170,000. That is the latest count. For sure not the final
one. That is only an estimation of the dead — not the
injured. Kind of dwarfs the World Trade Center. Is it more,
or less horrifying because the Hand of G-d was more direct?
How big is the Indian Ocean? If Hashem has an alarm clock,
I'd say the alarm is going off. It is definitely time to jump
out of bed and get on with the work of the day.
170,000 dead. It's no dream, no fantasy. Quantum theory
speaks of the far-reaching effect of a butterfly flapping its
wings in China. How does the world psyche absorb all that is
happening in the world today? On that level, what is negative
or positive or is it all just energy and matter interchanging
in the cosmic dance?
A book I read about the Six Million was titled, "One and One
and One." How quickly our bodies can be snuffed out. I look
out to the sea in my mind and am rigid with terror as a three-
story wall of water hurls towards me.
There were islands that after the water receded, simply
weren't there. No debris, no visible destruction. Like the
third of the world that Chazal say was flooded, simply placid
water where land and life had been.
And the fact that the destruction came to the countries that
are ruled by dictators . . .
Peoples of the world tend to fight over `toys.' "It's mine!"
"No, I had it first." "Who cares what Cousin Africa does?"
"Oh, you know Saudi Arabia — He was like that ever
since he was a little boy. He'll never change." And Israel?
"Them — with their pretensions of antiquity."
It's all happening in the nursery room. Hashem has stepped
aside for just a moment to see how we play nicely by
ourselves. Surely the older ones will take care of the little
ones who are sweet but impulsive.
I gave the older ones the Torah. Everything they need is
there. Good parents don't always hover.
"But Tatti, the Torah rules over so few. Will it really
leaven the whole loaf? Or will the hot passions of human hate
and greed kill the fragile yeast?
My child. The bread is already in the oven. The heat you
feel is the golden browning of the crust. Soon, soon is the
banquet.
"But Tatti, the crust cracked and 170,000 are dead!"
No, my child. Not dead. Only continuing the cosmic dance .
. .
