In January, I made my way to the hospital for the third time in four weeks. It was my abdomen. It was the most horrific pain I had ever felt. At 11:30pm, not thinking clearly and panicking, I stumbled into my car and drove to the nearest hospital. I got there in four minutes, and broke probably no less than 10 traffic rules, speeding, running red lights, and swerving into the parking lot. I needed to be seen immediately.
I walked into the emergency room, took a number, and waited for a triage nurse. I am usually polite and patient, but this couldn’t wait. “I need you to take me right now!” I implored the nurse. “OK, sit down and tell me what’s going on. Last night when you were here, you told us the pain was 12 out of 10, what is the pain now?” “24,” I exhaled. I was hunched over, with my arms wrapped around my stomach.
I was here the night before, with the same symptoms. They gave me some medication which dulled the pain, they felt around, weren’t sure what it was, and sent me home, telling me to return if it happened again. Well, it did. This time, they gave me morphine instead of whatever medication I got before. The morphine made it infinitely worse.
As I sat in the waiting room with the painkiller entering my system through an IV, I began to scream in anguish. The nurses came and told me to calm down, and asked me to describe the pain. “HORRIBLE!” I screamed. “No but what type of pain is it? Sharp, dull, stabbing, burning, radiating?” There’s no way the words that came out of my mouth were anything other than curse words, inappropriate for Substack, but I just had no way of describing what I was feeling.
I was there a while longer and yadda yadda yadda, it was my gallbladder. Two days later, I was gallbladder-less. I learned a new word: cholecystectomy. Thank G-d, the pain has not returned. I apologized to the nurses for my expletive-laden tirade.
Types of pain
Several days lying in a hospital bed, waiting to be seen, gave me some extra time with my thoughts. I remember thinking about how difficult it is to describe pain. The nurses often came in and asked me to describe it, but I just could not find the words. I knew that I was experiencing pain, and knew where it was, but it’s always been strange to me how difficult it is to actually describe the sort of pain one experiences.
I guess this is the case for several reasons.
The first is subjectivity, in that pain is a deeply personal and subjective experience. What one person may find a mild annoyance, another person might find excruciating. I imagine that psychological, physiological, and even cultural factors all play a role in how someone experiences pain.
The second is likely the emotional or psychological components in pain. Obviously, pain is not just a physical sensation, but something that is intertwined with our emotional responses. This can no doubt impact how we experience discomfort.
The third is that pain can intensify or diminish over time, such that it can get worse, or, you can simply get used to the pain if it lasts for too long, and your body and mind can normalize it.
Fourth, there is the lack of a specific vocabulary for pain. The nurses at the hospital (if I can recall correctly) asked if my pain was sharp or throbbing, but words like that can only approximate the experience. Pain is complex, and replete with nuance. Words like “throbbing” and “burning” may not describe at all what you think you are feeling. You may just be experiencing something like, “AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!”
Finally, there is what I think is a communication barrier when it comes to describing pain. When I was languishing on the floor of the waiting room, the only way I could describe my pain was “horrible” because of my state at that moment. I couldn’t find the word or words to accurately describe how I was feeling, because of what the pain itself was actually doing to me. I could hardly speak.
And yes, my wife who has given birth to three children has probably stopped reading this entirely, writing me off as a giant wuss. But moms, please continue reading.
Today’s pain
For the last 10 months, our community has been in pain. I have been in pain. And it has been difficult to describe or explain, as it changes every day.
Acute
On that fateful day, Saturday October 7, 2023, we were in acute pain. We heard news and saw images emerging from a modern-day pogrom, the worst slaughter of Jews since the Holocaust. We were in tears, we were stunned, and we did not know how we felt. We could not find the words to describe our agony, and were rendered speechless by the pain we had collectively experienced both in Israel and abroad.
Sharp
In the days and weeks following 10/7, our pain was sharp. Our wounds were fresh, and we watched the news daily as evidence of the massacres was uncovered. We stood stunned as enemies and neighbours alike sought to justify the attacks, and we saw our streets be overtaken by pro-Hamas mobs who made no efforts to mask their antisemitism and desire rid us from our homes here, and our homeland abroad.
