The land needs the rain. I’m grateful for it.
I’m also grateful to live in a safe, dry home, with a heater.
And not in a tent on a rubble-strewn mudslide of a street running between the ruins of bombed-out stores and apartment buildings, struggling to keep the freezing wind and downpour away from my children.
As a religious Zionist, who believes in building a golden city on a hill of justice and righteousness, who believes that we came back home to build a country based on our values, I can not get the thought of those other families out of my mind.
I am dry.
They are wet.
That is not right.
I dream of a Zion where all are safe, dry, and warm.
I hope that dream is infectious.