By Elissa Felder
Twenty-six years ago a group of my friends gathered to wash the body of my little baby that had died that same day during open-heart surgery. His death was a shock of the most traumatic proportions.
So Donald Trump is president and half of America is mourning. And plenty are elated. My Facebook feed, mostly non-Orthodox Jews, is dominated by mourning. People lamenting the loss of normalcy, of values, of shattering the glass ceiling once and for all. People describing the emotions like losing a loved one.
There’s a certain anxiety when you haven’t blogged in awhile, like your next post better have been worth the wait. I recently switched from Blogger to WordPress and I’m still adjusting to this new relationship, but today I downloaded the WordPress app on my phone, and it’s waaay more lovable than the actual site. So here I am blogging on my phone, deciding to just be casual and conversational and not let the blogger bogeyman get me down.
Elyse Goldstein, in her recent piece, “Why I’m Not Fasting on Tisha B’Av,” makes a number of thoughtful points regarding the upcoming national day of Jewish mourning. I commend her for her principled and intentional living and would like to respond with my own take on some of her themes. She says:
You were the grandparent I couldn’t have, the one who told the Story.
You were tireless in your staggering work.
You relived the horrors, so others could know.
You looked beyond your own to make sure it didn’t happen to others.
You helped me know what my own had been through.