A twig isn’t just a twig

I was just about to type that there is nobody I personally know who is as much of a skeptic as I am, but now, I'm beginning to doubt myself.

I'm skeptical about my skepticism.

I've always  scoffed  at the superstitious: questioned the sanity of  the paranoid, (even when I experience personal symptoms of "Karenoia") and generally believed that everything is random and coincidental.

The exception has always been the number "417" since that's the day my Dad died in 1989, on April 17th.

 I won't stay in a hotel room with that number, or fly on that day.

 In fact, when I woke up for a potty  break in the "wee" hours of the morning today, I hesitated to ask Alexa for the time, fearing she'd answer just as she did.

"It's 4:17 AM" she said, and I knew then  I wasn't going to fall back to sleep easily.

This stuff isn't supposed to happen to a cynic like me..I don't look for hidden meanings anywhere, but I thought that Alexa's timekeeping was a tad.. foreboding.

I'm a cynic.

A proud cynic.

 I'd never go to a psychic reading, unless I saw a flyer somewhere advertising their fee as $4.17. 

 That might pique my interest.

One time, a tiny twig blew in the driveway and landed between the two numbers of my street address, "47" and the twig took on the shape of a "one" and I was convinced this was a sign.

And that I slapped myself silly for thinking that.

Today, I was scrolling through my phone for comfort, as I often do, and I'm rewatching dozens of clips from "Friends" which appeared inexplicably, and I actually thought the following:  "Chandler Bing is by far the most lovable in this ensemble...so glad his portrayer kicked his drug habit and cheated... an early death."

I mentioned Ben Stiller just yesterday, because I posted the audio of my time as a contestant on "The $20,000 Pyramid" and young Ben sat next to my brother in the audience, as his mom was my celebrity partner.

(I don't know why I was calling it the "ten" thousand dollar prize..it was twenty, and I came very close to winning it, save for the mental lapses of certain "people.")

Ben Stiller appears on "Entertainment Tonight" after not being seen for what seemed like years to me.

Coincidence?

OK..maybe I'm grasping at straws here, trying to make a twig on my driveway and a celebrity appearance on an entertainment news show and the death of the most charismatic" friend" a "thing"...but..WTF??

Today, Jim and I listened to Part II of my appearance on the show.  Rick Hurst tells Dick Clark that he's about to star in a new comedy  set in Steubenville, Ohio.

His celebrity opponent, Anne Meara, quips that it should take place in HER hometown in Ohio, not Steubenville.

Dick Clark asks me what I planned to do with my winnings thus far, which was all of four hundred dollars, and I nervously(and jerkily) say, "I'm going to travel around the whole world!"

You cannot travel around the whole world on a four hundred dollar budget.

But you know what you can do with four hundred dollars?

You can go to a singles' resort, ten and a half years after this taping, almost to the DAY...and the skeptic in you has already given up on men, but you meet the one you're going to MARRY, and he's from OHIO, and...thirty four years later, he's been traveling around the ...WHOLE WORLD.. with you.

Don't worry..my nasty, cynical self will return, probably before this day is over. Probably before this post is over.

 A twig will be just a twig, the crack in the driveway is not a crack that'll break my late mother's back. 

But guess what we saw at the movie theater tonight, mostly because absolutely nothing else was playing?

We saw a documentary called "After Death" and while it didn't exactly turn me into a true BELIEVER, it did make me think there might be more to life than meets the eye.

Thank goodness we didn't see the 4:17 show.

And I wonder if I could have  described the word "detective" to Rick Hurst smartly, by saying something like "Dick Tracy" . if .I would have made my third trip to the winners' circle.

Because my opponent didn't exactly knock it out of the park...

Also, I "doubt" anyone is still reading this long rant, but I'll thank you if you are.

In search of the 1977 game show

The things one uncovers while searching through an old junk drawer...!!

Considering my whole house is essentially a junk drawer(albeit a tidy one that smells daisy fresh) it's quite a treasure hunt indeed.

Jim was determined to find the audio cassette of me as a contestant on the "Ten Thousand Dollar Pyramid", recorded  in 1977.

It's a lost cause to find the video, the one  my brother Steven recorded on 8mm film..but you'd think the audio cassette in the junk drawer would be easy to spot.

And you'd be wrong.

We found fossilized scotch tape and coins that look that were sprouting fur. Mummified birthday cards and disintegrated rubber bands.

 We also  found some wonderful treasures, like the pre-school graduation program I created for Evan's class, where all the parents wrote up bios like this was an actual PLAYBILL magazine.

I found old proclamations in a calligraphic font, where each of us signed and dated promises we made to the each other, which we're still not honoring, even 'though these documents were drawn up and signed  in 2003 and again in 2008.

