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“The tricky thing about grief,” his mom said, “is that even when we know it’s coming, we underestimate our own capacity for suffering.”
“There’s this Hebrew meditation I read about. It’s called husa, and it means, roughly, ‘compassion for something that is flawed.’ Husa is acceptance, devoid of judgment. The kind of love an artist has for their creation, even as they recognize its imperfection. To practice the meditation, we ask God for husa in prayer.” He lowered his voice as he recited, “‘The soul is Yours, the body is Your creation, husa, have compassion for Your work.’”
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“This world is full of people who would rather hate you than examine the pain in their own hearts. They will try to limit who you can love, who you can spend time with, who you can fuck. Some of these people will act like their condemnation is in your best interest. Like one day you’ll thank them for showing you the error of your ways. Some of them feel better about their own lives when they can deny the validity of yours.”
Our actions, the future we choose—more often than not, it all comes down to one simple question. What are you gonna let win—your love or your pain?”
“Yeah, well, that’s why Judaism complements reason with faith, right? So that they might compensate for one another’s limitations.”
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