There are days when consciousness turns on itself and what it finds is not comforting. These are not feelings. They are observations. And it is that difference that keeps me from treating the matter more gently.

I sense that my country does not love me. I arrived one day carrying the idea that belonging is a matter of choice, that wanting to be from here was enough to be from here, and what I found was that others also have a say in that. Israel looks at me. Classifies me. It had decided what I am before I could decide for myself. It accepted my weight. Let me stay. Love is another category, and it was not extended to me. And there are nights when I walk through this house in the dark and stand still in the middle of the corridor, waiting for my eyes to adjust, knowing they may not.

I sense that my brothers do not love me. Those who breathe........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)