Do you know this child who comes home every day with a book and tears in his eyes?
Again the teacher sat me next to a child who had lice...
Once again the teacher chose Yaakov to be the money man and collect the money for the trip. He never chooses me...
This is the fourth time they've put the broken chair in my place, and no one agrees to replace it with me.
Shmulik finds something to complain about every day. Does it help him? Yes. It probably does him good. He pours out his heart to his mother, who either listens or no longer does. She knows this child, that everything is not well. But for a short time it calms him down.
Does it also help him with the matter at hand? Does it solve his problem? No. The fact is that the next day everything starts over again. In short, nothing moves. If Shmulik doesn't turn his back on himself and realize that his happiness depends on him, nothing will help.
''Shmuli' is us
Shmulik is a little boy. But Shmulik is us.
Like little children, we scream, cry, complain and never stop.
We cry: We are Haredi, and because of that, our rights have been taken away.
We shout: We are workers, that's why we have been abandoned.
We complain: We are Sephardim, and what is our children's fault?
We read: We are women, and therefore we have been left out.
We moan: We are poor, therefore we have been trampled.
We are depressed: we are sick, and there is no medicine for us.
We are discouraged: we are middle class, therefore we do not rise.
We are tormented: we are miserable, and what is our crime?
Each one with his own troubles (is there any of us who can say that he is not in any of these categories?). Each one with his sky-high cries:
And where are all my eyes directed? To those who appear happy.
For whom? For those who sit on the throne: for government ministers, members of the Knesset, for the wealthy, and for those watching from the treetops.
We all scream like that little child. Does it help us? Yes, it probably does us good momentarily, we pour out our hearts to someone we don't even know who they are, who listens or doesn't listen to the voice of our dying heart.
Does it also help the thing itself? Does it solve our problem? No.
The fact is that the next day everything starts over again. In short, nothing changes.
The more people shout, the less the shouts are heard. They become transparent, unsustainable, monotonous, and cheap.
The more transparent our transparency becomes, the less and less it will be noticed.
Let's paint ourselves.
We were transparent and invisible. Let's paint ourselves. Let's take this transparent-transparent and turn it into a bright color. Into camouflage colors. Into those that will hide our transparency (or simply reveal that it doesn't exist).
Once we do what we know how to do, the more we show who we are, what our strengths are, what our abilities are, what our endeavors are, the more we will be recognized for our strength and not for our weakness.
We were transparent and invisible. No one will cover our nakedness. Let us put on our own clothes, the clothes of the ministry, and go out to our meetings - the meetings of our Torah unity government. The voice of the Torah is our clothing, it will already find its way out of the coup and soar higher and higher, to the place where fateful decisions are made, to the throne of the kingdom.
And if you thought for a moment that this column was going against Shas' transparency campaign, you're wrong. Being transparent is better in campaigns than in life.
Who knows, maybe I'll vote Shas, but what's certain is that I won't do so out of being transparent (ultra-Orthodox, a woman, and maybe another category I belong to), but rather despite the fact that I'm not transparent at all.
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