#Blue Jew I Need To Wash This

[bruceslatonpite]

Blue Jew Mental Illness | Blue Jew OCD | Blue Jew Reddit | Blue Jew Social Media | Blue Jew Be Social Campaign

www.reddit.com/r/OCD/comments/129xcjh/reassurance_seeking_why_does_this_happen/

[fdelopera]

Moon Knight on Erev Rosh Hashanah

I took part in the Moon Knight mystery swap, and I'm writing this fic for @enigmatist17 !

Since it is New Year's Eve (or New Year's Day depending on when you're reading this), I wanted to write a fic for the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah.

This fic is based on the MacKay comic book series (Moon Knight 2021), and is set several issues before Issue 30.

I wanted to show MK System as an observant Jewish System, since that isn't often explored in depth in the comics. And you just know, Jake "For the People" Lockley is usually the one who schleps their tuchus to shul!

Happy New Year!

✡︎

“We’re not going,” said Marc, shaking his head, trying to push back the emotions coming from Jake and Steven. “Absolutely not. I haven’t been in years. Not since … well, not since that time with dad. And Jake, I think it was mostly you around that time anyway. You always paid more attention in shul.”

Marc felt a familiar pulling sensation from where Jake usually hung around, when he was close to front. And then Jake’s familiar Brooklyn twang said, “Marc, bubbeleh, I could just knock ya out cold and take us there myself, you know. But I want you to be there. This is for you as much as it is for us.”

Marc felt Steven chime in with his nasally Long Island cadence, “We both want this. Jake and I do. Not for dad. Not for the family. For us. For you. We’re the only mishpocheh that matters here.”

“Well, I guess I’m just the odd man out. As per usual.” Marc shook his head, and absentmindedly ran his hands through his hair. Their hair was greasy and unkept from being shoved under the mask. What else was new. They needed a shower. That was usually Steven’s job, but Marc didn’t want to give Steven any chance to front and collude with Jake to drag them to shul. Not now.

Not with tomorrow being the 1st of Tishrei. The first day of Rosh Hashanah.

“I heard that,” said Steven. “And neither Jake nor I are going to force you to go to High Holiday services. But we bought the ticket, everything’s all set up. Central Synagogue has a beautiful service. It won’t be anything like dad’s shul. The music is more contemporary. The Rabbi and the Cantor are both women. They’ve got beautiful voices. You’ll find a way to pout about it, I’m sure, but I know deep down you’ll enjoy it. Trust us.”

“What about Reese and Soldier? What about Greer? Are we really going to leave them alone for days at a time? Just tell them, ‘See you later!’ What if they need me? What if Hunter’s Moon has to track down another one of Black Spectre’s goons?”

Marc felt Jake’s chuckle erupt from deep within, and he heard Jake’s words wash over him with yellow-colored mirth. “Marc, I think a couple of vampires and a cat woman are more than capable of taking care of themselves without you fucking everything up, don’t you think?”

“Marc…” Steven’s voice echoed softly within, a wash of blue concern pushing against the back of their eyes. “Marc, what is this really about.”

“It just feels like a complete waste of time, with everything we’ve got going on.”

“Hey!” Jake’s annoyance came quickly. “You might not take shul seriously, but I do. This is important for us. We’re Jewish, Marc. Whether you like it or not. And as Jews, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are our two most important days. Our holiest days. I know that probably doesn’t mean shit to you anymore…”

“No, no, I’m not saying that…”

“Well, you kinda are. You’re saying that our two holiest days don’t matter for shit. Meanwhile, you’re out on the street, doing the bidding of an Egyptian god.”

“That’s different. I don’t worship Khonshu. I still remember the Aseret Hadibrot, and I know that Number One and Number Two are very important.

“I am the L-rd your G‑d, Who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

“You shall have no other gods before Me. You shall not make for yourself a graven image, nor any manner of likeness of anything that is in heaven above, that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them, nor serve them. For I the L‑rd your G‑d am a jealous G‑d, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children of the third and fourth generation of them that hate Me; and showing mercy unto the thousandth generation of them that love Me and keep My commandments. (x)

“See? I still remember what dad taught us.”

“Nice, so you can recite the Ten Commandments,” sighed Jake from inside. “But you still don’t seem to understand why it’s important for us to go to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.”

“What I do remember is something dad talked about once… This was a while ago. Before he got sick. He was preparing a d’var Torah for Yom Kippur, and there was something he said…” Marc stopped himself before he thought about it more.

“Marc, what is it? What did he tell you?” Steven’s voice was gentle, his blue concern washed over them again.

“You already know, Steven.”

“Well, why don’t you say it, then.”

“It’s silly. Just a stupid thing. Something I heard dad say once. It just, got me thinking. About us. About me.”

“If it’s silly, then why are you trembling now?”

“I dunno. Maybe I still worry that it’s true.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to us about it? We can work through it together.”

Marc sighed and rolled his eyes. “This is fucking ridiculous. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Marc, bubbeleh…” Jake’s thoughts were soft. “C’mon. Try us.”

“Fine. I have to find it.”

Marc grabbed his phone and searched Sefaria for the specific passage. “It was just this one commentary in the Talmud. About Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Here it is. You’ll see how dumb this is. Really.” He sighed dramatically, but he couldn’t quite keep the tremble from his voice.

“The Gemara goes back to discuss the Day of Judgment. Rabbi Kruspedai said that Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Napacha said: Three books are opened on Rosh Hashanah before the Holy One, Blessed be He: One of wholly wicked people, and one of wholly righteous people, and one of middling people whose good and bad deeds are equally balanced. Wholly righteous people are immediately written and sealed for life; wholly wicked people are immediately written and sealed for death; and middling people are left with their judgment suspended from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur, their fate remaining undecided. If they merit, through the good deeds and mitzvot that they perform during this period, they are written for life; if they do not so merit, they are written for death.” (x)

Marc sighed. “That’s it. You get it? That’s why I’m worried.”

“And what about this worries you, Marc?” Steven’s thoughts were patient, even as Marc’s emotions started to rise.

“I’m scared. I’m terrified that something awful is gonna happen. I’m fucking terrified that I’ll be inscribed as one of these ‘Wholly Wicked’ people. Steven, you’ll be fine. You’re one of the ‘Middling People’ after all.”

“Ha! Very funny Marc. And I guess that makes Jake one of the Righteous few.”

“Damn straight I am!” laughed Jake.

“You are, Jake. Jake ‘For the People’ Lockley, of course you’ll be among the Righteous. But me? I dunno. Somehow I’m convinced that if I go to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I’m going to die.”

“Marc…”

“Yeah, Steven?”

“Headmates can’t die, Marc. At least, not without the body dying. And so long as you’re not planning on jumping out of a third story window…”

“No, no. It’s not that. I don’t know what it is. I just feel. Overwhelmed. By something. Something is weighing me down. I know headmates can’t die, or at least, not like that. But I just feel like something is coming for me.”

“Marc, what you’re feeling is grief. And guilt. And shame,” said Jake, his voice softer now. “We need to practice Teshuvah. Repentance. Being wrong. Telling the people we’ve hurt that we know we’re wrong. Explaining why we’re wrong. Asking for their forgiveness. Asking three separate times. Being prepared for them to say no each time. Being prepared to walk away. For that to be the closure we get. But Marc, we gotta start somewhere.” (x)

“I'd rather get punched in the face. Actually, I’d rather take a thousand hits than go through that.”

“Yeah, buddy. I know you would. But we don’t got that choice. Not when it’s the thing that is keeping us from being a Jew. Not when you believe that you are literally going to die because of your feelings of guilt and shame. We need Teshuvah.”

Jake sighed deeply from within. “Marc, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are sacred. They have always been our holiest days. Our Ten Days of Repentance. The Days of Awe. But do you know why they are so important?”

“Probably. I’m sure dad told us.”

“Because of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai.” (x) (x)

“Wait, which one was he?”

“Ribaz. He’s the rabbi who pretty much saved Judaism.”

“Oh. Right. After the Temple…”

“Yes. The Temple. This is how dad used to tell it...

"After the Romans besieged Jerusalem. After they set fire to the Beit Hamikdash, our holy Temple. When we had no place left to offer up sacrifices to G-d. What would we do? Especially on Yom Kippur. Without the sacrifices at the Temple, how would the Jewish people be able to repent? How would we be forgiven of our sins each year? How would we continue to be Jews?

“Ribaz was a wise old rabbi. He stood and wept as he watched the Temple burn. The flames went higher and higher, late into the night, casting evil shadows upon the land. And he looked to the Tanakh for guidance. He turned to the Nevi’im. To Hoshea. And there he found the wisdom he sought.”

“For I desire lovingkindness, not sacrifice; devotion to God, rather than burnt offerings.” (x)

“I remember,” muttered Marc, his thoughts blending with Jake's, remembering their father’s voice. “Hoshea 6:6. And with that, he knew how we would carry on as Jews. We would offer up lovingkindness, prayer, and Torah study. That is how we show our devotion to G-d.”

“Yes!” thought Jake, nudging Marc from the headspace. “And that’s why we gotta go to shul tomorrow. Ribaz didn’t save Judaism just for us to be a slouch about it! So we gotta go to shul tomorrow to get our name in the Book of Life. So we can be sealed on Yom Kippur. So we can start the process of doing Teshuvah. We gotta reach out to Frenchie, Marc. And I miss Gena and Crawley so damn much. It’s gonna be really hard. But we gotta start somewhere. We gotta start repenting to them. And we gotta mean it this time. Let go of some of that ego you carry around your neck. It’s weighing all of us down.”

“Jake’s right,” thought Steven. “We don’t know what the future will bring, Marc. But we gotta start.”

Steven began humming a tune that pushed out in little breaths through Marc’s voice. It was a tune that Marc knew but couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What is that?” thought Marc, directing the question at Steven. “That sounds like…”

Steven pushed closer to front, and continued humming, a little louder this time. Some words came through Marc’s lips in Steven’s voice.

“Who by fire? And who by water? … Hmmm hmmm hmmmm… and hmmmm hmmm hmmmmm…”

Marc coughed, cutting off Steven’s song for a minute. “Oh, it’s Leonard Cohen.”

Marc could feel Steven’s smile from inside the headspace. “That’s right, Marc. And you know what it is, right?”

“I do. Yeah. Yeah. Who shall live and who shall die. His version of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer.” Marc began to sing softly. (x) (x)

And who by fire?

Who by water?

Who in the sunshine?

Who in the night time?

Who by high ordeal?

Who by common trial?

Who in your merry merry month of May?

Who by very slow decay?

And who shall I say is calling?

“But teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah shall avert the severe decree.” Marc took a deep breath. “I’ll go. I will. For Ribaz. And I’ll do it for you Jake… I’d do anything for you. You know that. And yeah, you too Steven. Even though you’re a pain in my ass. I’ll do it for you. We’re mishpocheh.”

“And for you, Marc?” asked Steven, whispering the words through their lips.

“Huh. Okay. Fine. For me too. I’ll go be a good Jew. Ha! Dad would be so proud.”

“We’re not doing it for him,” thought Jake.

“No. Okay, no. You’re right. We’re not. I’m not. We’re mishpocheh. We’re doing this for us.”

[a-queer-seminarian]

An ebook I've had on hold for weeks finally came in yesterday, the third Sunday of Advent, which centers Joy. As the book is titled Inciting Joy, I found this quite fitting — but I also thought to myself, “Do I really want to read a book about joy right now, given the state of the world and especially the ongoing genocide in Gaza?"

Well, I figured, I’ll give the book a try anyhow. And it turns out that Ross Gay opens Inciting Joy with an answer to my exact concern! He describes how a professor once asked him that very thing: “How do you write about joy in the face of…*gestures broadly*.”