(I still don't turn off lights: Jim still leaves clutter everywhere, and..hmm..not sure if Evan kicked the crunchy peanut butter sandwich at midnight 'cause he no loner lives with us)

Jim owns up to his Oscar Madison side--we found enough cables, wires, and instruction manuals  to fill up ten shipping crates in that junk drawer.

I don't know why I had THIS epiphany, but I suddenly remembered that the tape recording MIGHT be stuck in an old, school bus yellow recorder that we got as a wedding gift. 

 I was afraid we might have inadvertently given it away at a garage sale if that were the case but A) we never had a garage sale and B) it was a bright, yellow school bus colored tape recorder.

Sure enough..the tape was in there!

Now trying to find a device to listen to it on was another challenge.

The old electronics graveyard is worse than the junk drawer, but Jim was determined to find something workable,  and he did just that.

I almost wish he hadn't.

Yeah, sure, lots of happy memories were resurfaced from that tape day in March, 1977, at the old Ed Sullivan Theater in NYC.

 (The show aired in two parts in April, 1977-- the bottom of Wednesday's episode and the entire Friday's episode--Thursday was an ABC Afternoon Special--something about the "Future  Health Hazards of Overstuffed Junk Drawers", I think)

I remember getting up at 6:00 AM, with a visit from Mr. Zit and My Aunt Flo, thoroughly freaked that both would be seen in a close up. 

My brother Steven drove us to Trenton where we boarded the train to Broadway.  

He entertained himself for a few hours while I made buddies(one was the big winner in the episode that aired before mine) and we ate things like bagels and cream cheese, and drank things like cream soda, which I haven't done since 1977.

I lost Steven when the audience began to fill, but a fellow contestant saw him and ID'd him, thanks to  my detailed description.  He was seated next to a ten year old boy, whose Mom was the celebrity contestant.  

The ten year old boy was Ben Stiller.

I remember how strict things were back then because of the quiz show scandals of the 1950's--you couldn't even use the bathroom without an escort.  (I didn't need to be supervised when searching for a bidet, thank you very much)

Contestants didn't know they'd get on until thirty seconds before the commercial break ended.  

(oh..how I wanted Jim to include those vintage commercials in the  Facebook post..not only are the TV shows no longer on, the casts are mostly deceased--and the products are no longer manufactured)

Priority was given to out-of-towners, like me, or contestants from the pool who didn't get chosen the first time they were in the studio, like my lunch buddy Jackie, who won fifteen grand.

It was painful to listen to the recording..and thus far it was the part where I actually played well, where Rick Hurst blew the big money by breaking a "Pyramid" rule and giving me part of the answer.

He said "the army people" and got buzzed.

If he had JUST said, soldiers..scouts..waiters..cops..I might have said, "PEOPLE who wear a uniform?"

(Jim will post the second part later)

Rick Hurst's screw up is not what mortifies me though.

It was my voice!!

I sound like a mouse.

Or a twelve year old.

Or a twelve year old who swallowed a mouse.

And that Philly accent!!

OMG, I make Stallone sound like a cast member of "Downton Abbey"

I think I invented the Philly-speak, "okay" where that word sounds like it's being said in a foreign tongue. 

 My voice was higher than Snoop Dogg.

It was still a nice memory, and I'm still in shock that it survived all those decades in that little yellow box.

It could have been strangled by cables and user manuals and inkless pens if it played it's cards right.

Oh..and don't even get me started on all the yellowing decks of cards we found...

Stayed tuned for more "Pyramid" after a word from our local sponsor, "Geritol"

I thought I’d never ever see this movie..

I recall, probably a dozen years ago or so, once  trying to navigate, thus blocking,  an icy incline that led from our hotel room to the dining hall at Woodloch, when a fellow guest looked at me, and uttered quietly but still loud enough to hear the sarcasm and contempt in his voice, "hey lady..breakfast closes in ten minutes.  Move it along there, Swifty"

Now I can legit call myself just that, after spending the afternoon with Jim and about a thousand teenyboppers, donned in glitter and carrying their glow sticks like mighty swords, at the perfectly delightful Taylor Swift "Eras" movie.

These young girls were cult-like in their love for their idol--good for them!

 I could barely hear Taylor over their adolescent, strained voices, charred from scalding hot cheese on their movie theater  nachos, but they did not care.  They danced, they sang, they worshipped at her feet with her dozen pairs of glittery  high heeled boots.

They knew every lyric too..My God, I barely remember the words to patriotic songs that I was REQUIRED to learn when I was their age!

I needed those tweens to interpret every heartfelt sentiment for me. 

 I'm hard of hearing to begin with(and Jim is no better) when it comes to hearing stage  lyrics,  and I'd old enough to be the bitter, jaded grandmother of Taylor's, the one  that possibly  inspires most of her break-up songs.

At one point I nudged Jim and whispered, after seeing all the color and pageantry and glitz and glamour and rapid costume changes that, "I don't think we're in Kansas City anymore."

