Confused and faith-tested. Am I justified? What have I merited in God’s eyes? He, the Holy One, gave me refuge in Diaspora. I sit safely typing away, in my home in Urban Land, where I don’t have to worry about katushya rockets blasting holes into my cement-lined kitchen from warring seditious “Palestinians” weaned on their mother’s teat in spoonfuls and jugs of fabricated culture, history, terror and “occupation”. I am thousands of miles away from Arab Muslim terror and that lifestyle. I hear birds singing, chirping, fussing about; it is summer here, and nests are full of hatchlings, I think, under my living room air conditioner.
Am I a religious Jew? Yes, I believe in HaShem. Do I belong to a synagogue? I had, until recently, when the rabbi refused to admit that his progressiveness was bordering on apostasy. But that’s another story.