I Have No Words Left | אין לי מילים

March 9, 2025

I remember the feeling, that accompanied me, when I published the feuilleton My Heart Is Being Held Captive in Gaza, from my hotel room, just before dinner in Marbella. The guilt I felt at the time, that while Eden Yerushalmi and Hersh Goldberg-Polin were dying, I was wandering somewhere between yachts, Louis Vuitton, and Dior; that I was eating sushi, while They were starving. But what, was I supposed to stop eating?

It’s March 9, and not much has changed. There are still 24 Hostages in Gaza. We are powerless, unlike the politicians in power, who have used their strength in the wrong way. If it were up to me, Gaza would resemble Chernobyl, even though I have Arab Friends. Not out of hatred, but out of despair. But it’s not up to me.

We still live as if we’ve forgotten this tragedy. It has been 519 days, the cortisol levels in Jewish bodies have risen, because antisemitism has increased, and we’ve gotten used to it, though, in fact, we’ve always been used to it. In Poland, reeking of post-communist rot, paradoxically, one can feel relatively safe being Jewish today.

How does one punish oneself? One thinks about how quickly one has forgotten. I remember vacations, I remember the autumn of 2023 and arms deliveries to the Gaza border strip. Three funerals and one wedding, though that’s not a paraphrase of a movie title, just in a single week. Buses, the kind we used to take on school trips, filled with Girls and Boys in uniforms, younger than me, yet so much braver, that it’s impossible to measure. A Boy dying in a hospital. A Boy missing three limbs. The object of my high school crush, one of the most handsome Boys G-d ever created, lying in white sheets, so mutilated, he is unrecognizable. The fool, who wanted to go out with me, how he pressed the detonator button with a smile on his face and, just after the explosion, spun in a triumphant dance. That last memory is the only one that disgusted me. The first and the last. But I can’t judge him, I know too little about him and most importantly, though I wish I were, I’m not Adonai.

I understand that on both sides, those committing atrocities are driven by an animalistic instinct, yet despite that understanding, I cannot justify in my mind the disgrace of the uniform and the service. The idiots sticking their butts out at phone cameras and dancing ridiculous, monkey-like dances.

אתה חייל, תתגבר על עצמך, גברת.

Falling rockets in April, a sleepless night, the sky flashing, his voice saying:

Look, this is Star Wars.

One of the most important things I have learned during this war is the awareness of the fear that animals feel. I remember the horses, which no one would ever think to hide in a shelter. Their screams were nightmarish.

To punish myself, I sit on the floor and freeze, covered in goosebumps. I don’t pray enough, I don’t bless Water often enough, and I punish myself too much - this is not, what Judaism teaches. G-d does not abandon me, though I believe so little, so I cannot understand why, why did You, Adonai, abandon Them?

I don’t know the answer to this question, and G-d is not answering me today. Soon, I’ll drink a glass of water (most likely without even blessing it, as one should do before he takes a sip) and return to my reality. I’ll eat a chocolate cake for breakfast at noon, and My Brother will be shooting already, while I sleep. I’ll go to the forest and take Emunah Golda with me, so we can enjoy happiness, while the weather in Poland is still nice (in March, that’s rare occasion).

On Monday, as if nothing happened, my alarm will ring, I’ll take a shower, go downstairs to a ready-made breakfast, knowing my luck, it will be shakshuka from an army recipe or scrambled eggs from Joanna Przetakiewicz’s recipe, then I’ll sit in the car, that will take me to university. I’ll sit through the classes without speaking to anyone, though I have absolutely nothing against it. I’ll sink into my own thoughts, overwhelmed by the number of people around me, wanting to run away and isolate myself the entire time. Then classes will end, and I’ll hide in the car again, and that’s how my day will pass.

Tuesday won’t be much different, nor Wednesday. On Thursday, Emunka, who is now sleeping on the couch, while I write, will have her upsherin. The weekend will come, and I’ll either have to party or isolate myself again, throwing myself into numbing work, at least I’ll earn money, unless I lose even more. That’s how my weekend will go. Other than the tough dilemma: to party or to isolate?, I won’t have to suffer much more.

Meanwhile, They will be starving, They will be raped, They will be dying, They will lose a finger, a leg, or an arm. They will pray, They will beg for their Lives to be spared, They will cry, though they shouldn’t waste Their scarce water on tears. They will be grateful, that They can still live in gehinnom, while I complain about everything and obsess over the smallest deviations from normality (an imperfectly cleaned floor, oversalted food, etc.) in my life, which means little to me, but appears to Them as paradise.

I will spend four hours a day showering, while They haven’t bathed in days. I will eat ice cream, while They dream of water. I will remember, until we all forget, consumed by the stupid routine of our lives.

I almost forgot about the tragic death of Shiri Bibas and Ariel, and Kfir already, though just recently, the whole World lit up in orange for Them, while I was studying French phonetics over the condolence letter from Chabad Magazine for Yarden Bibas, during this difficult time. Among all the Victims of this tragedy, few have such well-known faces. If They have been forgotten, if even I am succumbing to routine, then we are utterly screwed.

This feuilleton was published outside the standard Columns edition, as an exception, and is freely available to everyone.