What it's like to be a Jewish parent right now

A window inside my mind during an impossible time.

My head is spinning.

I need to eat. Have I eaten today? I can’t remember.

What day is today?

I need to get off my phone and do some actual work. But what if there’s breaking news?

I check my phone. More of the same.

And then, a photo.

It’s a dead baby.

My heart stops. My stomach churns.

Why is this being shared? It’s too horrific. The stuff of nightmares.

But I stare at it. I have to.

“For the dead and the living, we must bear witness.”

I know why these photos are being shared, of course. Because no one believes it.

Because everything must be called into question.

Our pain. Our suffering. Our humanity.

Dead babies.

I haven’t been sleeping well. I wake up at night, drenched in sweat.

Any new updates? Is this still real? How can I sleep? I should be doing something.

Each morning, we continue with our routine. Make breakfasts. Pack lunches. Kids go to school. Parents go to work.

Life goes on. Business as usual.

How is the world still turning? I feel frozen, but my legs somehow, miraculously move.

One foot, then the other.

I have a nail appointment. Getting my nails done seems so trivial. There are dead babies.

Maybe a bit of self-care will help, though. At least I won’t be able to scroll while my nails dry.

The nail technician asks, “How was your Thanksgiving?”

Thanksgiving? Did that happen? What day is it today?

“I didn’t do anything for Thanksgiving,” I say.

She looks confused. I sit quietly as my nails go from summer to fall.

Life goes on.

I put my four-year-old to bed at night and I hold his hand while he falls asleep. I wonder how old that little boy was on the video who was taken hostage. I can’t stop thinking about him.

I can’t stop thinking about his mother.

What if that was my boy?

How do I teach my kids that people who don’t know us hate us? I’m not ready to destroy their innocence.

I’ll never be ready.

What if that was my boy?

I need to know what’s happening. I look for updates. But all I can focus on are all the posts and photos that have nothing to do with anything.

Pumpkin patches. Prime Day picks. Podcast ads.

What is happening? Where am I? The world is burning. There are dead babies. Do you care?

Life goes on.

I carefully analyze what everyone shares on social media. Follow. Heart. Repost. Unfollow. Unfollow. Unfollow.

I look closely at some, and think, “Would you hide me and my family if I needed you to? Would you do anything if they came for us? Would you stand at your window and watch them take us away?”

It’s almost like a game I play.

I need to get off my phone. Have I eaten anything? What time is it?

I just heard a siren. I’m sure it’s nothing.

Is my door locked?

I need to make a haircut appointment for my kids. It’s been on my to-do list every day all week. I need to do it now before I forget again.

I pick up my phone to call. There are so many notifications.

Friends want to know if they should send their kids to school in the face of a supposed global threat to Jews.

I don’t know. How should I know? I’m so tired. I don’t know how to make any decisions right now.

I’m so scared for them. I’m so scared for all of us. Is this real life?

I start scrolling. Any updates?

Wait, why did I pick up my phone again? Right, the haircut. I need to make that appointment. I will later.

I have to pick up my kids after another blur of a day. I wonder what they heard at school. I wonder what they understand. I wonder if they’re scared without knowing why.

Kids always know. They feel when things shift.

Tonight, we’ll eat dinner, we’ll play, and we’ll fight about bathtime or bedtime or whatever time. I’ll give them a kiss and say goodnight, and think about how grateful I am that we’re safe. That they’re safe.

I’ll tell myself to read a book and leave my phone downstairs, and I won’t do either. I’ll watch the images of horror dance across my screen. I’ll fall asleep with some tears, and wipe them away in the morning.

Life goes on.