Living in community is hard.
It’s also engrossing, fulfilling, heartwarming, and at times, heart-breaking.
More than anything, living in community is a sure-fire way to be present at any given moment to your self-worth, your self-esteem, and self-sufficiency.
Living on top of each other — which is what you do when you live on a small kibbutz, at least — means you are every day faced with fitting in, belonging, needing, giving, taking, believing, doubting, judging, questioning, accepting, committing, avoiding.
Your heart just sits there in the front seat of a roller coaster ride.
Some days trekking slowly slowly to the top — excitement building. You can hardly breathe. Other days, a swift ride to the very bottom. You can hardly breathe.
But in a different kind of way.
Who chooses this life? This togetherness?
Who forfeits the privacy, the independence, the safe separate-ness of living in a large city or a large suburb with long driveways and electric garage door openers?
There are days when I want to run away to that large city; hide inside a dark suburban garage.
You can’t do that on kibbutz.
You can’t avoid the neighbor who insulted you.
Or the friend who disappointed you.
Or the child who bullied yours.
You can certainly try.
But as you cross paths time and again, each time reminded of the injury, the insult, the suffering, you have a choice to make.
Be with the suffering,
Or heal.
There’s no avoiding. Not for long, anyway.
There’s just choosing to suffer or choosing to heal.
Living in community is hard.
But no harder than life.
Living here, in community, is like living in a petri dish of evolution. Of social innovation. Of personal development.
Of love and compassion.
For yourself and for your neighbors.
And it’s hard some days.
Other days, though, miracles happen .. right before your very eyes.