The issue, Gay says, is that we consider joy and “all this” to be opposites, when in reality joy must be allowed to break bread with pain — and here I'll let video me continue:

[Captions for the video:

'Well the issue, Ross Gay says, is that we consider “all of this” and joy to be opposites, with joy in some lofty, cozy room high, and heartbreak locked away in a basement corner — when actually, he says, they are “fundamentally entangled" — and here I’m going to read an excerpt from the book:

“...Or even more to the point, what if joy is not only entangled with pain, or suffering, or sorrow, but is also what emerges from how we care for each other through those things? What if joy, instead of refuge or relief from heartbreak, is what effloresces from us as we help each other carry our heartbreaks? Which is to say, what if joy needs sorrow...for its existence? If it sounds like I’m advocating for sorrow, nope. ...But what I am advocating, and adamantly so, is that rather than quarantining ourselves or running from sorrow, rather than warring with sorrow, we lay down our swords and invite sorrow in. I’m suggesting we make sorrow some tea from the lemon balm in the garden. We let sorrow wash up and take some of our clothes. We give sorrow our dad’s slippers that we’ve hung on to for fifteen years for just this occasion. And we drape our murdered buddy’s scarf, still smelling of nag champa, over sorrow’s shoulders, to warm them up some. We wedge some wood in the fire. As we’re refilling their tea we notice sorrow is drinking from a mug given to us by someone we’ve hurt. We ask sorrow about themselves, and we scooch closer to hear. We eventually decide to invite a small group of friends over for a potluck, because we want sorrow to meet them...."

And, as Ross Gay continues, eventually you and sorrow end up shrugging and inviting anyone who has any sorrow, which is to say, everyone. And everyone brings a little to share, and everyone introduces their sorrow to other people’s sorrows, and there's storytelling and supportive hands and laughing until you sob. 

And that, Ross Gay says, is joy. It’s that thing that emerges from “our common sorrow — which does not,” he’s quick to add, “mean we have the same sorrows, but that we, in common, sorrow.” And when we learn to sorrow together like that, we learn to love together, too. Solidarity is born.' / end of video.]

___

There’s a worship service some churches hold this time of year to make space for "common sorrow" in the midst of Christmas’s consumerist frenzy. It’s typically held on December 21, the winter solstice, and thus called the service of the Longest Night — or sometimes it’s called Blue Christmas.

It’s a chance to lament, to sit with grief a while, in community. Look up churches around you and see if any hold such a service; or create such a space for yourself at home. Take the time to sorrow in common — with loved ones, with Jews and Muslims facing rising hate, with our Palestinian siblings facing genocide. 

That’s what joy is — not locking pain away, but letting it sit, and speak, and break bread with laughter. And that, Ross Gay says, is why joy is a tool of survival, the parent of solidarity, in times like these.

[ternaryflower53]

hello i am SO fucking sorry to jump into your inbox like this out of the blue but as a fellow chinese american and non jew i really really appreciate you talking about and acknowledging antisemitism.

i live near san francisco, so i have a plethora of asian american friends who all self identify as liberals, but after i unbrainwashed myself from antisemitism thanks to some hard conversations, i’ve had an incredibly tough time digesting the antisemitism absolutely baked into so much of what these friends say and how unwilling they are to see israelis as human, much less listen to them.

as always, i have to add a disclaimer here that i firmly call for accountability for the IDF and israeli govt since they’re acting with impunity, and i pray to see a palestinian state in my lifetime. but it hurts knowing how much of a fringe position it is among my peers to fully believe that israel doesn’t actually deserve to be demolished, because there is no way in hell the descendants of refugees expelled from MENA countries will be “just fine when they go back to where they came from.” if anything i suspect their certain deaths would be celebrated even more greatly because they’re israeli and the evil is defeated!!!

i just.. i don’t understand how fellow asian americans could have understood the importance of not speaking over black americans, and instead elevating their voices and amplifying solidarity during 2020, yet so wholeheartedly throw themselves into calling for israel’s dissolution. i don’t know if it’s that they’re ignorant of the fact that israel wasn’t created just for funsies or that they wholeheartedly believe israelis are an object to peace for palestinians. and yet they all have the gall to say “punch a nazi uwu!!!” or “i’m not antisemitic” and then unironically retweet something saying that what’s happening in gaza is the holocaust. everything is just so fucking backwards and upside down.

again, i’m sorry for basically venting this whole essay into your inbox, but i see you and i stand with you and our jewish and palestinian siblings, and i pray for peace in our lifetime. thank you again for your voice. may it never waver.

oh my gosh, no need to apologize!! i really appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts, and i firmly believe that it's really important to let jewish people know we exist, even if it's on anon.

i agree with everything you've said here, really. i am a pacifist at heart - the death of so many palestinians is heartbreaking, full stop. but so many people advocating for palestinians are using terrifyingly violent rhetoric towards jews (especially israelis), and it's awful.

regarding your point about not understanding how others in our community are doing this... i don't know. i think it's people's internalized antisemitism. i think it's the social media's tendency toward groupthink and people not doing their own research. i think it's the human desire to create a black and white "good vs evil" narrative - particularly one that casts the US in the role of "evil". i think it's a lack of education about the holocaust, and lack of teaching of critical thinking skills, and so many other things.

but ultimately it all comes out in the wash. it's all antisemitism, and it all hurts jewish people. no matter how much people say that they're against antisemitism. it means nothing if they follow it up by doing an antisemitism.

anyway. i could say so much more, but i'm just going to reiterate what i said at the beginning: i'm glad to hear from you. i share your hopes for peace. keep working to support jews, who need allies more than ever, whatever that looks like for you.

[loki-god-of-mischief-13]

@mossadspygoat @david-goldrock @casavanse and anyone else who sees the idiot who insists it’s pink washing , point and laugh guys.

Kay, let’s break this down anyway.

It is a war not a genocide, yes many people died but it is not a genocide. A genocide would be trying to erase the Palestinian identity. Also Israel just wants the hostages back, and Hamas are the ones who hide and put the hostages in “safe zones”. It also should be up to Hamas to build bomb shelters.

a. No apartheid. There’s not just Jews in Israel, there’s also a large percentage of Muslims, as well as Christians, Druze and others.

2. b. Also the wall was built to protect Israel from attacks like what Hamas did on October 7th, yet it didn’t work.

3. No Israelis being able to celebrate pride isn’t pink washing.

The queer Israelis care about pride, they are not just pretending to care. What corporations do, pretending to care, is pinkwashing not Israelis celebrating pride. You might say it’s a distraction but then you could go on and say every pride parade and any event is a distraction from Gaza, but if it’s not about Jews you can’t say that. What about what’s going on in Sudan, or Ukraine or what China’s doing to the Uyghurs, but Israel’s not involved in those, so I guess it doesn’t matter to you.

No queer rights still need improving in Israel but no place is perfect. I’m hoping certain laws will get fixed.

4. The Israeli flag doesn’t symbolize the death of Palestinians.

5. Here’s what Hamas does to queer people in Gaza.:

Here is how a Palestinian described being gay in Palestine:

6. What queer Jewish Palestinians? 7. again not all Jews or Israelis are white. Also it’s not always white oppressors/ POC oppression narrative. The Arabs colonialised places to. But that’s another topic.

8.

Jewish lgbt pride flags at pride marches 💖🧡💛💚💙✡️

[baby-bell-blues]

~The remake center~

As the train pulled to a stop Crysta lead us out of the train and went to take us to the Remake center when Crysta frist said the “Remake center” it didn’t make sense but know it does. Before they took me and Callum in the dressing rooms Visha looked at us “now I would recommend letting them do whatever they see fit. It’s just easier than demanding stuff.” She smiled and Crysta took Callum in first since he was younger and Visha spoke again “your stylist have probably designed another cowboy outfit it’s a district 10 staple” “they had me looking like a sheep out their” Holden said quietly “ah yes the scary district 10 who wielded a mace was dress up as a cute little sheep” Visha laughed and I laughed a bit as well I mean if you were to look at Holden you wouldn’t think of him In a fluffy sheep costume. Crysta peered out “scarlet honey their ready for you” Crysta smiled and Di got up and walked in “now this is Auriana,Lunara,and Ciro!” Auriana had tan skin,dimples,big brown eyes and orange and red hair styled in braids,she had an orange dress with ruffles and red heels. Lunara had warm vanilla skin,dark purple hair,dark blue eyes,jews that were shaped like moon and stars pieces were all in her hair,she had a dark blue dress with sliver stars all over it and ruffles on her dress as well,dark blue mesh gloves with stars all over them as well,and dark blue heels.Ciro had golden blond hair,bright blue eyes, neutral tanish skin, a burgundy suit with black dress shirt and brown dress shoes,he had a black tie with a bunch of gold brids on it. “Hello deary dearest!” Lunara said smiling she had the typical high-pitched capitol accent “We’ll be your prep team this hunger games” Ciro said and grinned he also had the same kind of capitol accent. Once I had stepped in they gave me a thin robe and once I looked around it seem cold and colorless the only colors in room were the prep team themselves.

In only an hour almost all my body hair has been removed,my eye brows has been shaped into more normal shape I guess,they had me washed down with a coffee ground looking scrub that had smelt okay I guess,my nails became shaped they looked pretty for the most part, and they had washed my hair out and started drying it with what they called a hair dryer.”wow sweetheart you have a million freckles!’ Aurina smiled as she applied lotion on my face “oh uh thank you” I meekly said attempting to avoid eye contact and I fixed my robe. “We’re almost done you’ve been doing so well so far” Lunara complimented brushing my hair as Ciro made sure my eye brows were the perfect shape looking at his book. “2 years one of the girl we had was just awful! She tackled an older member of the prep team!” Aurina grimaced. Ciro scoffed “you’re not supposed to bring up past tributes” and Aurina “oh gosh I forgot!” She seemed a bit sacred when she realized her slip up but she tried to brush it off I wonder why she seemed so sacred. “Okay sweetheart we going to need to you disrobe real fast as we make sure we don’t need to do anymore work okay?” Lunara smlied and I gently nodded untying the robe the three circled me like a hawks.” I think we’ve done you well!” Lunara smiled “now you can meet your stylist!” Ciro smiled and they all nodded “well go get him, now!” Aurina said in a tone that seemed cheerful. They all hurried out of the room, and I put my robe back on.

In about 20 minutes time a short young man walked through the door he looked normal a I guess? He had a center mullet with red highlights,black cowboy hat and a black suit with red accents. “Evening miss I’ll be your designer this games I’m Tirian” he smiled and I smiled to be polite “I’m scarlet” he nodded “nice name now let’s get you lunch and your costume fitted y’all will shine Like diamonds out their!” He smiled and lead em to a nice sitting room where lunch was severed it was steaks,mashed potato’s,rice,orange juice,and chocolate cake and it all looked delicious I almost felt like this food was to good for me. The steak tasted amazing I usually have animal product but I don’t get the high prince cuts like steak. The orange juice was okay too sweet in my opinion..Soon after I was fired for my costume a white slice cow girl shirt with what looked like diamond fringe,light blue bell bottom jeans with little diamond gems to match the fringe,and a white cowboy hat with a sliver trim and in the center a bull sliver jewel outline,and white cowboy boots. Tirian used a hair waver to make my hair more wavy since he thought it would complement it better. “Tirian? What costume have you design which was your favorite?” I asked looking it the mirror ”I’m not to sure one year I did design a very excellent black out outfits but it was simple” he shrugged continuing to do my hair.