I was distracted(but never bored) when an unfamiliar hit was played, so I looked for imperfections in her skin(and found not a single one) or familiar faces in the Los Angeles auditorium. (again..no luck--not even a quick shot of Kanye West, ready to storm the stage and promote a Beyonce concert)

I only know songs from the 60's--Motown or Broadway or TV themes songs, but these Swifties didn't miss a beat--or the chance to scream like a bunch of wild banshees.

I only was familiar with two of her hits: "Shake it Off" and "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together", which, when sung by this choir of cherry-coked-up swaying super fans, , sounded like, "we are never..EVER..gonna get good weather"..or.."we are never..EVER..making up with Heather"..or, what Jim heard, "we are never..EVER..going to lose... a feather."

Jim was happy because the movie got his mind off of all the stresses caused by Fantasy Football.

I was happy because I needed to see a wonderful musical after the dud we saw in the theater last night.

Yep, Taylor and her Swifties got the sour taste of "Dicks" out of my mouth.

Too soon?

Masterpiece vs Master piece of …

You'd think that someone like me, with a head full of useless trivia who actually remembered what Kate Winslet served at her first wedding, would use that useless information to solve today's 

 "Connections"..but you'd be wrong.

Bloody fiddlesticks!!

My first miss!

(But I got the Wordle in three)

Now I'm gonna be up all night, worried about tomorrow's missed Connection.

We saw two movies yesterday, because it was a Saturday, which meant it was obviously raining.

One is going to sweep the Oscars(deservedly so!) and the three-plus hours spent in the theater felt like a lot less, as movie goers got a history lesson and witnessed unparallelled acting.

The other was like a bad SNL sketch,  a filthy episode of "Schmigadoon!" if "Schmigadoon!" hired terrible writers and actors. 

 They probably crossed a lot of picket lines when making the latter..it's obvious that  literal and figurative scabs were hired.

OK..before I reveal the titles, let me give you a sample of dialogue and see if you can tell what belonged in what movie.

"Only five people in this state can get insulin, and you're one of them!"

or...

"I've been housebound ever since my p*ssy literally fell off and walked away"

OK..One more hint..

In one movie, you actually saw insulin being injected; the other had a close up of the errant female body part which took flight to torment its owner.

Give up?

Go see Oscar front runner  "Killers of the Flower Moon" but make sure you're well rested and that your bladder is empty.

Then get yourself nice and stoned, call up the biggest moron you know, the kind that laughs at homophobic slurs, and get them to go see "Dicks: The Musical!" later that night.

Nathan Lane and Megan Mullally have wonderful Broadway voices,  and  I bet they'll both sing like canaries when they're ordered, under oath, to testify who forced them to make this insane movie.

I think we would have been more entertained staring at "Dicks: The Sporting Goods" sign for ninety minutes.

It's a masterpiece vs. masturbate..the choice is yours. 

(Or choose both..what else are you going to do in all this rain?)

The doctor is in

I woke up today and my heart is still filled with sadness; my brain occupied with tragic thoughts of war.

 I need to give myself a break, so I'll try to write a light-hearted, funny post, and when I only get three charity "like" clicks and one or  two comments, I'll have an excuse to feel... sadness all over again??

Combine those feelings with the mixed(mostly guilty) ones about my born again religiousity, and it's no wonder I'm a bit of a hot mess.

 I HAVE to stop feeling like a hypocrite.

 I had an American  flag on lawn for at least a month after 9/11, but did  eventually taking it down, or refusing to wear a future MAGA hat, make me less patriotic?  

I AM still Jewish, even after eating jumbo shrimp in the Thai place last Saturday, because jumbo shrimp's delicious and also, an oxymoron.

So now I'm making a random segue to rant about... doctors.

Not the GOOD Marcus Welby/Joel Fleischman kind who love their jobs, or the many friends I have on Facebook that are compassionate physicians.

 I'm talking about the type I personally attract.

I attract doctors who shrug their shoulders, tell me to lose weight, write a scrip for something useless, and then bill my insurance company for something like $8,966.66.

I've been letting this itchy scalp drive me to madness--the kind of madness that makes me blog about personal, TMI stuff that I shouldn't be sharing, but when it started pairing with hair loss and itchy ears, I decided to call a highly recommended dermatologist.

I expected a diagnosis of something gross that nobody can spell, like eczema or psoriasis, or that I'd be told that my hair is too fat and NEEDED to do some shedding.

I dreaded even being in this  particular medical building..last time I was here was for a colonoscopy a few years ago, where the smug doctor came into his office and told me I had IBS, and then I told him that I did NOT, in fact, have that, because I was NOT a seventy two year old man named Jose Reyes, the chart he was currently looking at.

No, this doctor--the dermatologist--was pleasant enough, but geez, Louise!!  

