I had a dream, in which I was using my trusty Nikon camera, which has a great lens for people-watching and candid photography.  I’ve always enjoyed candid photography; it’s so different from portraiture, that stylized and studio-set affair.  Although I admire Yousuf Karsh, a master portrait photographer and a true legend; as well as my aunt and uncle Wilhelm who owned a photo studio and gave me my first box camera, my own favorite is candid photography.  The candid photographer seeks to be unobtrusive, creating fly-on-the-wall images that catch people going about their business, seemingly unaware of the camera and the photographer. That is what I saw in my dream.  I am in a room, full of women and children who have been released from captivity, excitedly talking amongst themselves, and I am capturing the moment.  Capturing rather than ENGAGING.  It is as if I am totally uninvolved.  An onlooker who is observing, witnessing, and recording.  Yet I feel part of it, I feel involved, but do not allow myself to show it.  I actually hide behind my camera.

Was this only a dream, or a lesson about the way I connected in real life?  There was a period in my life when I was the photographer in family and some community events.  I have hardly any pictures of myself with my children and husband, or my extended family, except those taken by others.  I was considered to be a good observer and photographer, capturing the atmosphere and the setting of the moment. Absorbed in the act of documenting the flora, fauna, and landscape.  Things changed when cell-phone cameras took over and everyone started doing “selfies,” putting themselves in the picture.

The notion of engaging rather than recording is an important one, since the cell phone allows us to capture and also engage.  It is widely available and used almost exclusively to communicate.  We communicate by sharing images and text; we are instantly able to share our joy and our sorrow, and even use it to record videos of an event as it happens and also to alert help.  Many of the atrocities that happened on the 7^th of October reached us through videos and photos taken as they were happening.  And yet there are still people in the world who claim the event is a media fabrication.  How can that be? Are we so deep into denying reality?  It took the UN over 5 months to acknowledge officially that crimes of rape and heinous behavior actually happened, and they have still failed to point a finger at the perpetrators. There still are over 130 women, men and children held in captivity by Hamas in Gaza, and no one knows how many of them are still alive.  My dream of being in a room with the released captives is still only a dream.

And then reality hit—literally.  I was barely awake when I hit the floor hard, and went face down, with blood pooling around my head, and pain informing me of a broken wrist. “Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you; therefore, he will rise up to show you compassion.”  (Isaiah 30:18)  I felt this was indeed happening.  I only ended up with a broken wrist, which was fixed in a cast, and two black eyes which made me look like a racoon.  I felt embraced by grace, both metaphorically and literally.  Grace, a fellow therapist who teaches mindfulness, came to take me to a conference where both of us were due to give a workshop.  She reminded me that we must wake up from dreams into a reality of mindfulness.  It is not as if I am unfamiliar with mindfulness practice; in fact without it, I would not have been able to be a trauma therapist and succeed in my work with others and myself.  But her trust in my decision to fulfill my commitments and participate in the conference, despite the injuries I suffered the day before and the way I looked, filled me with gratitude.  Dancing on the roof terrace of the college as part of a large gathering of like-minded participants was the perfect antidote for the pain I was in.  It allowed me to feel embraced and part of the collective energy of healing that dance and movement brings to our body and soul.

We both enjoyed presenting our workshops and had an extra good time bonding on the way back home.  Grace entered my life, and her compassion will stay with me forever.  Speaking of forever and compassion, I rediscovered dedication and support from my husband of 56 years.  Patiently and with grace, he is there to take over whatever needs to be done—even when it involves getting up in the middle of the night to support my going to the little lady’s room, or staying to help me in the shower.  Those intimate moments only strengthen the bonds we have, and provide wonderful opportunities for laughter and mirth.

It is now three and a half weeks after these events, and I have another almost three weeks of the cast on my arm to endure.  My face is back to “normal”, so unfortunately I will not be able to dress up as a racoon for the Purim masquerade.  Wishing all who celebrate Purim a happy one, and for those who fast during Ramadan: Ramadan Karim.  Let us all enjoy a pint for St. Patrick’s day.