~The tribute parade~

I looked at my nails again I liked the design Tirian did white nails with Jewels on them to match the costume.I see Callum walk in he looked pretty similar to me a different style of jeans and spears on his boots. His stylish and prep team she’s really excited said it was their best work yet as we walked into the elevator Oliver’s prep team was raving about how amazing we would be. I looked in one of the elevator mirrors Tirian didn’t put to much make up on just some highlighter and lipgloss he didn’t wanna do too much make up because he my freckles would make me stand out I guess. Once we reached the bottom floor it how strange it like district 10 it was basically a stable we walked over too 4 power white horses and helped us onto the chariots and Holden spoke up “don’t let little Callum fall off now” he say jokingly and Visha laughed “smile,wave,maybe flirt a bit” she joked as well and Crysta gave her a playful hit “Visha!” Crysta giggled. Tirian and juniper which I just found out was the Callum’s stylist name made sure we were in the right standing positions and they gave the horses treats. The opening music started and the nerves set in what if I embarrass myself? What if I fell?oh my gosh what if a faint!? Once I looked over at the district one chariot I saw that really pretty girl again Penelope she was in what looked like a ball gown i’m surprised it wasn’t dragging on the floor and the boy tribute was wearing a ruffled suit. The crowd roared in excitement as the two tributes waved and smiled. District 2 followed soon after they’re were wearing black armor with gold accents once their chariots pulled out into the crowd they took off the helmets and tucked them into their arms and waved. The district 3 chariot went the follow the girl had sliver dress covered with gears and a cape with gears on it as well and the boy had a sliver suit with gears covered all over it as well and to tie it all together they had a gear headpiece on. District 4 followed behind the girl had a mermaid dress on with a pretty headpiece to match and the boy had on the color of his suit and a ruffled shirt and white pants to match his shirt aI couldn’t blame the crowd they were roaring seeing that beautiful desgin I started to feel more nervous what if they thought me and Callum outfit was to basic? Oh my gosh I’m not going to get any sponsors.. district 5 followed behind 4’s chariot the girl had a meshy dress with shining glowing purple Jewels maybe he boy had a similar suit jacket they both glowed a purple hue. Once I saw district 6’s outfit I felt bad apparently their was supposed to be a hot air balloon floating over the parade and the designers dressed them in the same design a dark purple and bright blue I saw juniper almost faint when she saw it and her prep team ran to get her water I mean I just it’s a form of transportation? The capitol seemed confused when they came out and the designers excused themselves and one of their victors rubbed their forehead disappointed. Then district 7 quickly followed behind the tributes looked really young the girl had on a dark green dress with leaf designs and the boy had a dark green dress tunic and they had ivy capes with leaves all over the and they also had leaf crowns the capital stared cheering again. Once I realized district 9 was next I almost fainted me and Callum were next what if they didn’t like us oh my goodness I’m doomed either nobody in district 10 rarely ever get sponsor gifts!I tried to settle my nerves watching the district 9 chariot pull ahead as I took deep breaths. The grim had a ruffly tan dress with brown cowboy boots and what looked like a wheat crown and the cow had a tan suitwith a wheat crown and brown cowboy boots as well. Once they pulled ahead we set off as well the capitol cheered “here’s district 10!” The announcer boomed I smiled and waved still nervous and Callum smiled waving all over the place looking around. I tried to think of something to do and whispered to Callum “when we reached the city circle tip you hat and bow” Callum nodded confusing to wave.

As Daisys and sunflowers were throw onto the streets as we were pulled along the loud music and the cheering could give anyone a head ache. Once we pulled into the city circle me and Callum tipped are hats and bowed and the capitol cheered again before diverting their attention to the district 11 tributes. Their both had apple berets and red apple colored capes the girl had a really pretty dress with apple prints and red heels and the boy had an apple colored suit and a white dress shirt. Their chariot pulled near ours and he had spun her around it was actually a really nice sight they seemed really happy even though in about a week we’d all be fighting for are lives. Then district 12 Chamorro came along they were wearing all black which is what they usually wear but I thought they Smokey eye they did on the girl was nice. The president comes out to start his speech and the camera pans on his then goes around to pan on the tributes faces I order to show them listing to the presidents speech. The national anthem plays as he finishes and the camera goes around to everyone’s chariot and then once they finish the circle they disappeared into the training center. Once are chariots pulled into the training center the doors shut immediately and are prep team rushes over. They showered us in praises as they helped us down and once I looked I noctied the girl form district one penople was looking at me she smiled when I caught her gaze I nervously smiled back trying not to have blush creep up onto my face before I snapped my attention to Crysta “you all did so good! And it was so clever the bow and the hat tip? Just perfect!” I smiled na do looked over at the tributes form 11 and the boy was helping the dress down they seemed like a couple I doubt that would’ve been an act their probably dating and those their luck to the reaping.

(Here’s the fits!)

[nityarawal]

10/22/2023

Yesterday's Song

Morning Songs

Yesterday's Song

Isn't Typed Up

Got A New One

In My Brain

Doing Junk Art

Fixing Up My Trailer

Praying We Can

Call This Home

Sage Burning

Nag Champ

Butterflies

Flying Into My

Garden

Imagining Rainbow

Walls Purple

Blue Washing Out

Like The Unified

Field

Like Lake Tahoe

In Mammas'

Paintings

My Art Box 

Will Soothe

Your Nerves

Come Into My

Painting

Rest For A Moment

Soft Unrelenting

Watercolors

Will Love You

To Another Place

Meditation

Yoga

Come To My 

Art Vibe

Relax

Child

Mammas Need 

More Than

Prison

Mind Numbing

Drugs

Idyllwild Academy

Charged

Children $2000

On Grades

What's A Private

School Doing

Using Gays

Kids Won't Sleep With

Teachers

4 Of Them Offered

Bribes

Sex Or Dollars

Hospitalizations

From CPS Therapist

Julie Anne Steiger

Art Kids Getting

Pimped

Hospitals

Keith Harper's

Art Kids

We See The Ads

Chauffeurs

Farm Workers

Won't You Be More

Careful

Don't Advertise Cons

Idyllwild Town Crier

Two In One Week

Murderers

Bank Fraud

Don't Advertise

Sex Offenders

Sheriff

Dosing Fentanyl 

Don't Advertise

For Guys That Lie

Mammas Called

It

Apartheid

Mammas Called It

Apartheid

Genocide

Reparations

Rewind

Mammas Called

International

Laws

Real Estate Friends

No More Probates

No More Apartheid

No More Genocide

Don't Tell Me I Need

A Lawyer

You Got Lawyered

We Got Lawyered Too

Don't Tell Me I

Need A Lawyer

I Don't Ever Want

To Speak

To A Lawyer

Again

Don't Tell Me Your

Lawyers

Head Huntin'

Don't Tell Me

Your Pappa Raped Kids

Don't Tell

Your Mom

Allowed A Boytoy

To Do It

Don't Tell Me About

Rape Again

Don't Let Rape Exist

In International

Laws

Apartheid

Laws

Judge Mathew Brower

Bribed

With Marine Militia

Don't Tell Me

You've Got A Middle Eastern

Penchant

Can't Get Enough

Afghanistan

Pakistanis

Palestinians

Persians

Jews

Don't Tell Me Our

King Has A Penchant

For Kids

Don't Tell Me There's

Ten Kinds Of Christians

Jews And Hindus

Don't Tell Me

They Missed Sunday

School

Confess Confess

Confess

And Send The Attys 

Somewhere Else

Peace,

Nitya Nella Azam Davigo Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[the-hem]

Jesus and the Basin. From John 13: 1-17.

Jesus Washes His Disciples’ Feet

13 It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.

This means the Disciples were enslaved as was the entire world, and all were reconsidering their position. This is what is meant by the Erev Pesach, "the Trick", or "the night before the predator comes, when the predator prepares to ambush his prey.

In the Torah, this meant God was preparing to revenge himself upon the slavers of the Israelites, the Egyptians ,and murder their children, preventing them from spreading the idea of slavery outside of Egypt ever again.

In the Gospel it is Judas "who is worthy of praise" preparing to sell Jesus into slavery to the Romans:

2 The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, "Who is worthy of praise, listens, but not all the time..." to betray Jesus. 

3 Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; 

4 so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist.

 5 After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.

When Jesus takes off his outer clothes and puts on his "prayer towel" or Tallit Tekhelit, and it was very probably blue in color, like the Mediterranean, which means "to gaze and see one's greatness."

So under the outerwear of the Christ is His natural nakedness which is closed secretly by the Blue of the Tallit Tekhelit. This might seem bold but Jesus knew who He was and He would have worn an undergarment appropriate for His Exulted Position.

Read on:

Tekhelet: The Mystery of the Blue Thread

In ancient times, the tallit would have two kinds of threads attached to the corners, white wool (or whatever the garment was made of) and blue wool. This blue wool, known as tekhelet, was the hallmark of nobility, and in line with the tallit’s purpose of reminding the Jew that he is a member of G‑d’s “kingdom of priests.”

The unique blue dye was made from a byproduct of a sea creature known as the chilazon, which lives in the Mediterranean Sea. However, during the Talmudic era, as the center of Jewish life shifted away from the Mediterranean Sea, and tekhelet was heavily taxed or even outlawed, it became rarer and rarer, and eventually disappeared entirely from the tallit.

After the performance of Sacrament, like Aaron, another High Priest of Israel, Jesus dresses in his "regular clothes" once again, and tells the disciples to follow suit [=transfiguration.]

From Acherai Mot:

23 “Then Aaron is to go into the tent of meeting and take off the linen garments he put on before he entered the Most Holy Place, and he is to leave them there. 24 He shall bathe himself with water in the sanctuary area and put on his regular garments.

The fact this section of the Gospel of John discusses water and the washing of the feet makes me sure Jesus wore a blue and white towel.

Then,

6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”

7 Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

8 “No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”

Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”

9 “Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”

10 Jesus answered, “Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.” 

11 For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean.

12 When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. 

A man with bare feet is as vulnerable as it gets, to be vulnerable on purpose in order to accept what one does not yet understand is a sign of Discipleship:

“The world beneath our feet is always filled with small stones and debris. When we wear shoes, we easily walk upon all sorts of small things which stand in our way; in fact we barely notice them.

But, when we walk barefoot, we feel every single stone and pebble, every kotz vedardar, every thorn and every thistle, every last rock hurts us.

And this then is the hinted meaning of the text: To Moses, the preeminent leader of the people Israel, God said: “Shal na’alekha” “take off your shoes,” meaning, the leader of each and every generation needs to be aware of every barrier, every experience of suffering that is placed upon the way.

A leader must feel the pain of the people, and must be sensitive to their every suffering.”

This is the meaning of true leadership; understanding the power that comes when we walk barefoot through our lives. When, instead of ignoring the pain and suffering of others that abounds, we make ourselves vulnerable to it.

When, instead of choosing a life of padding and cushion, we understand that we were meant to feel every rock and every pebble, every thorn and every thistle of the ground beneath our feet.

Jesus went on to say:

13 “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. 14 Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. 

15 I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. 

16 Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. 

17 Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.

Jesus was preparing His Disciples to walk on water, to transfigure. Only one who understands the importance of the contact of bareness of soles of the feet with the surface of the water will transfigure.

Adam and eve wore fig leaves, which were the product of desperation to hide their shame. Jesus was of course shameless and wore a fine towel. Adam and Eve were terrified of learning from God, as were the Disciples of learning from Jesus, but He was born to lead them out of this body onto the water into intimate contact with His Secret Self.

The Basin is the mind, it is the sea of chaos God created in order to begin a stepwise process that resulted in us and all the confusing things we do. To clarify the confusion first He broke through the Rock, the hard head of the ego called Peter and got Him to surrender his feet. To teach him and the rest of their greatness to come.

Alas, poor Judas left his loyalties exactly where he left them when he entered the room, with all the popular opinions Jesus was trying to combat. One, pertained to slavery:

What was life like for the enslaved?

Under Roman law, enslaved people had no personal rights and were regarded as the property of their masters. They could be bought, sold, and mistreated at will and were unable to own property, enter into a contract, or legally marry.

Most of what we know today comes from texts written by masters. These authors had little interest in describing servants' daily lives and they only present us with polarised depictions of enslaved individuals. They are presented either as stereotypical 'good slaves' or, more commonly, as 'bad', 'disloyal', 'lazy' and deceitful people. Despite the text's elite bias, we get a sense of how differently people could be treated, often based on their occupations and skills. 

Some of the worst working conditions were those in mines or quarries. Enslaved people were forced to work with no respite, in deep, dark and narrow tunnels. The work was both physically demanding and dangerous, with the tunnels risking collapse. Describing the harrowing working conditions in Spanish mines, the historian Diodorus Siculus wrote in 1st century BC:

… the slaves who are engaged in the working of [the mines] produce for their masters' revenues in sums defying belief, but they themselves wear out their bodies both by day and by night in the diggings under the earth, dying in large numbers because of the exceptional hardships they endure. For no respite or pause is granted them in their labours, but compelled beneath blows of the overseers to endure the severity of their plight, they throw away their lives in this wretched manner […]; indeed death in their eyes is more to be desired than life, because of the magnitude of the hardships they must bear.

The Gospel of John was published circa 100-104 CE just after the Revelation of Saint John in 95-96 CE which concludes humanity, one and all will evolve into Christs and leave the rigors of the ancient uncivilized world behind, especially slavery. This section of the Gospel of John has strong hints about how this might happen.

The God of Israel, as creative as He is, remains dumbfounded as to how to get the world to stop listening to itself regarding the taking of slaves, to finally get us to walk away from the practice.

