And after that? I'm not sure. I could rant about Mel Gibson and his antiSemitism (the truth, oh how it comes out), but I'm not that kind of blogger. Jewish related? Of course. Worth talking about? No. But if you want to read about the police report and his hatred of the tribe, please, go here.
I also could write about the photo that was on the front page of the Post today and how it made the dead bodies look NOT dead ... mostly because one of the bodies definitely looked as if it were sitting up, leg bent with the heal on the ground (something a dead body's leg couldn't accomplish). But then I'd be insensitive.
I could write about how the woman who was shot and killed by a Muslim man with all sorts of psychological problems at the Jewish Federation in Seattle and how the woman was a convert to Judaism in marriage, surpassing her husband in community activity. But I
So instead, I'll write about living in galut -- exile -- as Tisha B'av is now almost upon us. It isn't physical exile, but rather a state of being. Do I sound like a hippie yet? No matter where a Jew lives (Diaspora or overlooking the Western Wall), he or she is in exile. It's the state of existence of the Jewish people. We can build Israel and have our homeland but until Jerusalem is rebuilt and redemption is granted, well, we're living in exile. I'm OK with it, really. It's even more obvious with Hamas and Hezbollah reminding us that we are exiled even in the land. Walking through the office on a Friday night knowing that I need to be at shul for me, for my own sanity and existence, reminds me that I'm exiled. Exiled it is.
Moshiach? Any time now.
