Shelter from the Storm
B"H
On the occasion of millions formally blessing callous, warring Evil's return to world power (though it is fair to ask why those particular millions should have exceeded the global average), a topic emerged, through a cranky argument with Kyla, that seems depressingly appropriate: bombardment. I am sick of and from bombardment. I think the whole world is. I also consider it to be an obstacle to holy work; which is why I consider it integral to our holy work to find or build shelter from bombardment. This is why I think it is important that interfaith work be happening out here, as far away as we can get from the Holy Land where everyone is bombarded with territorial conflict. And this is also why I think it is important that religious work be happening at a safe remove from the bombardment of nonintention in modern secular culture. (But does that mean, then, that we have to get out of the city? Oy vey. Where to get kosher food and a minyan, then?) Much of my struggle with community structure and geography has to do with realizing this principle in a coherent way.
It is worth asking: is shelter really the answer, or is it a way of avoidance? (If the latter, then why don't we all just go move to the Land? Yeah, see, I don't think so...)
Anyway, Happy Election Hangover! <grunt>
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This isn't a pre-plotted comment, so I'm not sure it'll be totally coherent. And the other disclaimer (disclaimer?) is that Eminem is blasting loudly in my apartment right now...
Shelter. From bombardment. Is that why the interfaith work has to be out here? I mean, it has to be out here. Because the Land is overwhelming right now, so that's a practical concern. But if the Land was less volatile, would we move? Would we take the work there and keep it there?
It's not just the bombardment that's the problem. It's that you can't go home until you've figured out how. Which we've all said before and know in many different ways. The wilderness is really the site of the pain, isn't it? Why the hell am I out here? Why can't I go home? Why is home a minefield? The brokenness is out here.
Which is to say there really isn't any shelter, per se; and sure, we're bombarded, but unfortunately, we're bombarded by who we are, by our own brokenness and by our own yearning for Home. This is why conversations blow up. This is why being bombarded by facts and figures, or by death tolls, or by irreconcileabe theological truths becomes a roller coaster of violence out here, in the wilderness. We just don't want to be here.
Which is why I like the city, inspite of its secularity and non-intention. Because it needs some of that soul back, to sound totally fruity. Because there's so much here. And because there's nowhere else to go.
By kyla, at 1:22 PM