Wisps of ground fog threads its way between the trees this Shabbat morning. The nights are beginning to warm and the days will soon flow into springtime. Still, it is a chilly dawn that seeps in past the curtains and pulls warmth from the skin. Sips of hot coffee pushes back the chilly fingers as we await the sun to push aside the mists and light up the land.
One internet friend recovers in the hospital, and another recovers from a double whammy at home. Yet another recovers by cooking. And another chronicles her entry into a retirement community. Chicago boasts that it only had twenty murders in January. And a chef and restaurant owner apologizes for excluding people because of the color of their hat.
But in my world, all the news is like reading about a foreign land. I no longer recognize my old homeland. A generation has arisen that has no memory of what it used to be like. It is truly a cursed generation that will be the vanguard of woes to come. But like Neville Chamberlain and King Hezekiah, it is enough that there is peace in my time though fierce men wait in the wings.