Now What? That Is the Question

I am exhausted. Aren’t you? Worn out from carrying the burden of “truth” on my shoulders as if I am walking into a strong wind that is blowing in the opposite direction. Tired of holding the burden of “truth” uncomfortably above my shoulders because if I hold it any lower it might fall to the ground and crumble. Weary from holding my head up straight and not looking down or turning away in order to maintain my sense of direction. Drained from attempting to explain the obvious to people who, lacking knowledge, have latched on to the coattails of other people who also lack knowledge but whose loud voices drown out their profound ignorance. Simply put, I am spent.

Day after day I read brilliant essays and editorials by people whose writing I admire and whose opinions I respect. They write about Israel and Gaza, Israel and the Haredi, Israel and the settlements, Israel and the IDF. Israel and the government. They write about antisemitism in the Americas and abroad, Jewish students on college campuses, the accusations rained upon Jews in the U.N. by our own politicians and within the organizations they once championed. They report and they analyze. They summarize and they synthesize. They posture and they postulate. They scold and encourage, inform and inspire. They educate and illuminate, yet they lead us nowhere. I appreciate their intellect and their erudition.  I marvel at their determination. I admire their commitment to their craft and the expression of their mission. But, at the conclusion of each reading, I am left with the question, “Now what?”

Now what? 

Is attempting to gain favor in a world that is pivoting away from us a pathway to the answer? I think not. Is turning our backs on the very people with whom we are inextricably connected, or disappearing into the madding crowd in hopes that we won’t be noticed for who we are, a viable pathway to discovering the answer? Again, I think not.

Must we be reminded yet again that the number of Jews on this planet is infinitesimal relative to the 8 billion people who inhabit it? Statistically, we Jews comprise a minimally insignificant percentage of the entire world population … about 0.2%! That figure alone should open our eyes to the absurdity of world focus on our tiny number among the world’s peoples. It should make us wonder why so much attention is focused on us instead of being focused on the trials and treatment of vast populations in places most of us can’t even name or locate on a map. Why is our story on the front page and theirs on the back – if at all? Why is our story in bold print and theirs a footnote? If we are looking for logic, we won’t find it here.

Must we be reminded that it is in our best interest to first commit ourselves to learning our own history before we buy in to the stories that other people tell about us? Why do increasing numbers of our people take up the banner or don the symbolic garb of the very people who promise our destruction? Why do they commit to the defense of their self-avowed enemies before or instead of knowing the trajectory of their own existence in this world? Do they really think that shedding their own identity or disclaiming responsibility to protect their own survival will protect them from the consequences of their abandonment? If we are looking for logic, we won’t find it here.

Might we not all be well advised to study maps of Israel and see how it sits among its antagonistic Middle Eastern neighbors?  Would that exercise not lead us to wonder how anyone could carelessly dismiss this tiny piece of real estate as a dispensable commodity in exchange for approval that, as history has taught us, will never be achieved by taking mincing steps backward and hoping for the best?  

Speaking of approval, isn’t it time that we face reality? Garnering the approval of our detractors can’t be our primary objective. That has never worked. Neither can turning our backs away from the people to whom we belong either by choice or by default. We have learned – or should have by now – that both approval and belonging are transient. Both depend on the will, or lack thereof, of whoever is in power, socially, politically and on the world stage. Jews are accepted at the behest of the powers that be, and it is never the Jews who hold that advantage. It is we who are accepted, celebrated, admired, reviled, rejected, expelled or exterminated not by our fault or intention, but by the will of those in charge according to their own needs and purposes. We have been there and done that, and we should get it by now. But apparently, too many of us still don’t. Giving up is not an effective trade-off. Going underground, camouflaging our true identities from ourselves or from others, giving up or giving in do not get us anything but loss in the long run. 

So, now what? 

 “This above all, to thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.” Does this ring a bell that sounds familiar?  How could I have imagined that, as a college sophomore taking a required Shakespeare class and studying this speech from Hamlet wherein Polonius advises his son Laertes upon his departure to university, that these words would advise my thinking in 2025 as I try to answer the question, “Now what?”

Now at last, with a grateful nod to William Shakespeare, after all of the convoluted emotions, confusion and conflict, the answer is no longer complicated. I know where I came from and I know who I am. To my own self, I must be true. To my family and my family of families, past, present and future, I must be true. I will not be false to any man, woman or child. I will reveal proudly and honestly my identity as a Jew and a Zionist. I will not compromise. I will defend my place in this country and in the world. I will support people and causes whose orientation in this regard is consistent with my own. I will not dance around issues that are fraught. I will speak my case, our case, unapologetically with clarity and conviction. I will not try to convince the unconvinceable, but I will leave the door open to welcome anyone who is willing to join me inside.

These convictions are the tools I need to protect myself against the raging wind, to carry truth securely on my shoulders and to maintain my sense of direction.  

Now what? 

We all need to think about that question and place ourselves, individually and collectively, at the center of the answer. In writing this piece, I have taken the first step towards answering it, and, being true to myself, the answer is clear. 

Rochelle Ginsburg is an Educational Facilitator and Consultant.