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Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Open Letter To My Aunt (As Originally Written a While Back With a Postscript)

Since other people are going to read this and this is (G-d willing) get published (and even if it doesn’t, people will still read this), I’m not going to mention anything further than what I’ve mentioned on my blog, Twitter account, Ancestry.com family tree, etc….people can find all that out—after all, we as a family (at least on our side) have (or should have, as you’ve indicated, too) have—or at least should have—nothing to hide. I can only guess what I did to upset you and have you not respond to my e-mails and texts, not answer my calls, and not tell me that you were going to move—I figured it out when you disconnected both of your phone numbers and had the police in your city go to your house to see if you were okay (You know why; they know why, and I know why.)—you had me worried that something had happened.

So, I did as our ancestors would’ve done—and at times, did do—when we did something that they perceived as egregious enough to deserve death or cutting ties as though we were dead, or as though we never even existed in their eyes. I sat shiva. Shiva isn’t always about physical death—you know that by now, I’m sure. I saw that you may have read my blog entry, after all—I check my blog stats quite frequently. You really hurt me—I didn’t think that you were like a good amount of the rest of the family. Well, shame on you—and I’m still hurting the more that I think about it. And let me ask you this, too: would Great-Grandma—“I want to talk about it”—be proud of what you did—hid something, left me guessing, led me to sit shiva as her mother’s family surely would’ve done for her—perhaps even did for her maternal grandparents?

I hope that you read this letter—and I hope that the sitting shiva can be reversed—sitting shiva doesn’t have to be final for a person who’s still alive. You can always come back into my life—and I actually hope that you do, even if you just tell me if and/or how I wronged you, and to stay away from you.

Your niece

PS I don't know if you even can read this, to be honest. Kevin or Kayla may find it and try to read it to you. I heard from Dad that Kayla talked to you about visiting at the hospital, and you asked, "You were there?" I don't know if you'll even remember me, to be honest. I did see a few searches in my Feedjit a while back and wondered if they were by you or Kevin, and I can't be sure.

Every time I hear this song—or at least almost every time—at least of late—I think about you and/or the rest of the family to some extent, and I wonder if that's how you think of me and others. Do you even remember me? I even began thinking about this song, which I hadn't heard in a long time, in connection to you after I'd heard it again a few times—maybe I was even thinking about it in connection to you when I thought about it and heard it again for the first time in a long time.

Saturday, June 8, 2013

There's The Paradox of Hope and Reality, Because...

Oftentimes, hope and reality do not match up. Expecting the best is a mistake--"Always suspect the worst of others; you'll rarely be disappointed." Always suspect the worst of others and yourself, and you'll be pleasantly surprised when the best happens--just don't expect the best to last long, let alone forever. Even a fruitful septuagenarian or octogenarian life--let alone a nonagenarian or centenarian life--is a gift. Only where hope is, is where the best and better will last forever--and hope is in the Lord alone.

Otherwise, forget even hope: reality, especially without hope, is a screwy business--and what about death, which ends reality in this lifetime for those who are taken by it? If you're going to Heaven, then you know where you're going. But if you're going to Hell (and you probably are if you're unsure if you are [though I'm not talking about if you're just having doubts], or if you're sure that you're not, going to Heaven), take Dante's admonition seriously--"Abandon all hope, ye who enter [Hell]." 

By the way, Hell is a Jewish concept--Scripture aside, "the Talmud [of all books is] quite descriptive of the place we now call hell...The Talmud is much more detailed concerning the fire and darkness of hell, even supplying descriptions concerning its size, divisions and entrance gates." If you need proof, go look at what the P'rushim think about Jesus and Hell The P'rushim particularly hated Jesus because, at the very least and a point on which Messianic Jews and Non-Messianic Jews can agree, Jesus "transgress[ed many] of the enactments of the Scribes"--punishment for which, according to the "Scribes", is death and boiling in semen or fecal matter--and the P'rushi scribes exalted themselves, including Eliezer ben-Hyrcanus HaKohen, to be Yehovah: "My son, be more careful in the words of the Scribes than in the words of the Torah, for in the laws of the Torah there are positive and negative precepts; but, as to the laws of the Scribes, whoever transgresses any of the enactments of the Scribes incurs the penalty of death."

Using the P'rushim as an example, you would best suspect the worst of others--there is no end to how any human being (whether Jewish or gentile, rich or poor, politician or constituent, clergy or layperson, or any other kind of person) can make life Hell enough for even him or her self--much less and/or let alone for others. " Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help....Happy is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the LORD his God". "[P]ut your trust in the LORD."