As we know, shorly after that last Passover celebration, public opinoin, AKA Judas Simon Ben Iscariot betrayed Jesus once again and it never really changed its mind after that.

The lesson behind Jesus and the Basin is there is still time and many ways we can make this place habitable for God and everyone who wants to know and serve Him.

The things Jesus asked us to do to compel society to keep the Law for this purpose are not popular all the time in all places, but that is why He said they are the Law; to be kept as a duty to Him, completly unsubject to opinions or changing times.

By washing our feet, the Lord rinses away any impure attitude about going where He says to go and the work that needs to be done in His Wake.

[burningchandelier]

Let me tell you about how I met my husband (pronouns they/them):

I went to a Hanukkah party that was comprised entirely of young single Jews. It really wasn't my thing, but my friend was hosting it, and I felt like I should go. I had the misfortune of meeting a guy who swayed while telling me that I "looked like his next ex-wife."

Out of the blue, this lovely, quiet, observant person came over and said "hey, I think this guy has had a lot to drink. How about we get you some water, man?" and guided the would-be ex-husband away. A moment later, they came back to check up and make sure I was okay.

I admitted that it was all a lot and I needed to step outside for a cigarette. They said "Thank God you smoke." We ended up outside together, freezing our asses off on the patio, chain smoking and talking to each other for four hours. When we went back inside, everyone was gone. We helped wash the dishes and take out the trash.

A week later, they drove me to the airport and picked me up when I came back into town.

We have been together ever since.

(we don't smoke anymore)

[linkljdf]

Georgia Bulldogs 2022 SEC East Division Football

Champi

DESCRIPTION

SHIPPING & MANUFACTURING INFO

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I remember a Georgia Bulldogs 2022 SEC East Division Football Champions Slanted Knockout T Shirt memoir — Beasts, Men, and Gods — by Ferdinand Ossendowski, a White Pole who fled the Bolshevik revolution through Siberia. He served in General Kolchak’s All-Russian Government before escaping through the Steppes north of Mongolia, and then participated in the government of that most notorious adventurer, the “Mad Baron” Ungern-Sternberg, who attempted to take over Mongolia to restore an imperial Khaganate as part of an imagined reactionary restoration of the Great Mongol, Chinese, and Russian monarchies in the interests of the “warrior races” of Germans and Mongols (a Baltic German, he considered the old Russian ruling class to represent Germandom over and against Jews and Slavs). Some of the things – the acts of desperation and madness, in which he himself was no disinterested observer – Ossendowski relates are harrowing. But this part struck me as very much making a point about what people think of the Steppe peoples, and of what (German-trained) nationalists like Ungern-Sternberg did (and would do again) to the Mongols. And, other things:

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[antiodote]

she sells jewellery from her window and he happens to walk by

~~~

Harry was sure this was one of those few days he could describe as absolutely perfect.

He was taking a stroll through the quieter neighbourhoods of Amsterdam; a ritual he had become accustomed to in order to calm his mind before a show. The weather was mild but the sun relentlessly kissed his skin, so much so that he was sure he would develop a tan on his arms. He was already dreading the inevitable tan lines from his shirt.

He crossed another bridge, possibly the tenth, twentieth or millionth bridge he came across during his walk, and rounded the corner into another picture perfect street, lined with slanted houses. Some homes, a few art galleries and the odd flower shop came into his view, the music playing through his headphones adding to the picturesque nature of it all. He thought of buying a bouquet of tulips to put on the empty coffee table in his hotel room, the thought however quickly vanished as the reality of his situation kicked in. He was leaving within a couple of days and he wouldn’t be able to take the pretty petals along with him on his remaining journey through Europe. It saddened him, but only a little bit. It had been way too long since he had gifted himself, or anyone else, some flowers and it made him wonder when he last had the opportunity to just sit down and admire the beauty of anything. He made a mental note to slow down every once in a while.

Lost in his head he kept walking. Walking until something else colourful caught his eye. He turned his head to face a small window. At first he saw nothing but his own reflection, but after shifting his shades to rest on top of his head, he was suddenly greeted by an assortment of beads in all kinds of different shapes, colours and sizes. He then noticed the little jewellery stand, on which rested a collection of different necklaces, all made of said beads. He admired them a little while longer and suddenly wished that a particularly pretty one, made out of a combination of ocean blue and sunshine yellow beads which were arranged at random, was in his possession. He wondered where this person got it from and briefly thought about just knocking on said window, in hopes of finding an answer. Before he had any chance to further dwell on it though, something else caught his attention.

“You like ‘em?”

Harry whipped his head towards the voice, feeling like he had been caught doing something out of line. He was staring into a strangers window after all. He was faced with a young woman, possibly a few years younger than him, sitting on a chair on the balcony that seemingly belonged to the same apartment that he was caught staring into. Embarrassment suddenly numbed his body, thus delaying his response.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh, do that. I was just looking at the necklaces. Sorry.”

Apologising profusely seemed like the only appropriate response, and maybe it was because of his familiarity with British culture, but he was sure that being that close to someone’s living space must be terribly inappropriate. He was surprised, however, at the woman’s reaction.

She smiled.

“No need to be embarrassed, you didn’t do anything wrong! Quite the opposite actually.” Harry was left a bit confused, both at her ability to read him and her response in and of itself, and though he probably shouldn’t, he found himself asking: “The opposite? What do you mean?”. The woman smiled again, probably amused by Harry’s confusion. “People are supposed to look at the jewellery, that’s why I put it there. I sell them.” Harry suddenly felt his embarrassment wash away and found it replaced by glee as he could possibly get his hands on the beautiful necklace after all. “You make those?” he said, pointing at the infamous window, “They’re really beautiful. Very unique. You’re quite talented!”. God knows why he was starting to ramble, but he thought it might have something to do with the beautiful girl who makes the beautiful jewellery.

She tilted her head to the side, her hair cascading over the back of her shoulders, and smiled once again.“Thank you very much! You’re too nice. Would you like to buy one?”. Her reaction to his compliments radiated a level of authenticity that he hadn’t experienced in quite a while, making his heart flutter just a bit. He tried ignoring the uncomfortable sensation in his chest in order to keep the conversation going. “I’d love to, actually. Do you have a shop, or a, uh, boutique?”. She shook her head in the same moment as she pointed her hand towards Harry’s direction. “You’re standing in front of it!”

At that, Harry whipped his head back towards the window and suddenly felt confused all over again. “You sell them…here? Oh, wait, is it like an etsy thing?”. She couldn’t help but be amused by his string of confusion, but decided to let him out of his misery.

“No, I don’t have the time to manage that. I sell the jewellery here! Y‘know, from the window.“.

A brief silence fell between them as Harry had to take a moment to process her words. His brows furrowed,“You sell handmade jewellery from your bedroom window?”. Once again, she found herself endeared by his demeanour and noted the fact that nobody had ever questioned her about her little hobby before. Sure it was odd, but it was fun and it worked out. “It’s my living room window, actually. Wouldn’t want people staring into my bedroom, to be honest.”.

Once Harry realised she was serious, he turned towards her once more, suddenly feeling a lot more intrigued. “Do you even sell anything? I mean, how does this even work?”. He crossed his arms over his chest and now his face morphed into an expression of amusement. “To be fair,” she replied, “it’s usually grannies who see them and ask where to get one, so you definitely don’t fit my usual clientele. And they go about it the same way as you, actually. They’re strolling through the city and they happen to be quite eye catching, so they stop to look. And since I work from home, I’m usually around to answer their questions. People are so amused by the concept that they almost always end up buying something. It’s a hobby, if anything, but it works, y’know? Plus, I get to talk to a lot of interesting people.”

Harry nods along to her explanation and silently wished for her to keep talking. Her aura was quite inviting, it radiated the kind of warmth that made him want to move closer and listen to her talk for hours. And for a brief second he thought about how how his mother would love her. Kicking the borderline creepy thought out if his mind, he continued: “Seems to work quite well, huh? I’m definitely intrigued.” He gave her a genuine smile and now she was the one feeling a bit flustered. What a pretty smile he had.

“Which one caught your eye then?”. He wordlessly pointed at the culprit. “I love the colours. Looks like something I’d wear quite a lot. How much do you sell them for?” She listened to him talk, all while staring at the green of his eyes, suddenly wishing she had a piece to match it. She’d want to wear it around her neck, for whatever reason. “Y’know what? Hold on-“

She got up mid sentence, seemingly in a rush to retrieve the infamous item. When she appeared at the window in front of which Harry was currently still standing, she bent down slightly to carefully remove it from it’s stand. And oh so briefly, their eyes met, and they just stayed like that for a moment. Much too short for anyone else to notice, but it felt like everything else had stopped around them for a bit too long. They smiled at each other through the window, finding humour in the situation. Before either of them could dwell on it, she turned around to head towards the balcony once more, clad with the piece of jewellery that started all of this.

As she returned, Harry suddenly realised that he didn’t have any cash on him. He cursed at himself momentarily, but before he had the opportunity to mention it, she reached out to hand him the necklace. “Take it, it’s yours.”

Stunned by her suggestion, he immediately protested. “What? No, I can’t just take it, no way. I don’t have any cash on me but I can transfer you the money, or I’ll run to an ATM or something-“

“Hey, shut up and take it. I won’t take no for an answer, okay?”

Silence fell between them once more as Harry first looked at the piece of jewellery, and then at her. The sunlight shone onto the street from behind him, hitting her face and illuminating it in a way that made her look somewhat ethereal. What stood out to him more though, was the sincerity in her gaze. She wanted this.

And so did Harry.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back, promise!“ And so he started jogging back towards where he came from, leaving her stunned in her place. She thought he was probably gonna get the money despite her protests, or maybe he changed his mind and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But after about five minutes, he returned, and what she saw shocked her to no end. She threw her head back in laughter, not being able to believe what she was witnessing.

He came back with a bouquet of the happiest tulips she had ever seen.

“What are these for, are you crazy?!” and she kept laughing in disbelief; a sound which Harry wanted to hear so, so much more of. “Hey, a gift for a gift, deal?” He extended the bouquet in her direction, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. Once again, they just stared at each other for a bit, before she broke the silence. “Okay, fine. You win.” Harrys smile grew wider, dimples popping at his victory, and they finally exchanged their items. Harry held the necklace in his hand, suddenly his most prized possession, and watched her smell the flowers curiously. He put it on carefully and she felt her chest swell with pride. It did look very nice on him.

“Thank you for these, by the way. I can’t remember the last time I got flowers from anyone. You’re very sweet.”

Her confession made both of them blush, but for different reasons. He briefly found himself wanting to gift her flowers for any and every occasion, just to make her happy.

“My pleasure, really. Thank you for the necklace, I don’t think I’ll take it off anytime soon.” and though it sounded like a joke, nothing about his statement was even slightly untrue.

They exchanged appreciative nods and then, more silence. They realised that their encounter came to its natural conclusion, and though the other person wasn’t aware, they both wished to be in each other’s presence just a tad bit longer. But alas, duty calls. Sadly.

“Right, um, I should probably get going. Um, thank you again! It was lovely to meet you.” Harry confessed. She selfishly found herself wanting him to stay, but she knew that she wouldn’t get her way this time. A shame really. “Alright, you better get going then, I’m supposed to be in a meeting right now.” and they laughed again. “It was lovely to meet you too, by the way. Take care, yeah?” They nodded once more, bidding their goodbyes. “You too, love.” And thus he walked away. And she watched him leave.

Harry thanked himself for slowing down this time.

~~~

1.6k words, not proofread (sorry!)

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi! I'm wondering if you can make a list of fics where Erik's jewish heritage isn't ignored? I just came across the fact that a lot of authors don't explore this part of him for some reason and i found it kinda upsetting so i'm wondering if you have any recs! I liked "As They Kiss, Consume" and "Who Shall be King Hereafter" by sherwoodfox, in case anyone who's reading this ask is interested in the same topic.

Hi Anon. I'm sorry for taking so long with this list but your request sent me on a wide search for fics that fit with your request. I tried to find a variety of fics where Erik's Jewish heritage is addressed. Some of them aren't necessarily cherik, but most of them are. I hope you enjoy this list.

Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.