Throbbing
Over the last few months, my pain has been throbbing. It is manageable, but it’s there.
I cannot believe that this is still happening. I am finding it increasingly difficult to shield my children from the despair I’m feeling, and the conversations that I am having with friends and family. The pain is throbbing because I’ve learned to live with it despite the fact that it comes from something abnormal, that we have normalized. It is chronic, and does not go away.
It is not normal to pray every day for Jewish hostages to be released. Neither is it normal to have to celebrate the return of those hostages one at a time. It’s not normal to wear a necklace that when people ask about it, we say “It’s for the hostages being held in Gaza,” and for them to nod politely, and continue with my Starbucks order.
It is not normal for our school buses to be torched. It is not normal for our schools to be shot at, our institutions to be vandalized, or for our shuls to be targeted.
It is not normal to receive constant alerts of terror and rocket attacks over a period of 10 months. It is not normal to learn of terror infiltrations into our homeland, and of Canadians jihadists traveling to Israel with the sole purpose of killing Jews. It’s not normal to have to balance our school budgets to accommodate an increased security presence, or to have call-duty police on guard when news abroad is particularly bad.
It’s not normal to know the names of Iranian rocket types, Yemeni ports, or the names of terror units like Hezbollah’s Radwan force or Hamas’ Nukhba unit.
It is not normal to see Hamas and Hezbollah flags flown on our streets, or worn on tshirts in Toronto. It is not normal to have Hamas speeches recited or projected on the streets of North American cities. It is not normal to have the mission of terror organizations rationalized in civilized discourse.
It is not normal to hear people rationalizing rape, beheadings, or burning bodies. It is not normal to believe all women, unless they’re Jewish.
It’s not normal to hear non-Jews speak out in support of Israel, and be surprised. It’s not normal to have to thank them for supporting Israel, because they could actually come under fire or be cancelled for expressing such views.
It is not normal for people to believe that Israel has trained dogs to rape Palestinian prisoners. It’s just not.
It is not normal for our children to be targeted, and for the community to need to walk one child to school in the morning.
It is not normal for our campuses to be overtaken and trashed, all in the name of protests against a war overseas, started by terrorists, in which a civilized nation is pitted against barbarians at the gates.
It is not normal for our organization to require so many different grassroots movements to address so many different offshoots of a war overseas. Neither is it normal for our charities to be targeted by our government, simply because they are servicing the Jewish community.
It is not normal for Israel to have to wage a war over a period of 10 months, to rip reservist soldiers from their families and their jobs, and to decimate the Israeli economy all to hold neighbouring terror groups at bay. It is not normal to think that this 10-month war, is only the prelude to a much larger and longer war.
It is not normal to regularly hear about death tolls, rocket damage, or children killed while playing games of soccer. It is not normal for a missing child - Gevara Ebraheem - to be declared dead because his body was vaporized in a rocket’s explosion when it killed 11 of his friends.
It is not normal to have to begin every conversation at dinner or with a family member with “What is going on in Israel?” or “Has the war in Lebanon started yet?” or “Have any of the rockets gotten through?” or “Have they found any more bodies?” or “Do you think this politician is good for Israel?” or “How many soldiers were killed today?”
None of this is normal, but our normalizing it leads to a throbbing pain deep in our souls for which there is no medication.
Burning
I can only speak for myself, but in the last 10 months, I have also experienced a burning pain, when I worry about the future of our Jewish community, or the future of Israel.
This is the pain that I feel when I worry what sort of lasting damage this war will have on Israeli society. About the Israelis who feel like theirs is no longer a country worth living in or fighting for, or who feel that Zionist ideals are dead. It is a pain I feel when people return from trips to Israel and say, “this time, it was different.”
I feel it when I think about the shocking nature of Israel’s politics, about the inability of politicians to be held accountable for their actions (or inactions), and for their stunningly partisan displays. Rather than strengthening the ideals on which Israel was founded, today’s politicians are driven by personal motives and party politics that leave their electorate, and us Zionists abroad by the way, in the lurch. We are weakened by their egos.
