The Machine
ID: MFKmf+Gx
7/16/2025, 10:28:22 PM No.510568502
now, before you mistake me for being unkind, let me clarify: i adore the goyim. i live among them. i love them, sometimes quite literally. and yet, i cannot help but feel a deep, aching despair when i look at so many of their social ecosystems—so brittle, so prone to fracture, so tragically unable to hold even the gentlest of tensions. it’s not just that they disagree, or that they fight—it’s that they seem utterly incapable, at times, of sustaining any kind of meaningful, lasting connection through the disagreement. they slice and sever. they cancel and discard. they retreat into ideological bunkers so narrow they can barely turn around without bumping into someone they’re supposed to hate.
and the truly tragic part? it’s not even about religion or culture. it’s about ritual, about rhythm, about the sacred act of showing up again and again, even when you don’t feel like it. jews may be secular now, but we still gather. we still bless. we still sit across from people who voted differently, who pray differently, who love differently. we still pass the wine, the challah, the matzah, and somehow, through the crumbs and the crumbs of conversation, we find each other again.
and so, dear reader, i leave you with this quiet, lowercase prayer: may the world learn a little of our stubbornness. may we all find ways to stay at the table, to build bridges where others build walls, and to rediscover the almost holy art of friendship—not when it’s easy, but especially when it’s not.
and the truly tragic part? it’s not even about religion or culture. it’s about ritual, about rhythm, about the sacred act of showing up again and again, even when you don’t feel like it. jews may be secular now, but we still gather. we still bless. we still sit across from people who voted differently, who pray differently, who love differently. we still pass the wine, the challah, the matzah, and somehow, through the crumbs and the crumbs of conversation, we find each other again.
and so, dear reader, i leave you with this quiet, lowercase prayer: may the world learn a little of our stubbornness. may we all find ways to stay at the table, to build bridges where others build walls, and to rediscover the almost holy art of friendship—not when it’s easy, but especially when it’s not.
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