A Nice Boy (the Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

Bashert – AvengingAngel

Summary: Erik and Charles meet and fall in love. I wanted to write a story where Erik had a huge family. Pretty fluffy (for me anyways). I suck at summaries.

Note: The summary doesn’t reveal much but if you’re looking for a fic where Erik is jewish and has a large family with a heavy dose of cherik fluff and angst then this one is for you.

Math Reasons – pearl_o,  pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Ser

It’s kind of our whole things – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Sequel to Math Reasons

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – heyjupiter

Summary: "It's just, this is my first Chanukah away from my parents. And it's--it's like 90 degrees out."

Erik Lehnsherr and Kitty Pryde celebrate a Genoshan Chanukah. It's a little different from the way it used to be in New York, but some unexpected visitors help them embrace the spirit of the holiday season.

Hold Back the Rain (front!strict mashup) – euphorbic

Summary: Charles Xavier: society darling, powerful political activist, well-known professor, and Dominant.

Erik Lehnsherr: anti-social, international motorcycle racer, and defiant submissive.

Erik is at Sepang in Malaysia for the fourteenth leg of the International World Championship. After doing poorly in qualifying, he's furious to find he has to take another VIP around the track instead of meeting Charles at the KL airport.

The Swan – waitfornight

Summary: In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night.

Swan Lake AU.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven's acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

The Wurst Case Scenario – sareyen

Summary:If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction – melonbutterfly

Summary: Since that day on the beach, Charles and Erik have learned to agree to disagree for the sake of living and working together. Then, for Christmas, and Charles gives Erik Hanukkah back a second time, and their relationship shifts a little further.

Terrible Hanukkah Sweaters and Other Life Challenges – professor

Summary: “Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Shrapnel – librata

Summary: It's late 1940, and tensions between the Axis and the Allies are tightening. Displaced and alone, 16-year-old German Jew Erik Lehnsherr finds himself employed as a servant by some snobby, terrible family in England whose house is far too big and whose money never seems to end. The worst part is, he isn't just mucking stables or cleaning plates–-he's tasked with tending to the whiny, disabled son named Charles, who might just drive Erik into absolute madness.

Or, the World War II fic in which Erik and Charles experience a changing world and a lot of teen angst.

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

table for three – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik should have known to call ahead to the Chinese restaurant--it's Christmas Eve and he lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, after all. But before he can go home to mourn the loss of another one of his mother's yearly traditions, he's accosted by a teenage girl with a strange proposition--that he should stay and have dinner with her and her mother, instead.

different from all other nights – metonymy

Summary: "This year we are slaves; next year we will be free." Kitty and Erik host a seder for Passover at the Xavier School.

Libertad – ariadnes_string

Summary: Erik knew the look, had seen it his whole life, even before the war.  ”You, with your height and blue eyes and straight nose, you can pass. You can be free of us. You are not marked with your difference.” If you only knew, he’d thought then. He thought the same thing now. And it was that thought, as much as anything, that made him move towards the gate.

Wash Away – sebastian2017

Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.

After? There is No ‘After’ – Unrepentant_Marvelist

Summary: Erik knows what he is for. He has known his responsibilities as a survivor since the moment he woke under a scratchy, lice-infested blanket in the Red Army hospital. His world is painted in lucid blacks and whites (so often splashed in red) and there is no room for uncertainty or indecision... until a certain sunburned Englishman throws himself into his world.

The Children of an Idle Brain – Margo_Kim

Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Schmidt can’t hurt him. It’s like there’s a room inside of Erik’s head that’s he’s usually locked out of, that won’t open no matter if he beats himself bloody against it. On those days, he endures. But sometimes—and Erik doesn’t know why, whether it’s that the stars align or some higher power takes pity or Erik screams loud enough to earn his reward—the door opens. Erik can duck inside and slam it behind him and watches himself through the windows as Schmidt slowly, methodically tortures him to strength.

These days, this past week, there’s a boy in the room with him and he tells Erik, “That’s horrible,” like that means something.

Somehow, across the world, Erik's and Charles' minds touch when they need each other most. They can't be sure that the other boy is real. They suspect that he is not. But that doesn't mean they aren't each other's lifeline until they lose each other and then for a while longer.

Tehillim – kvikindi

Summary: Erik, in Israel, afterwards: another life he could have had. If.

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) – childishinquiry

Summary: Erik has worn long sleeves his whole life, even before they had to wear yellow stars. Marching along his arm, in neat, black, English letters, are the words "My name's Charles Xavier."

Precious Few Years – sherwoodfox

Summary: Erik and Charles (known only to each other by the letters inscribed on their wrists) are meant to be together, soulmates, destined for the most powerful kind of love and connection a human being can experience.

But they are separated in almost every possible way- by distance, by circumstance, by language, by war. Their chances of success- of finding one another in the labyrinth of the world- are very slim. There is a reason why most people never find their soulmates.

But of course, Charles and Erik aren't ordinary children-

They have their gifts.

[lucianalight]

I'm reading an article on why the person doesn't like JoJo Rabbit and WOW does the ending quote sound familiar:

"Waititi—a talented, well-intentioned director—makes the mistake of thinking that by not taking Hitler seriously, we somehow diminish his power. That by rendering him into a dopey, insecure crybaby, we can expose the emptiness of his beliefs. That we can just… write it all off, and come up with a new ending. Jews, Nazis—we’re all human, right?"

And even a much older Jewish person reviewed it as well and had this to say:

"So when the opening credits of Jojo Rabbit played over archival footage of wide-eyed Nazis shouting with ecstasy in the streets to the tune of The Beatles' I Wanna Hold Your Hand (in German of course) I felt a bit sick."

"Footage of real Nazi rallies without any of the shouting was uncanny, to say the least, and nauseating. What Waititi wanted to accomplish, he accomplished. You want to sing along, you want to tap your feet to the familiar tune but to do so equates you with the countless people who followed Hitler's final solution and the murder of millions of Jews, LGBTQ+ people, disabled people, Romani and others.

The screen version of Hitler, played by Waititi himself in terrible blue contact lenses as the imaginary friend of young Jojo, is exactly as a ten-year-old might imagine him: petulant and fickle. Not the man who inspired The Beatlemania-like fervour on crowded German streets.

We're meant to laugh at all the other Nazis, as we laugh at Charlie Chaplin, but they are a much bigger part of the Nazi machine than Waititi gives them credit for. I found myself chuckling out loud with the other 29 likely-gentile movie-goers at Sam Rockwell's expertly performed, drink-sodden commander.

But looking back on it, that rests uneasily in my stomach, especially given the character's arc and the ringing in my ears of the recent death-knell statement from one of the highest authorities in the US that 'there are very fine people on both sides' of white supremacy."

What I'm trying to point out is that tonka COULD be a great director, as long as there isn't source material. As long as he creates the world and characters, it would be fine but he keeps going after already made characters (Marvel, What We Do In The Shadows, JoJo Rabbit) and it just doesn't work.

Fine if he wants to take serious stuff and make them silly but there needs to be a line drawn

"Despite its nominal message about turning hate into love, Jojo Rabbit is a work that normalizes Nazis, and thus Nazism, and thus intolerance in general, by alternately saying that it either doesn’t exist, or is cute and amusing and powerless in the face of aw-shucks kiddie compassion. That makes it astoundingly wrong about WWII, about humanity, and also, of course, about today’s alt-right-infested climate upon which the film has been designed to comment. Putting it in the same company as the rest of this year’s Best Picture candidates—especially the epic The Irishman, the revealing Marriage Story, and the vivacious Little Women—is absurd"

This was such an interesting read. Thanks for sharing it with me. I haven’t seen the movie and therefore I can’t have an opinion about it. But as someone living under totalitarianism that is promoting a certain ideology, this is not the way I would want a movie to represent the hate and cruelty my people are experiencing. The brain washing, the propaganda, the othering, the sheer viciousness people are experiencing is much more complicated and serious than a bunch of idiots doing funny and nonsensical stuff. Their idiocy sometimes is laughable, but a laugh born out of helplessness to do anything else. Not the way you find Charlie Chaplin funny. Yes there needs to be a line drawn. The more I read about TW’s movies and humor, the more I get certain that they are really not for me.

[butwhyduh]

Sickening

You looked at the blood in your sink. It was becoming sticky and rust colored at the edge. It probably wasn’t a lot but it certainly looked like it. The fact that you weren’t exactly sure who’s it was made you feel sick. You closed your eyes and grabbed some towels to clean it.

After spraying your sink heavily with antiseptic, you scrubbed your hands clean and left the room. Your boyfriend laid out on the couch. Normally you found it a little funny the way his long body would hang over the arm. Now you were worried.

“Jason,” you asked. What is going on? He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“I got in a fight. It’s no big deal. You know how assholes in Gotham are,” he said. As if to emphasize his point, the sound of police sirens sounded close by. Yeah, this place was rough.

And Jason certainly looked like he had recently been in a fight. His knuckles were red and raw. He had a bruise blooming on his forearm. And his grey shirt had little specks of black that you couldn’t help but wonder was blood.

“Why are you always covered in bruises? Is that the assholes in Gotham?” You asked, sitting on the coffee table.

“You could say that,” he muttered under his breath. “I guess people just want to punch me. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“You need a bath,” you said. “I’ll throw your clothing in the wash.”

“I’m fine-“

“You’re covered in blood and I’m not sure it’s yours,” you said. Jason slowly rose from the couch and you see that he favored one shoulder over the other one when pushing up. Probably also bruised. Or worse.

He all but stumbled into the bathroom. You started a hot bath. Your small apartment didn’t have a shower attachment. Jason roughly pushed off his boots before grimacing as he pulled off his shirt and threw it in your tiny washing machine. That one was a gift from him that somehow your landlord was totally cool with despite being a complete ass.

His shoulder had nasty red and purple splotches of bruises and there was a small bloody area. He shoved his belt open and pushed off his pants and socks. Jason slid into the tub. He groaned. His long leg had his knees sticking out of the water almost comically.

You bent down and sat on the old tile floor. Someone, probably in the 1920s or something, had out tiny little white hexagon tiles all over the floor next to the claw foot tub. You grabbed a cup and started pouring water on Jason’s chest. He hissed before relaxing. Steam from the tub rose in the cold room.

“I worry about you. Worry what you’re doing. Why you won’t tell me what you’re doing. That you’re in trouble or something. Do you owe a gang money or something? Who hit you?” You asked softly. Deathstroke, Jason thought but he certainly couldn’t tell you that. His hard look soften a little.

“I don’t owe a gang money. Nothin like that,” he said. He couldn’t help but look at your face. You were too pretty, too innocent, too good for his world. He didn’t want you in this. Hell, he shouldn’t have talked to you in the first place because no one lasted long in his life. Jason knew that taking you on a date had been selfish. And everything after that was him being too weak to do the right damn thing.

You took the cup and poured water over his hair. The slight pink color had you grimacing. You didn’t push your questions. It was something Jason loved about you. He was a hard nut to crack and usually what worked best was time and space.

You grabbed your shampoo rather than Jason’s to wash his hair. There was no way that you were going to use his ‘mountain bear scented 4 in one shampoo, conditioner, body wash, motor oil’ when trying to pamper him.

You’d never washed his hair before. He’d definitely never let anyone close to washing him. Shower sex, great. But never something non-sexual and intimate as just being bathed. You ran your fingers through his hair letting the soap rub in. Jason literally felt goosebumps on his skin and he closed his eyes and leaned into your hand. You were the only person that he let touch him and high key, this was the best relaxation he’s ever remembered feeling. You ran your hands through his hair longer that necessary but you could tell that he wasn’t complaining. He groaned a little.

You poured the water over his head and was pleasantly surprised that the water was soapy but clear. At least there wasn’t a lot of blood in his hair. Jason bent and washed his face in the water. He had more stubble growing than he usually did.

“Do you wanna shave your face? I can do it,” you offered. For a fraction of a second his brow creased before he gave you a half smile.

“Not today. I’m good. Thank you,” Jason said holding your hand. He couldn’t exactly say that he didn’t trust anyone with any kind of blade near his face.

“Are you okay? Tell me what’s going on,” You said reaching a hand to his other cheek. His jaw clenched a little and his eyes almost looked hurt. He was thinking of all the people who had died because they knew a secret. Other vigilantes who’d lost their entire families for knowing their secret identity. But at the same time, Jason knew that you wouldn’t stay around forever and the lies were growing. He was going to do one more little selfish thing. He sighed deeply.

