Who says schizophrenia is a disorder or a disease? In Israel it seems more like a way of life!

We were invited to a wedding. The son of very good friends was finally taking the big step. A beautiful young man - charming, accomplished, intelligent, handsome; high ranking in Israel’s army - was getting married to a lovely highly accomplished woman, idealistic, thoughtful, a lawyer, smart, good. What else could one ask for a young couple starting out?

I was in high spirits. The weather was perfect; everything was well planned and in order. The thought crossed my mind, "Thank goodness it's quiet here (i.e. Israel, the Middle East, the World!) today. Nothing to spoil the blessing of another wonderful new Jewish beginning, another new Jewish home."

At 4:20 P.M. a bus was blown up on Jaffa Street in downtown Jerusalem during rush hour. Sixteen killed, scores wounded, several very seriously. The city center was closed off; ambulances frantically made their way through the crowds; sirens blared and the news was repeated over and over again.

Catastrophe hits people in different ways. My initial reaction was shock, as if someone had punched me in the stomach. I take a deep breath, and after a minute or so, the walls go up. My senses close down and refuse to accept information. I need "breathing time" to put my thoughts in order, my heart on hold. It's much too painful to absorb head on. Objective, analytical thoughts run through my mind, as if I were contemplating a check list. First thing is to find where immediate family members are to make sure no one was in the city. The calls fly. Then friends across the country, and from abroad, start calling in to make sure everyone is OK.

"Good thing no one in the family has to give birth right now," I think. "The hospitals will be full. Wonder if this will delay the wedding any.”

Should I call and ask? No, leave them alone. They'll be upset enough as it is. Will we be able to drive through town or will the roads still be blocked? Which direction was the bus was going, to or from town? It'll make a difference in terms of who was on the bus. Does it really make a difference who was on the bus? Whoever was on the bus is in a plastic bag or spread around in pieces on the sidewalk now. Hope it wasn't kids. Hope it wasn't older people. Hope it wasn't anyone. So who are the sixteen killed if they are no-one?"

I close off this avenue. To start thinking like this gets you nowhere except to the mental health clinic. But I still don't feel anything. I have to get to the wedding. These are good friends. The kids deserve a good start. You can't go to a wedding in mourning. I hope I don't know anyone from the bus. So someone else will know them, not you. I don't want to know anyone from that bus. I'll lose control and start screaming - from rage, from sorrow. I won't think about it. What shall I wear? How can you think about what to wear when sixteen Jews were just killed and their bodies are trapped in a burnt bus or scattered on the streets of Jerusalem?

The wedding takes place as planned. The bride and groom are simply beautiful, a balm for sore hearts. The security is the tightest I have seen at any affair. We are checked three times before entering and are asked to present ID cards. A friend at our table says she mentioned the bus attack in the car on the way to the wedding and her son (also a soldier) said, "Not now. Now we are going to a wedding. We will not talk about the attack." Do you think that sounds cold, cruel, insensitive? No, he is affirming Life. That attack is churning away inside him but he will not stain or spoil the new life his friend is about to begin. This evening there is a wedding. Tomorrow, or later in the night, there will be time for mourning. After the simcha.

Mourning and simcha. Jewish schizophrenia. Historic Jewish experience. Life in Israel. Sometimes I need to scream, to cry out, "Enough!" To block out and obliterate all the evil in the world. But I know it cannot be. Evil can only be obliterated by constant vigilance and battle and by a profusion of good. Let there be weddings. Tomorrow we will hear funeral announcements on the radio all day long, and we will see pictures in the newspapers. Pictures of lovely, smiling, productive, loving, good people who are no longer here. And we will endure, and grow, and mourn, and multiply, and suffer, and build, and cry ... and give thanks that we are here.

Our enemies succeed in inflicting pain and sorrow but they will never triumph. They live to inflict death; we live to promote life. If we are sometimes destined to die, we remain secure in the belief that Am Yisrael Chai. G-d is Eternal and the Jewish People will continue to live.

May G-d comfort the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem and may the streets of Zion abound with brides and grooms and wedding canopies. And may our schizophrenia soon turn into pure, unmitigated, unblemished joy.

Courtesy of jewishworldreview.com