and oh how i am haunted by the contradictions, how i wake up in a cold sweat wondering how i can possibly reconcile the ideals i hold — of equity, of dignity, of universal care — with the reality that i live comfortably in a society that commodifies human life, that puts a price on insulin, on chemotherapy, on the very breath that people are struggling to take, and i think aboutpikuach nefesh, the principle in judaism that saving a life overrides almost every other religious rule, and i wonder how it is that we’ve allowed healthcare to become a luxury, how we’ve let the sanctity of life be reduced to a line item on a balance sheet, and i feel trapped in this endless loop of guilt and responsibility, knowing that my wealth — accumulated through systems i fundamentally oppose — could be doing more, should be doing more, must be doing more, and yet i also know that charity is not justice, that individual action is not enough, that what we need is structural change, a complete dismantling of the hierarchies that allow some to hoard while others starve, some to thrive while others suffocate under the weight of bombs or the crushing cost of survival, and still, i persist, i write, i speak out, i give what i can, i try to live with intention even when it feels futile, even when it feels like i’m just screaming into the void, because if i don’t, then what’s the alternative? to look away? to pretend that the world isn’t burning while i sit in my air-conditioned privilege? no — i choose to feel it all, to hold the pain, the contradiction, the fear, the hope, and the unshakable belief that another world is possible, even if it never arrives in my lifetime.