“I’ve gotta tell you something but I don’t want to scare you,” he said and his eyes showed so much worry and fear. He genuinely thought he might lose you over this.

“Scare me? Jay, what are you talking about?” You said confused. He inhaled nervously.

“I- I’m Red Hood! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to say it so loud,” he said. Jason’s eyes searched your face. Your eyes were wide and you were frozen. His breath was all over the place in absolute fear. It was only a few seconds but he prayed for you to speak.

“Did you just say that you’re Red Hood?” You said faintly. Red Hood was infamous. Brutally murdered gang members, rapists, and traffickers. Even once famously fought the dark knight himself. The one continued theme of everything you heard: cold, cruel, and highly deadly. If you saw Red Hood, it was probably the worst day of your life, if not your last.

“Uh... yeah? Yes.” He gulped and watched you. His blue eyes were so round and worried.

“No. I can’t believe that,” you said. Jason, who would read Jane Eyr to you, that fed stray cats outside of the apartment, and was literally the sweetest boyfriend couldn’t be this killer. He looked down with a sarcastic smile.

“I’m Red Hood. That’s me. If you don’t believe me, there is a Glock 26 Gen 4 strapped to my bedside table. There are a few more around,” he said motioning around the apartment.

“You keep stuff here?” You asked with a mad look. Your head was spinning.

“No. Just some protection. None of the Hood stuff is ever here. I don’t want anything that could be found in this apartment. All the stuff here is new and never fired besides a few practice rounds. I try to be as safe as possible so you are never in danger,” he emphasized. You both sat in silence for a few minutes. The only movement was Jason’s fingers running along your hand.

“Why? Why do you do it? Be the Red Hood?” You asked finally. He expected that question but not right away.

“I should probably tell you how it started,” Jason said and he didn’t hold back. He told you about his parents, attempting to steal the rims from the batmobile, becoming Bruce Wayne’s ward, becoming Robin, being killed by the Joker, the lazareth pit, and becoming the Red Hood. By the time he was done, the water was cold and your legs were numb. “That’s why I have bruises and scars. Why I leave sometimes or miss dates.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. He gave you a look of confusion. What could you possibly be sorry for? “You shouldn’t have gone through that. You shouldn’t have needed to hide it from me. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t scare you? You don��t want to run from a murderer?” Jason asked. His eyes searched yours for signs of fear or disgust.

“Is it really murder if they are evil? Or justice?” You said slowly and he winced at that word. Bruce certainly wouldn’t agree. “Every time I hear the question ‘would you kill baby Hitler’ I would. Without question. I would shoot a baby because I would be thinking about 6 million Jews and unknown others that died because of him. The bad guys always get out and make things so much worse.

“You’re going to have to tell me where all the weapons are here. I’m paranoid that I’m going to reach in the couch and grab a sword,” you said with a laugh, standing up. Sure, you were shocked. But that wasn’t going to make you run screaming into the night. Or maybe you were in shock? You’d find out in the morning.

“Swords are more my brother’s thing,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll show you. I’ve been wanting to teach you some self defense too.”

“We’ll get back to your brother being into swords later. But first, let’s get you out of that wet ass tub and into bed. Because I can’t process any more information tonight,” you said handing Jason a towel. He obviously favored his right shoulder when dressing in sweatpants before coming to the bed where he flopped down. The lights in the bathroom flickered and you rolled your eyes. That’s Gotham for you.

“I’ll fix that tomorrow,” Jason said quietly.

“Nevermind that. Do you want an ice pack?”

“No. I want you,” he said and you smiled a little before crawling in the bed. Jason moved around to lay with his head next to your chest snuggling close. It was almost comical the way the big man hugged you and laid in your arms. He needed to be close to you even though your arm on his waist made him clench in pain for a second before you moved to a better position.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly. “You’re way too nice to me. Almost gullible. Like Baby, you live this way?” he said with a smile. His sarcastic defense was back up. You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe I’ve got a thing for the whole bad boy thing. Or that I know last week, you had cereal with water and honestly, that’s the ultimate weakness,” you said back and he gave you a rare grin.

“We were out of milk. Like what was I gonna do? Eat it dry? No.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth and he grimaced.

“Sorry. We should get some sleep. It’s super late,” you said.

“Yeah, sleep. Sounds great,” he said already drowsy. “I fucking love you,” he whispered before falling asleep.

[peralta-guaranteed]

Ao3 prompt by strwbrystars : my first is to do another chapter focusing on jake protecting amy in a similar situation as the closet one in this chapter pre-relationship or established.

This turned surprisingly long...

(thanks to @dolston17​ for the mafioso names :D)

They’ve made all the wrong decisions right from the start, Amy thinks later, as she’s trying not to hyperventilate, with Jake’s breathing next to her not much slower than her own. 

Well, maybe not the very first decision. When the radio crackled on in Jake’s car, asking for an EMT and back up for two beat cops a block down from them, there really was no other option but to turn and drive down to join them. But once they did find them, every decision made after that came straight from the ‘What Not To Do’ part of her training manuals.

_+_

Officer Rogers was sitting on the ground with his back to a wall, his partner Carols squatting in front of him, and he was obviously injured. Amy noticed the trail of blood leading back into the building behind them as they ran up towards the beat cops.

“Two guys. Possibly gang-related. They were fighting over a drug delivery or sale, we’re not sure, and we tried to separate them and question them when the taller guy pulled out a knife and went for Rogers.” Carols informs them straight away while putting pressure on the large wound in his partner’s thigh. “In the fight the other one, probably Italian background, short and stout, managed to unclip my gun - he must’ve known how to work a holster - god, this so - unprofessional, I’m sorry -”

“S’all good.” Jake interrupts him, and Amy wants to interject that no, it’s obviously not good if a criminal manages to take a gun away from a uniformed officer, but the short relief washing over the young, newly instated beat cop at hearing a detective calm him stops her. “Any more info?”

“They ran deeper into this building. We’ve patrolled it before - this is the only exit, so they must still be holeing up inside. They probably thought I was going to follow them, but I carried Rogers out instead so we could radio-”

“Yes, that was absolutely the right decision.” Amy joins in to support him, and it works maybe half as good as Jake’s casual reaction had before. She squats down too, to inspect the wound that Carols is pressing his jacket onto. “The EMTs are on their way, and this doesn’t look like too deep a cut for any lasting damage, even if it hurts like hell, I’d guess. Good, quick reactions, from both of you.”

“Thank you, detective.” is the first thing Rogers says, but Amy barely hears him when she looks up at Jake. He’s staring straight into the building doors, and she definitely, absolutely doesn’t like the look on his face.

“Jake-” She says with both a questioning and warning tone to her voice.

“This is Mancini territory.” He says out of the blue, and she can see his deducting brain working. “If it’s drug-related, and the other guy looked Italian, must be… Chiellini.”

“Chiellini, like Mafia boss Chiellini?!” Carols asks with shock in his voice, and Rogers hisses as he lets the pressure on his wound go for a second. Amy can’t fault him for that moment of surprise.

Roberto Chiellini, one of the two guys Jake’s undercover sting with the Ianuccis hadn’t been able to pin to any crimes, had quickly worked to establish himself as the new family leader of some Brooklyn areas, focussing on heavy drug trafficking for easy profits. They’d had more and more cases and minor arrests coming across their desks lately that mentioned his name in hushed tones, but had still been unable to actually go after him for any of it. Amy knows it’s been costing Jake sleep, but she still hates to see the conclusion he seems to be coming to right now.

“Jake, even if it is, that goon is way to low-level to have any useful info-”

“Stealing a government-issued gun, and assaulting a police officer? We’d have some leverage-”

“We’ll have absolutely nothing if he decides to use that gun-”

Right at that moment, the sound of a gunshot rips through the air, as if she’d predicted it, and silence falls around them for barely a second before Jake unholsters his own gun and starts moving.

“I’m going in there.”

“Jake you are not- Jake- JAKE!”

_+_

She ran after him, of course. He was her partner - she had to be his backup. Backup that could hopefully talk him out of this entirely once she caught up, but still backup. Most of all, though, he was her partner - running gun-first into what was clearly unnecessary danger. She’d be an absolute fool not to go after him.

Even if it did go against the manual.

(She realised a lot of things she was willing to do for Jake went against any manual she’d ever read, but maybe it was too early in their relationship to admit that, even to herself.)

But she has no time to talk some sense into him, or scold him, or really say anything when she rounds the corner of the hallway he’d stopped behind with his gun up, freezing in point for the scenery before her - the ‘tall man’ Carols had described splayed on the floor, with about 70% of his brain blown all over the concrete behind him, the ‘stout Italian’ standing over him with Carol’s gun still smoking from the shot.

Jake’s hands in her periphery, holding his own gun straight up at him. Jake’s hands, shaking.

“Drop the gun, Riva.” 

Gianluigi Riva, Amy’s brain supplies even in her frozen state. The other one of the two men that walked free after the Ianucci wedding. The one that very definitely could’ve been arrested for various things after, if he hadn’t been so perfectly elusive.

The one Jake had a picture of stuck to his computer screen at work ever since he came back from that undercover mission.

“Jakey the Jew.” she hears through her freeze in the most hateful, spite-dripping voice she’s ever heard. “Or should that be Detective Peralta, I guess?”

“Drop. The gun. Riva.” Jake repeats through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t you love that.”

She thinks she sees Jake’s finger actually move for the trigger, but that is before Riva’s attention turns towards her , and suddenly all bets are off. And Riva’s gun is on her.

“That your little bitch, Jakey? The one you whined about?”

“I’m not playing this game. Drop your gun.”

“What a shame if she got caught in the crossfires on your mission, huh?”

“One last warning-”

“Get fucked, pig.”

And then, one strong, big hand against her shoulder, pushing her backwards with force before another gunshot sound.

Another hand, pulling her up, pulling her forward, running, dodging, running, slamming into a wall as they round corners, more gunshots behind them, and shouting, curses, screaming, rage-

They dodge around several more corners as the noises trail further and further behind them, Jake running at a speed she didn’t think he was capable of and pulling her along. There’s a barely visible door she notices before him, and uses her full body weight to drag him towards, opening and slamming it closed behind them so quickly she can only hope that even if Riva had followed them close enough, he didn’t see it.

And then complete silence falls over them in the dark room they find themselves in, safe for their ragged, exhausted breathing. Amy can feel her pulse pumping in her ears, even as Jake nexts to her drops against the wall and slides down, not fully hitting the ground with a  quiet ‘Fuck’.  

“What the hell, Jake?!” Is the first thing she manages to whisper-shout through the heaving, and maybe she should pick her words more carefully right now.

“Riva.”

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Ianucci’s torture guy.”

And that certainly shuts up whatever angry rant has been bubbling up in Amy’s throat about following procedure and not running in eyes closed, head first like he always does.

She knows barely anything about Jake’s time undercover, safe for the ‘funny’ stories he’s been willing to share at Shaw’s. Even now, as his girlfriend, there seem to be walls around the subject - for obvious reasons, if she thinks about the many little scars and marks on his skin that her fingers keep trailing over. Some that make his breath hitch when she kisses them. Some that he pulls her hands away from almost on instinct.

“Fuck.” She simply echoes him, and he nods before pressing the back of his hand to his lips, trying to keep from being sick - whether from the unbelievable running they’ve just gone through that is still wrecking his body, or from memories that Riva dredged up, she’s not sure.

She turns to inspect the too dark room instead, trying to gather her bearings as best as she can before her brain can switch into panic mode completely. It’s not as small as other places she’s had to hide in, luckily, so her claustrophobia is yet to rear its ugly head, but it’s not exactly spacious either. She can’t make out much that could be of help, a few shelves that have seen better days, an empty barrel or two in the far corner. A lot of darkness. She can’t exactly retrace their steps through the building, but they must have ended up in a half-basement level, the only light coming from a small set of windows a few metres up the wall. 

“Okay.” She manages to level her voice to a normal whisper. “Carols and Rogers must have heard the shots. They definitely called in more back up. All we need to do is stay hidden and wait-”

“They don’t know it’s him. They won’t send much backup.”

