I think I ate a Banana
I can’t remember if I did. But there was one on the counter and it’s gone.
I think I ate a banana yesterday.
I can’t remember if I did. But there was one on the counter and it’s gone. My husband must’ve gently reminded me to eat something.
We’re now defending 3 borders. The southern border with Gaza, the northern border with Lebanon and the north eastern border with Syria. The threat is coming from both terrorist infiltration as Hezbollah tries to join their Hamas friends, and from long-range missiles reaching as far as Tel Aviv in the central region where I am.
Last night for an hour, were were asked to baracade ourselves inside our homes, shuttering our windows with metal blinds, and double locking doors while a barrage of missiles flew over our heads. I spent the time working with an amazing client in a powerful coaching session. I’m so grateful for the opportunities to work with people like him, especially at a time like this. (You know who you are!)
While our streams are filled with so much horror and zombie apocalyptic like content that is our reality, today I thought I’d share something heartwarming. I need it, and I’m sure you need it too.
These are my nieces and nephews, their neighbours and friends handwriting cards to the soldiers to add to the supply packages. And here are the soldiers proudly displaying the notes they received.
Those that know me or have followed me for a while, know I’m a graphologist (handwriting analyst) and I talk alot about the research that has proven the neurological benefits of handwriting on mental health, emotional expression and regulation, creativity and critical thinking.
This activity was to occupy children with something positive, but it was more importantly an act of processing trauma. Of emotional release and regulation. Something grounding in a world where nothing is grounded except our faith, our unity, our love for our people, our country, eachother. All of these children have fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, uncles, aunts and cousins in uniform. My own daughter is in uniform. Some are already grieving for lost relatives and friends. The trauma will take a long time to heal, but working through it in small and meaningful ways as we go from day today is an important part of survival.
When we write by hand, we convey very personal emotion in a way that a typed or printed message cannot. Our handwriting is as unique to each of us as our fingerprints. And with each word we put on paper, our thoughts, emotions and physiological reponses are captured.
For our soldiers, this is a glimmer in the form of innocent beauty in a world of dark evil. Its a reminder of why they are doing what they are doing, who they are protecting, what this is all about. It was to give them love when they are fighting hate. To give them strength when they feel tired. To give them a reason to come home to us. The snacks were consumed, the supplies used, but the notes, they kept.
I hope the tears in your eyes are the good kind. Mine are. 💔
With love from Israel 🇮🇱