No Knock; No Lock

Remember those days when you were a really young kid and you were getting ready for your brother’s wedding (because he was 20ish years older than you) and you got dressed before anyone else because getting dressed is sooooooo boring and then you escaped your parents’ watchful eye for an adventure, stained your dress immediately with the hue of fescue and then attempted to find your way back to what you thought was your hotel room and upon entry locked eyes with your dad’s ex wife’s husband who was definitely not NOT in the shower. 

You know how that goes. 

To this day I still do not know how I got back to the correct room as I was paralyzed with embarrassment and confusion for what seemed like one hundred years, AND every door looked the exact same. It was like I was in a Doctor Strange movie though very much without access to an infinity stone of any kind, just awkward encounters.  What I gathered later is that the frozen retina/shower moment only lasted for maybe two seconds before I dashed off. By the time I returned to my parents I explained in depth that I definitely was not going to my brother’s wedding and zipped my lips shut for the foreseeable future. 

I did finally get to this beautiful evening kibbutz simcha due to extreme bribery that turned very quickly into my father giving me the look that many kids may remember as the We are done having this conversation look and that was that. Aside from the breaking of the glass and a hora that would put most Broadway choreographed numbers to shame, the climax of the evening for me was when I saw my dad’s ex wife’s husband talking to my father. Every part of my soul wanted to evaporate forever into the warm sea salt Israeli air.  Post conclusion of observed conversation my dad walked over to me and sat down. He wiped the weird slithery bang that insisted on covering a quarter of my face and said,

 “No knock, no lock. Don’t worry about it , Jess - let’s dance.”

  I looked quickly over to where the conversation happened and locked eyes once again with the other half of my boundary busted party and he smiled and gave me a salute and went on his merry way. 

I was young enough to know that I made a mistake, although totally confused by it, and he was old enough to understand that I was a tiny kid and that he completely disregarded the whole door lock feature.  We all proceeded to pound our bare feet in circles throughout the night well into the absolute magnificence of a rooftop kibbutz sunrise and I will never forget being allowed to stay up all night to see this crimson explosion while holding hands with a community of people who held onto me like family.    

Forgiveness is huge. Empathy is even bigger. Did I come to this epiphany forty-three years ago because of a ridiculous and equally shocking moment in Northern Israel? I have had forty-three years to solidify my summary. Forgiveness and Empathy; this crucial duo does not exempt anyone for or from purposeful hurt and can never erase permanent damage done, but it does mean we allow ourselves a midnight hora and the wherewithal of future protection; a paradox happens - two very opposite things can be true at the same time.