I had been wondering about the balance between carrying on as normal (for the children) and waking up to a new reality (for yourself)
At what point do we press the panic button?
No one wants to be the “it feels like Germany in 1938” guy, a prophet of doom thundering about the end of American Jewish life when people are trying to enjoy a new type of tequila at the kiddush. But at the same time, it feels tone-deaf to haul an extra-large meat board into your home as you pass through the Free Palestine protesters in the front yard.
I had been wondering about the balance between carrying on as normal (for the children) and waking up to a new reality (for yourself) when I ended up in Toronto, a guest at an especially innovative gathering.
It was, to borrow a popular cliché, “not a fundraiser,” though there was a carving station and mixologist and the room was filled with philanthropists and executive directors.
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