|A glorious day. . .|
Why? Because they deftly took me out of my own life and plopped me right in the middle of lives vastly different from my own.
Through Potok I could see and smell New York and vividly experience the cadence and heart of the various Jewish sects making their homes there. I understood more of the journey the Jewish community has walked through the centuries and felt, intimately, the pulse and pain that saturates such rich history.
Through Wiesel, I was drawn through the mire and muck and utter inhumanity of Nazi concentration camps. He forced me to face atrocities I'd rather turn away from, with an honesty and simplicity of conveyance that left me breathless and deeply disturbed.
Both did something else, too. Something profound.
In the midst of situations so saturated in despair and abhorrence, both authors showed their characters finding moments of breath and life. . .brief interludes of relief from unthinkable, unthinkable circumstances.
Fleeting, yet life-giving, moments of hope.
What made me remember this? Our family had one of those moments today.
As a family, we're still spinning on a sickening wheel of grief as our son continues to struggle and we are desperately trying to figure out how to help him. After weeks of trying to get him the help he so desperately needs, we're still wandering in a maze filled with dead ends and nonsensical 'nos.'
But today, for one short two hour period, we were a normal family. Complete with a picnic and the warm sun and even some laughter. It was glorious. Needed. Blessed.
A precious moment of breath and light.