Lost and Found

Once upon a time, long, long ago in a land far, far away, I had a conversation with two people. The woman was an Israeli living in America. The man was a peculiar mix of old Yankee and Boston Irish. For reasons I can no longer recall, a discussion came up between them that about the Hebrew language and the lack of it in the Christian versions of the Bible. Then, clear as a bell, my voice split open the world.

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani.

Translated that is My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

The point of the story is not that out of the blue I recited what is probably the only Hebrew sentence I know. The point was the look of pain and horror on the Israeli woman’s face. She had a lifetime of speaking Hebrew, Yiddish and several other languages. This particular sentence, however, strikes one to the core.

It has nothing to do with being Jewish or Christian or any other sect, religion or denomination.

It has everything to do with the curse of feeling as though one’s God has forgotten them, lost their name, given them away to be no more than dust in the winds of eternity.

It is when one feels lost and abandoned by one’s parent. It is feeling like God is a spiritual version of To Whom It May Concern, only that person is totally unconcerned about one’s existence.

Let’s drop the idea that this sentence, this thought, belongs to only one person in all of time and space. It doesn’t. This belongs to all of us. Any time of any day…