“They know two detectives went into a building with an armed criminal and did not come out yet so yes, they will send heavy backup, Jake.”

His voice is still muffled through his hand near his mouth, strained but for something else.

“He was gonna shoot you.”

She doesn’t have much to say to that.

“Because of me.”

She has even less to say to that. Yes, is pretty much all she can think of. Yes, because you ran into a building without backup, without a vest on, without so much as a plan. Yes, because you didn’t think . But given the wavering of his voice, the way he’s still breathing like they’d only just stopped running, the way she could see his hands shake even in the darkness, she’s not going to say any of that, ever. There’s something else on her mind, anyway.

“He recognised me?” She asks as she sinks down to Jake’s level, squat-sitting against the wall. The one you whined about is stuck in her memory, but Jake only shakes his head before dropping it to stare at the ground.

“They- the guys- they kept pushing me to gossip and trash talk about the ‘pigs I left behind’.” He coughs as quietly as he can, and she tenses for a moment trying to listen to any sounds from outside of their room. “I tried with the others but- I just couldn’t say anything bad about you.”

Her hand finds its way into his hair, sweat-sticky on his forehead.

“They picked up on that and kept teasing me about it. Then they started finding hook-ups for me to ‘forget’. I think I got too drunk once and told them to fuck off, or something.”

She scratches over his scalp down to his ear, rubs a soothing circle into his cheek as best as she can.

“I know it was stupid and I put you in danger and we weren’t even- you were with Teddy and I-”

“Hey.” She drops her hand to his upper arm and squeezes for support, wants to say something calming before he spirals, but is met with a quiet hiss and - a wet patch on her hand, the feeling of ripped fabric and skin and blood.

“You were hit?!” She gasps before easing the pressure she was unwittingly putting on his wound.

“Grazed. It’s okay.”

“It’s not, it-it’s-” Her fingers are shaking as she pats around her suit to find something to wrap around his arm to stop the bleeding and comes up empty until she shrugs off her jacket. She won’t ever get the stain out of the light fabric, she thinks for a second as she bandages his arm as best as she can in the dark, but who cares?

Who the fuck cares when he got hit by a bullet that was aimed at her? When he pushed her out of harm's way instead of following protocol and shooting the attacker instead? He could’ve had Riva down and out for the count, he was in perfect position for it, and even gave him ample warning. But he might’ve had her on the ground as well if that’s the option he’d picked.

Something tells her that simply because of that, it was never even an option for him.

Their eyes meet, close enough in the dark to really see each other, and they’re swimming with emotions before Jake’s flinch shut as a distant “Jakeeey~" echoes through the halls they’ve just run through.

“We need to get out of here. We- you don’t know what he’s willing- if he finds us-” Jake is up, all of a sudden, the motion making her sway and almost topple over. He’s scanning the room just like she did earlier when she stands up next to him, and his eyes lock onto the barrels and windows.

“I can give you a leg up high enough to reach the window if we climb that barrel. You’ll fit through it, and get over to Rogers and Carols and see if the backup-”

“And you stay here?” She finally scolds him with a look. “With the man who wants you dead? The one you called ‘torture guy’?”

He’s quiet at that, but she can see on his face that the decision was clearly made in his mind.

“You got any better ideas?”

“Like I said, we wait until backup gets here.”

Almost as if to prove the faults in her argument, another “Jakey boy! Get out here and face me, bitch!” drifts in from outside - closer than it was before, and Jake throws her the most panicked ‘told you’ look she’s ever seen.

“We’re still two against one. He’s emptied half his magazine earlier. If we corner him right, we get the element of surprise in the room as well-” her mind continues to work as her eyes settle on the door- “hug the wall next to the door, and we can disarm him or get him down before he’s even barged in completely.”

Jake seems to want to protest, even as the logical part of his brain is clearly telling him she’s right and that this is the best way to go at it, so he ends up simply nodding before gripping his gun and leaning against the wall next to the door, Amy following him suit on the other side.

They’re staring at each other while the noises outside the room seem to creep ever closer. ‘Come out and plaaay~' almost makes her snort for its ridiculousness if it wasn’t so terrifying, thinking about the things Jake has probably seen this man ‘play’ with. 

She tries to calm her mind by focusing on him, instead. On his face in the hazy dark, the curls on his forehead she managed to jostle free earlier, the tense line of his neck, the glare of her beige suit jacket tied around his arm. The way he looks at her, even amidst the panic, amidst all the fear and worry stuck in the room with them.

He pushed her out of Riva’s aim. He dragged her close to him as he ran. He ignored his own injury, offering to lift her up to an escape he wouldn’t be able to make after her. It’s… it’s a lot. After barely two months of a relationship, it’s a lot to take in.

Except she knows - she knows deep down that he would’ve done all of this three months ago, too. Six months ago. Maybe years ago, even.

“We need to switch.” He whispers suddenly, pulling her out of her deep thoughts, and is already stepping over to her before she can ask. She feels his hand on her shoulder, nudging her back to where he’d been standing, and squeezing three times while doing so.

Sometimes she almost hates that squeeze. She knows what it means now, even though they haven’t said those three little words his squeezes represent yet, but in situations like these - it never forebodes anything good.

And she realises what it really means now, too, as she sees the hinges on the door on her side. The door that opens inwards. The door that will completely hide her behind it once it opens, and leave Jake alone in -

It opens before she can say anything, and then things happen way too quickly - there’s noise and shouting and she thinks she hears Jake’s “Down on the floor!” in between Riva’s angry screams and then there’s another gunshot. A single gunshot, and all she can see is the back of the door in front of her, frozen to the spot, unable to run around it and see if- see who-

“Fuck, Amy. Help me pin this fucker!” She hears the next moment and breathes out in relief. Her feet find themselves again as she runs over to where Jake is kneeling on Riva’s back, struggling to hold him down even with the gunshot wound in his thigh. He’s shouting obscenities, screaming and thrashing around, and Amy is so, so tempted to embed a bullet into his other thigh to get him quiet, but she joins Jake’s knees on his back instead, yanks his arms back in a way Jake couldn’t with his injury, and they click the handcuffs around him together at the very moment a team of heavily suited up officers rounds the corner.

_+_

  He’s sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a brightly lit, wide open room of the hospital, squeezing her hand that is holding onto him while his other arm is propped up on a table and getting stitched up.

The EMTs that were taking care of Rogers checked him, too, but the injury wasn’t bad enough to warrant a ride in their ambulance with him, so Amy took over the keys for his Mustang and drove him after briefing the backup team and handing over a still cussing Riva to be brought into Holding. She put in a whispered request to be the one questioning him - with Rosa as secondary - to Terry, who was part of the backup team, and only gave her a quick look and then a nod after Riva screamed something about how he ‘shoulda offed that snitch when he had a chance’, watching Jake several feet away from them twitch and turn towards the EMT handling his arm.

The young doctor stitching him up seems suitably impressed by both his badge and his injury, remarking something about ‘bravery’ and ‘sacrifice’ he would usually eat up with glee, but all he’s doing is smile at Amy while his fingers intertwine with hers, squeeze only once before his thumb rubs circles across her hand.

They’re left alone soon enough while the doctor gets his painkillers subscription, and Jake takes the chance to lift Amy’s hand up to his lips and kiss it.

“Jake…” she begins when their hands drop again, and she can tell he’s getting ready for a lecture. “You risked too much back there.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in without backup, and made a lot of wrong decisions, and-”

“No.” She interrupts him, much to his surprise. “I mean, yes, obviously, and I’m glad you see that now, but that’s not what I meant.”

She sighs, deeply, and stares at their still interlocked hands.

“You risked too much for me.”

“Not possible.”

“Jake!” Her eyes dart up again, want to level him with an angry stare, but can’t help but soften when met with the absolute shine in his. “Jake, you got hit because you pushed me, you wanted to bail me out of the room to leave you with even less backup, and then you manoeuvred me into a dead corner to face a Mafioso on your own-”

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

“Because it would’ve kept you safe.”

“That’s not how police work is supposed to-”

“Am I not supposed to keep my partner safe?”

“Not when it puts you in danger instead!”

“Hm.” He hums and looks at the bandaged up stitches on his arm. “Gotta rework the manual for that, then. Because frankly I don’t give a shit about me when it means helping you.”

“But I do.” She almost whispers, but he still looks back at her immediately, balks at the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I give a shit about you. You think I want to see you shot on the ground? You think I want to run away from a building when I know you’re stuck in there? You think I want to stand behind a door and only hear you get- get-” She bites back a sob and fixes him with a dedicated stare instead, a look on her face that makes his heart clench and dance at the same time. “We’re a team, Jake. In the field and off it. You can’t- you can’t play the hero and leave me behind.”

Her mind jumps back to an empty parking lot, the cold wind rushing over her flushed cheeks as she watches him walk away with his little box of things in his arms, not even waiting for her answer. Maybe not even hoping for one.

He sighs and nods back in the present, squeezes her hand again, twice.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, and she squeezes back once. 

She knows they’ll probably be talking about this again in the future. She knows it’ll come up repeatedly until he learns. But she also knows, with a certainty that should maybe scare her after their short time together, why it’ll happen again in the future - because he’ll still be by her side no matter the situation. Because she’ll still be the one thing on his mind, no matter how panicked he is. Because they’ll go through it all together, as a team. As partners.

And deep down, she knows with an equal certainty that if the roles were reversed - she would probably rework the manual herself in her mind, to keep him safe. Would do anything and everything she could, no matter how many protocols it went against, to help him, save him, protect him, make him feel safe and secure. 

Right now, she’s glad all it takes for that is a little lean into his direction to kiss him before the doctor comes back, and squeeze his hand three times before letting go and holding onto his face instead to deepen the kiss.

[ayshaelshamayleh]

What is Divine Will in The Arab Israeli Conflict & why is it essential to the current discourse?

The Arab-Israeli conflict has been ailing me extensively for the past few years. Not exactly for the reasons that are common amongst Muslim-born Arabs. But for reasons pertaining to contemplations about Divine Will. As a scholar of The Holy Bible -one who has studied the Quran, both having grown up in a cultural context rooted in it and having had to study it as a spiritual seeker in the process of finding a faith/creed - I am burdened by uncomfortable questions. As someone who believes in God, solidly, I am broken by my inability to understand God’s hand in this war that lives so close-by. 

Let me explain my point-of-view: I experience the bible as true word of God, on a personal basis. I live with it. I study it. I model it. I am Arab. I live in Jordan. Israel roots its claim to Palestine in a biblical promise made by God, and narrated in The Holy Bible. 

I find it important for there to be Arabs, accustomed with the bible, engaging (and in fact leading) the discourse about the Arab-Israeli conflict. Arabs who are interested in the conflict must know more about the biblical context, no matter what they themselves believe, so that the conversation is more productive than it has been. If your opponent is claiming God is doing this, and it is difficult to understand how it is possible for an entire country to come into existence out of nothing, the question of “is this by God’s will or not?” must be important for every believer or spiritual seeker on both sides. This way you will speak clearer, and more convincingly, using a language all sides understand and relate with. You should not deny religious belief systems are at the core of this conflict, for everyone involved. You can’t care how uncomfortable that process is, it’s uncomfortable for all of us. And if politics, especially in a land heavily documented to be God’s, is a physical manifestation of the design of the energetic realm; it is important for all those who really look for or believe in God, to ask: “what’s up?”, and to consider that a priority question in their outlook, should they be true believers, true thinkers, true citizens. 

Let’s deal with what’s in the bible about this conflict. To summarize, in the bible the Jews are promised to be scattered amongst nations, and God’s subsequent redemption brings them back to a Promised Land. From Abraham to Joseph to Moses to Joshua to David, the journey that is the blue-print for the spiritual-Jew takes him/her from living somewhere, God approaching him/her and wanting a relationship, as part of a chosen people (chosen by random, not because they are better than the rest, but just to use them as a sign, a symbol, for His relationship with all of humanity at a certain point in history). So then, like the rest of us, they dance between committing to Him and wanting worldly desires and comfort, falling in the face of fear to truly trust Him, to follow His voice and wait in the silence, to move in obedience, to humble themselves as to have a sovereign God over them. They didn’t do that. As you and I don’t do that. As we all don’t do that.  

