. I wanted no more cracks in my heart.

How many times will women take to the streets, wearing their pussy caps, and pink? How many times will we beg for our rights? How are we still fighting for the rights our grandmothers fought for? How are we back here? Looking to repair our climate, yet never being able to finish the work? I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to throw up.

I may live in Israel, but it doesn’t mean I still don’t believe in the promise of America. In 1772, we promised ourselves to be a nation of the free, protecting our freedoms, so we can continue being free. Protecting our freedoms, so we can always fight another day.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I am sorry. To the women who have died this year because they miscarried. To the women who had to travel hundreds of miles for healthcare. I’m sorry, we couldn’t elect her in your honor, in your memory. I’m sorry your memory hasn’t been for a revolution yet. But it will come, your names will be on our lips as we take to the streets. Your names will be on our lips every time we remember what could have been.

I should have worked harder than last time. Should have made phone calls more often. Should have continued the fight, because it clearly wasn’t over. The promise of America will always be a fight worth fighting for. Even when I live elsewhere. Even if I live in a country where things seem bad right now. I believe in the promise of America.

There will come a day, I promise, when we look back at this dark age. We look back at Andrew Johnson, and know what he did was wrong. We will look back at this time with wild eyes, and understand where we went wrong. Right now it’s hard to see, even without the rose shaded glasses. America will always be a land of hope. The American dream died long ago, but the American hope persists. The hope that we will have a new dream, a new deal, a new way forward. Hope is all we can have.

We will find a way to survive again. For the promise and hope of America is all we have left. That alone is enough to gather my strengths and start again tomorrow.