The pain I feel burns deep inside me when I read about how many Jews have been willing to turn against Israel - the sole Jewish State - trying to hold it to standards that no democratic nation has ever been held to. It is how I feel when fellow Western democratic nations feel the need to draw a moral equivalency between Israel and Hamas, or when - through some type of virtue signalling mental gymnastics - they ultimately come out on the side of Iran, the Houthis, Hezbollah, Hamas, or other anti-democratic, authoritarian, and of course deeply antisemitic powers. I am distraught at how much daylight exists between my two countries, Canada and Israel.
The pain is exacerbated when I hear of Israeli settlers attacking their Palestinian neighbors. My blood boils when I hear of an incited Israeli mob overruning the IDF’s Sde Teiman base in an effort to stop a legal process to investigate alleged war crimes by the IDF against Palestinian detainees. When that same mob, dissatisfied with the chaos at the first base, moves on to the Beit Lid base too, intent on disrupting oversight and the power of the judiciary, we fail. This type of chaos and anarchy in Israel cannot last. Jews cannot fight Jews.
The cure
In January, my pain was treated in two ways: short-term I was given medication, and my gallbladder was ultimately removed for long-term relief.
So, for the pain we face today, what is the cure?
Let’s do long-term first: We must win the war. To do so, we must retrieve our hostages, dismantle Hamas, eliminate Hezbollah or push it back far enough so that it can no longer threaten Northern Israel, somehow neutralize Iran, return our displaced citizens to their homes safely, and get back some of our global standing. Oh ya, and eliminate the brutal scourge of antisemitism.
Not easy, but I can’t imagine the first gallbladder removal was a walk in the park either!
But now let’s do short-term. Here are my suggestions:
Educate ourselves about our history: the more we know, the more confident we are in our position, and certain that we will emerge and be able to rebuild after this conflict, like all the others before.
Find silver linings: though it can be challenging, consider the good that has emerged from 10/7. Whether it is new community organizations or all the Jews now proudly wearing Stars of David around their necks, it is important to step back be grateful for how close our community has become.
Read the full article: An American election is nearing, I’m predicting an Israeli election in March ‘25, a Canadian election is coming in October ‘25, and there is no shortage of clickbait, fake news, and propaganda. We can win when we are smarter, but can only do that when we know the truth. Find the truth and share it.
Donate: Study after study shows that people are happier when spending money on others rather than on themselves. Our community organizations need funding to be effective, our brothers and sisters in the IDF need supplies, and there are 100,000 displaced Israelis within Israel who need all the help they can get. Give.
Finally, remember you are not alone. When my dad showed up at the hospital to put his hand on my back as I writhed in pain, it made all the difference in the world. He distracted me and made me laugh. The pain subsided.
The Talmud notes, “O chevruta, o mituta” - “Give me community, or give me death.” We have always found strength in our numbers, even if our community is small. We share our joy and our pain, and only by doing so will we survive the short-term, to merit in the joy of our long-term.
Am Yisrael Chai.
Together with all of Israel, we mourn the lives of the 12 children killed by Hezbollah on July 27, 2024:
Fajr Laith Abu Saleh (16)
Ameer Rabeea Abu Saleh (16)
Hazem Akram Abu Saleh (15)
John Wadeea Ibrahim (13)
Iseel Nasha'at Ayoub (12)
Finis Adham Safadi (11)
Yazan Nayeif Abu Saleh (12)
Alma Ayman Fakhr al-Din (11)
Naji Taher al-Halabi (11)
Milad Muadad al-Sha'ar (10)
Nathem Fakher Saeb (16)
Gevara Ebraheem (11)
May their memories be an eternal blessing.
Adam, thank you for sharing. We are all frustrated by the ongoing war and day to day betrayals. The hesitancy of the IDF and the catering to the west. The thing with pain is that it’s so personal - “no one can possibly understand what I am going through!” And this is entirely true. The problem though is that when pain endures so does the sense of isolation. As a nation, as Jews it is too easy to wrap ourselves in our own pain - it’s important to share as you’ve done here. It may not solve the pain but at least you’re reminding everyone that they are not alone in their pain.