Writing is my petticoat, the way I’ve found to dress my ADD and dance with it in the ballroom of life. It was a slow learning process, almost a conquest. My shyness is like a river that runs underground, invisible but mighty, and that’s where the blog becomes my bridge, the way to cross into the world. There, I interact without noise at the pace my silence sets. I let the words fall like leaves in autumn, and nobody picks them up immediately; it’s a freedom that the immediacy of speech doesn’t give me. I converse with myself; I am both the echo and the voice, revisiting past days in search of the thread that sews me to the present. Those who know me understand that my words are a portrait I paint daily, a self-portrait that is never finished.
On the screens of others, I leave a bit of my Israeli soul, Latin, Jewish, humanist – a mosaic that reflects my momentary view of the world. I create dialogues with questions no one has asked, I express opinions no one requested, and in this innocent act, I root myself more deeply in the land I chose to be mine. This is my way of saying: I am here, I want to be part of it, I want to leave a mark that is not just a shadow that passed. It is my way of interfering in the world, of dialoguing with it without exposing myself to its gazes.
In this universe I created to survive, the theme matters the least. I write. I write as if wanting nothing, as if I could have made this a profession, but now I want to be a man who left the war behind. Yet, who can abandon the pen when it calls? I see myself in the mirror of letters and feel better, wiser, more just. I allow myself the luxury of having solutions to all of Israel’s dilemmas as if I held some ancient secret.
I am made of vanities, like everyone, but I learned to find my greatest joy in the figure of the other. The one who is not me but who, through my texts, gains voice and space. I represent the other; I speak through them, and somehow, I find myself richer, more complete. I am the other, and the other is me, on this stage of letters where each sentence is an act of resistance and every period is a new beginning.