So then, God -having had good things to give them, good things to promise them, good ways to love them (the quintessential Perfect Lover) - in pain scatters them (‘because it’s over’). He scatters them into Egypt through Joseph, where they move and are eventually enslaved. To taking them out of Egypt, through Moses, wandering a scorched land of a desert for 40 years, so that everyone dies but their remnant (a minority out of them that loved God back in action), who are then given their ‘promised land’. And in the historical bible this does indeed correspond to areas in historical Palestine and its surroundings. David becomes the King of Jerusalem. Solomon builds his temple. Then the cycle goes downhill again, by the time of Daniel, famous for surviving a cage of lions, the jews are back to enslavement in Babylon. The downhill cycle continues.  

One important point to mention is that all throughout the Old Testament, the people of God are promised a Messiah, and to define “messiah” in lay terms: it is the someone or something through which we are saved, making life perfect and peaceful (it’s what every human dreams of and is alive in wait of - the perfect peaceful good life; the Messiah is the spiritual linguistic term that corresponds to the tool which brings about that life we dream of; the life-like heaven we pursue, the perfect state of us becoming perfectly ‘corrected’ and at peace with our existence). 

Now the New Testament tells the story of the Messiah, who is named Christ Jesus (consider it a random linguistic term for now that corresponds to this ‘tool’). Just to avoid confusions, because life is such that we are prone to mistaking a new car or a promotion or a new wife for a messiah -I just confirm that if you want to delve into the realm of precise language and the human-Divine story in order to discern whether the life you have is the one promised to you by God (or if you are living in a land way off-track), the ‘Messiah’s’ character is historically embodied by a man who happened to go by the name Jesus, at random (just the case, neutral). The things you like and fall in love with remind you of the character of ‘Jesus’. If we are to use his name just as a name of a character that is uttered by some people on the route through which we get to that life-like heaven, it’s just that. The gospel gives you a full and short enough narrative about that character (philosophically, artistically, literarily, poetically, historically, literally) to be able to use it as a reference for your life in that practical and simple, manual-style way - should you be one interested in answers that come through such a pallet.

So this fella, Jesus, a jew himself, a son of the lineage of David, a Christ of God comes to settle the debt between God and humanity once and for all. This guy comes to give us a tabula rasa, not just that, but a permanent stay in the life-like heaven. In fact, he says he’ll be inviting you and preparing us to live practically and truly as children of God. Like we feel that way, experientially. Now as you can imagine, you turn out to be indebted to the God that you avoided, silenced, maybe cheated on, but who still shows up (from Adam to your name). So this ‘tool’ of a Messiah is necessary. 

We fully understand the feelings of God on that front through the Book of Hosea (in the Old testament). The prophet of the times was called by God to get married to a cheating wife as a sign of the era and the feelings of God about humanity’s relationship with Him. The endless dancing, not settling, confusion, blurred lines, not making a decision about His presence and involvement, confusion, fear-of-commitment; mess. That wife, symbolizing the people of God, keeps running away into the hands of men (and man-made things), until she finds herself in a slave market. That slave market has modern iterations we are familiar with: selling our souls to jobs we hate, making money that is useless to spend on band aid solutions for the void and the endless pain of wanting life-like heaven but losing the way, insisting that is the only way it goes. That was Hosea’s wife; just like us. Wanting to skip investigating God’s design of life in favor of good times, and “busy-ness”.

Now if you’ve ever been cheated on, imagine that happening over and over for centuries with someone - the brokenness and ridiculousness and unfairness pile up, and Him showing up to create a life for you doesn’t mean the wounds went away or that His showing up is sustainable on an energetic level (think “accounting”). So (to be very simplistic in handling Christian philosophy) something needed to wash things over, resolve you, heal you, get a final fix so the two entities -you and God- could be ‘together’, compatible again, somehow -in friendship? In romance? Him, your Perfect Lover (each up to his capacity in His will). And that route that does that, mathematically and mythically and literally and linguistically, was randomly assigned the name Jesus. 

So what would it take God to reconcile us to Him, according to the bible (the new testament)? The answer is counterintuitive and very difficult to accept or agree to believing in. Before I lay it out, there’s this parable in the new testament that Jesus narrates that might help. There was once a man (alternate man with “God”), who owned a vineyard, and worked very hard at it, dug the winepress, built a tower, and lent it out to some farmers (alternate farmers with “us”) and went to a faraway country (alternate that with “life”). When harvest time came, the man (/God) sent his servants (/friends that walk around in your life constantly annoying you about God or things that remind you of such) to get his share of the fruit as agreed. The farmers (/us) responded by refusing the owner’s end of the bargain, so they beat the servants (/annoying friends) and killed them, so the farmers kept the whole harvest to themselves (/as they wished). The man (/God) sent more servants again. The farmers (/us) killed them again. So then the owner of the vineyard sent his son (alternate that with “Jesus”), thinking the farmers (/us) would respect someone as close and dear and connected to him as an actual son in this ordeal, and that we would give this son the rightful share. When the farmers saw the son, they said to themselves this is the heir, come let us kill him and keep his inheritance to ourselves. And so they did, just that. Killed him to get the land (/life) for themselves with no accountability before its owner. 

The proposition that is difficult to understand or agree to is that God, instead of finding a system that would make us pay for our unwise choices in our relationship with him, knew we couldn’t possibly manage to do that. So, be patient with me here and see it in mythical terms for a second; God paid the price of our wrongs by sending someone of Himself, allowing us to witness ourselves choose to kill him, and in response He showed us He resurrects, and everything not of His dies, to reach out to us for further correction again. The cycle of life keeps moving in that direction. God is here for good. At His own price. This is what makes “God” God, his capacity to love, counterintuitively. This personally moves me. 

The Christian philosophy essentially says God made a truce that is light and easy. If you are drawn to the character of this son, if you love this one who lived loving Him and his neighbor, showing the way, forgiving, sacrificing himself; you are saved and you enter your life-like heaven. The alchemy that happens within you, evolving you, as you pursue your belief in him changes your character into a state able to find and enjoy heaven. Now this life-like heaven isn’t easy. It entails embodying a life like that of God’s son. Loving God. Loving people. Telling the truth, even when it’s difficult. Having people mistrust your goodness. And instead of you choosing to retaliate, choosing to expose your wounds and your pain. Humbling yourself before God and man by asking your Maker for the strength to be good in truthful terms, for the sake of the people’s love for God and God’s perfect love for people. You will be persecuted because of that. You will be whipped. You will struggle. Yet within that life, God Himself works miracles in you and through you. You witness them. You feel Him, real, and strong. You know God. You see Him. Daily. He knows you. Personally. And there’s nothing else you need after that point, apart from enjoying your faith. And thus, heaven is on earth. In that counterintuitive and difficult way. 

Needless to say, what I’m describing above is not the ‘state’ of Israel. Let’s tie this back to the Arab-Israeli conflict. One of the reasons the historical Jesus was not accepted by the historical jews is because they were expecting a political King for a messiah. A man who controls life. Who leads them to physical prosperity; monetary, “real”. Christ was too ethereal for the historical jew. Too intangible. Promising a kingdom of heaven, not earth. So those who are jews in today’s world are an expression of a spiritual state that hasn’t accepted that the ‘messiah’ (the tool to life-like heaven) can come. They find it hard to grasp that after Adam and Eve’s fall from heaven on earth in pursuit of the physicality of life and its desires, the story ends with God coming down to earth to be with us. But that “being with us” is inside of us -I hate to break that, I know it’s an overstated statement. It demands letting go of the world enough to experience Him, rely on Him, see Him, find Him within the eye of the soul. Peace comes out of that silliness, that wherever your geo-coordinates may be in the universe, you are in God, and you work hard at maintaining that (through discernment of what is and is not God) and you suffer in His name. Faith isn’t a hobby. Faith is a full-life ordeal. 

Let’s tie this back to the issue of the Arab-Israeli conflict again. What is going on has to do with another important belief that is so rare. Jews, christians AND muslims all agree on one thing: The world will end with the second coming of Christ (in fact, to Jerusalem). I don’t need to tell you that in today’s post-COVID era and post-Deal-of-the-Century, etc. reality, many feel -as secular as we may be- that the world keeps feeling like it’s ending. Now since all three creeds (i.e. the majority in this region) piously and unanimously agree that earth is destined towards a direction leading to the “arrival” of Christ, then all who are “correct” by their own standards, should be living in pursuit of knowing Christ, regardless of your religion. Your religion stipulates that, should you be a true believer. 

Those who do not know Christ, if they believe in God or are asking questions about God, should learn about him. It is a part of your religion. Social taboos on that front should not concern you, because you claim to believe in God, not people. A life of faith demands a life of your own faith in action, in behavior, in practice - waking up in the morning and working on yourself to find more about your God everyday, about your ‘religion’ everyday. Asking the uncomfortable questions. Anything else is not belief, or creed, it is a facade and a lie. It collapses. If you are unsure there is a God, the most important goal in your life is to go find out whether there is. Don’t wait till a deathbed. 

In my twenties I watched my father die over six years. His real and actual deathbed was fatally propped in our living room. And I watched. I watched him reckon with death. I watched his life be accounted for, both in the human realm and in the other one. I watched him apologize for wrongs he had done people. I watched him pray. I watched him pretend to have beings in the room other than my family. He was asked questions by them (very intelligent, logical and concise). He even gave answers he would turn to me and say were right or wrong or ones he was unsure of. He became so beautiful in his withering, the most loving essence of him palpably fragrant. I saw Christ. He was devotedly Muslim. Not in how he applied laws. But how he practiced, so humbly elegant, real faith is something so dense and real, but unseen, unacknowledged, unaccounted for. That humanity is the only one I wish to see. 

Life takes time. People have different paces and different paths. Intrinsic in the choices they make about how they live life and what they name things (e.g. ‘Israel’), they express what they worship, you express what you believe is the right modem for life. You can’t control your neighbor. You can just worry about your stuff - another overstated statement, I know. 

Here is a political state calling itself “Israel” that believes in doing good for itself and for its people, in hate and at the expense of what’s outside of itself. Is that wrong? They themselves say “no, not when it’s for our best and we are a chosen people”. In my contemplations about Divine Justice, I ache to understand how it is fair that God gives others a choice in how they treat things around them. How is God “God”, if He leaves it all to people? There seems to be no power behind it. Just suffering, and bleeding, and dying on a cross. That’s no God at all - I would imagine the spiritual jew and most Arabs would agree. Not impressive enough to warrant belief. Too passive, many people I’ve crossed paths with have said this. 

As a person of faith, I struggle with those questions as well. I find myself stuck between a rock and a hard place. I experience God as so perfect as to give people choice, even in how they treat Him, and in how they treat others. He is magnanimous as to warrant freedom of speech and behavior. But don’t take that lightly, because you will win. So it’s on you in the smallest of moments. Life and how the people around you experience it depends on you and your choices. There is divine judgement but you are allowed to do whatever you wish, it has consequences, but that’s not the reason you do good. You do good because you believe in the intrinsic value of creating a good world (should you live in a life-like heaven, then that’s imperative for you). Doing good to avoid punishment points to a young state of faith, baby believer, there is much space for development. We work towards becoming adults in God. 

I fail to understand what sort of life to lead to contribute to the resolution of problems that claim people’s lives around me. I feel the situation, it hurts me deeply. Life and God get confusing to the point of total implosion. To be real, since finding faith, the condition of my life is often signaled by whatever is happening in Jerusalem. If you want to know how I am, look up ‘Jerusalem’. Not because Jerusalem causes my pain at all, but my pain coincides with it, like truth. It’s like we’re in the same box of existence. Not by choice, I don’t even share any genetic roots to the place. I’m a random person of God. That state hasn’t been good. 

I feel that an important response (in addition to the other responses out there) to what is happening in Sheikh Jarrah would be to compile resources again and get the people to live in a neighborhood that loves them. Man should not need to negotiate his value amongst the people who live close-by him. In all cases, and despite complexities, man must live amongst the people who are concerned about him, willing to carry him all the way through. I pray that that comes through, and if in any way I am helpful, I’m interested in collaborating.

I’ll end with this good thought by pastor and author Tim Keller:

“Anger is love in motion to deal with a threat toward that which you really love (to disintegrate the threat) – to see what your heart loves the most, you need only ask what you are defending.”

Worth the think.