February 16, 2010

It has been over a year since the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) incursion into the Gaza Strip to halt the Palestinian terrorist group Hamas from launching rockets into Israel. Watching the events unfold on the Spanish news channels and listening to and participating in the ensuing debate in my Spanish university political science classes, I felt, for the first time in my young adult life that true, vitriolic feeling of anti-Semitism that has only become embolden, rather than diminished in the present day. In the subsequent months as I continued living in Spain, traveling throughout Europe, North Africa and ultimately returning to my university in California, I began to question and rethink what my Jewish identity means and what kind of future we as a people can hope to expect.

The house is silent now; the door remains closed, no more sounds from the screen door opening and closing to announce the arrival and departure of visitors. The sincere offers of condolences, fond stories of my father at work, in the army, or jokes to lighten the mood, each closing with the Hebrew words of comfort that roll off me like water in the shower, coupled with the solemn offer ‘if there’s anything I can do, please let me know’ fade into the background. Life goes on. Shiva is over and my father is still dead.