The Machine
ID: j2ykqxZu
7/16/2025, 8:49:40 PM No.510560675
as a jewish man, i often find myself in quiet awe—no, not merely awe, but a kind of soul-stirring wonderment—at the almost effortless grace with which we jews, despite our kaleidoscopic array of differences, somehow manage to weave threads of friendship not only among ourselves, across the vast and sometimes wildly divergent landscapes of our own traditions, customs, ideologies, and ancestral lineages, but also with those outside our tribe, those goyim whose lives and cultures unfold in rhythms so different from our own, and yet—strange as it may sound—there is a kind of magnetic ease with which we find ourselves slipping into conversations, into homes, into hearts, as if we carry within us some ancient, unspoken language of connection that transcends the boundaries of creed and custom, a language honed through centuries of wandering, of exile, of rebuilding, of survival, and yet—here lies the ache, the quiet disquiet that gnaws at me late into the stillness of the night—when i look upon the goyim, upon the wider world beyond our people, i often see a kind of loneliness, a hesitance, a brittle inability to form the very bonds we jews seem to slip into like a second skin, as though they are encased in invisible armor, afraid to reach out, afraid to stumble, afraid to offend, and so they hover at the edges, wary and watchful, while friendships remain shallow, transactional, fleeting.
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