It’s an odd feeling to sit down and write a column about stepping back from writing this column.
Judean Rose has been part of my week for more than a decade. In some ways, writing this column has felt like a marriage: for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in war and more war. I’m not someone who walks away from commitments lightly. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it. Even in weeks when alerts and sirens are going off, I write this column. Week in, week out.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s a commitment I’ve
undertaken with joy. I love being part of the blogosphere.
It’s exciting to say what I think and have
people read it—and respond. Especially when I’ve worked my kishkes off on a
piece I’m not even sure is coherent.
Only the next day, with a bit of distance, do I
read it again. Then I can step back and see it more clearly—sometimes wondering
if I could have chosen a better word here or there, and sometimes surprised
that it reads so well.
Because the day before, I’m often agonizing
over every word: can I say this? Can I really say this?
I love when people come up to me at the
supermarket or the doctor’s office to tell me a column resonated with them. Fan
mail is nice, too—it keeps me writing and saying what I think.
But perhaps the best moment is when I’m
introduced to someone for the first time, and I can see them trying to place my
name. Then it clicks—and I’m suddenly getting more enthusiasm than I probably
deserve.
(Not quite the Beatles—but I’ll take it.)
I’ve tried to make a difference. In some ways
I’ve been disappointed. I wasn’t always able to persuade people, even when I
knew I was right. I’m not all-powerful, but I tried. I kept writing, even when
it broke my heart.
I wrote about the origins of antisemitism—how to spell it, and why that matters. I interviewed some famous people, and some
ordinary Israelis who are anything but ordinary, living here despite the
difficulties.
Perhaps, like me, they pinch themselves every
morning as they discover the miracle anew:
“I am really here. I live here, in Israel, in the Holy Land!”
There was the ongoing heartache of October 7.
I had to write about it—to bear witness—but doing so brought enormous pain. As
a writer, my imagination works overtime. I imagine scenes no one should have to
imagine at all. It still hurts.
The pain of October 7, I believe, brought on
my cardiac arrest. I shared that experience with my readers. But even there,
Judean Rose brought me comfort and happiness. Two faithful overseas readers
arranged to have get-well flowers and a gift delivered to me. I can’t begin to
describe how that touched my heart—and went a long way toward healing it.
Still, age is taking a toll. I get tired. I
move slower. It’s a struggle to keep up with things that have been part of my
life for what feels like eons. I find myself cutting back whenever I think,
“Something’s gotta go.”
But I haven’t been able to give up this
precious column—the readers who mean so much to me, and the honor of being a
regular voice in this space. I have so much gratitude for all of it, and to Elder
of Ziyon for giving me a home here.
Elder of Ziyon has a large following on X,
which is one of the reasons I asked for the column. But he’s also a wonderful
person who always defends me from haters and never censors me, something that
has not always been the case in my writing career. I’ve felt very good about
posting here, because EOZ is so respected, yet somehow remains humble and kind.
I can’t say I’m quitting for good. That would
hurt too much. So rather than call it quits, I’m going to step back a bit.
Maybe one less commitment is what I need, but giving up this column isn’t the
right one to give up. Who knows?
I certainly won’t. Until I take a breather and see how it feels. Thank you to all my faithful readers who stick by me, even when they don’t agree with me. I see and appreciate you! You can’t possibly know how much.
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"He's an Anti-Zionist Too!" cartoon book (December 2024) PROTOCOLS: Exposing Modern Antisemitism (February 2022) |
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