The amount of paper work I had to complete just to be seen was obscene!

I waited in the exam room for twenty minutes, bored out of my itchy mind, afraid to get up and find something to read, because knowing me, I'd be caught snooping through Jose Reyes' chart again.

Then I thought I answered the new patient form incorrectly, checking "no" for the "history of anxiety" question, because I was getting just that,  anxious, waiting for my scheduled appointment, you know, when the doctor walks in, shrugs her shoulder, examines you for ten seconds without any instruments, and tells you "it's dandruff, but that doesn't mean you're unhygienic or unclean"

Dandruff????  

I'm not seeing snowflakes..I might BE a snowflake..but that crap's not coming out in my brush!

Dandruff???

I filled out a tome the size of the "Grey's Anatomy" physician's desk reference in the lobby  so you could tell me what a bottle of Head n Shoulders I bought from CVS would tell me?

Would I have to fill out five-ten pages of medical history to get something at friggin' CVS??

(No..only the receipt would be that length)

The form asked totally irrelevant stuff like, "have you EVER had depression?"

("Yes..I lived through 9/11, this awful week, and I'm spending my morning filling out this form")

Did I EVER have a stomach ache? Skin rash?  Fungus?

Or worse, did anyone in my FAMILY EVER have a toe fungus or  anxiety or depression?

(Tell ya what, doc..let me go find stuff to conduct a seance with, and I'll ask my Dad, who died in 1989, if he was depressed when the Flyers lost the Stanley Cup that playoff year)

Seriously??  You need to know about my mental health history?

OK..I attracted sociopaths in my twenties... I was an insecure, pathetic idiot..what's that have to do with my current  itchy scalp?

Again, this doctor was perfectly pleasant after her ten second exam and her eight minute clinical definition of what dandruff is, but I walked out of there unsatisfied and itchy.

(Like I did with those aforementioned sociopaths I attracted in my twenties.)

She wrote a scrip for a medicated shampoo that is the consistency of cold angel hair pasta.  It doesn't lather up and it is not going to result in people walking by me, sniffing my head and smiling and saying, "Gee..Your Hair Smells Terrific"..the shampoo I used in my twenties that apparently attracts bad guys.

This  product would result in a chorus of, "Gee..Your Hair Smells Mediocre"

Okay, enough Detail about my Day at the Dermatologist.

Reliving the Details makes my skin crawl, but I hope it made you chuckle..for once..this week.

Also, I am not using the angel hair spaghetti  shampoo when we go to Mexico in December.

  Assuming we're not kidnapped at the airport, I need the sulfate-free kind.

One that works with the chemical  straightening treatment I plan to get before the trip.  There's enough to worry about in Cancun, I don't want to concentrate on unruly cowlicks.

I'm hoping I wrote my own cure for the blues today..

Now if I could just refrain from turning on the TV...

Warm hugs

Thank you, Facebook family, for the warmest hug, a hug that said that my pain is real; that my guilt over this born-again spirituality is relatable and perfectly okay, that we're all doing what we can here just to stay afloat, like we all did on September 12, 2001, and the days, weeks, and decades that followed.

I woke up once again  with nothing but war on my mind, and I drifted off to sleep last night the same , filled with profound sadness and  endless loop of "what ifs" and "what's next?"

Kudos to "SNL" for returning live after a long  five months of the writers' strike, and   hats off to them addressing current events with grace and sensitivity.

My guilt can't be THAT all consuming, because I enjoyed some amazing grilled  jumbo Thai shrimp (which isn't kosher) last night, and wonderful, kosher conversation with friends who made us laugh and made us think. 

(That was an interesting typo..I originally typed, "made us thin"),

We shared appetizers and concerns about family in Israel, before seguing onto the pleasant topic of Woodloch Pines vacations, and how many happy memories we've made there with family.

Being with like-minded friends is therapeutic. They allow you to be yourself, which makes you comfortable being the smartest, kindest, version of yourself.

Dinner was preceded by a fabulous matinee at New Jersey Rep, the small and intimate theater where original shows are staged that, like the company of good friends, make you laugh and make you think and entertain you while they give you a sense of calm. 

Catch "Welcome to Matteson" while it's still playing..it's one of the better productions we've seen.

Hug your children, your partner, your unknown Facebook friend. 

Listen to "Hatikvah" whenever you want to.

And never, ever, ever..forget.

Hatikvah.. hope

It hasn't been a full week yet, and I think of little else  but the war.

 It's the last thing on my mind when I drift off to sleep; the first thing I think about when I wake up.

I cannot stop hearing the voices of people I never met: seeing the faces of victims that are complete strangers to me.

 I'm even smelling  those horrible war-torn scents , and I don't even know what they'd actually smell like in reality.

 I'm constantly asking myself what this is rooted in. 

 I am spiritual and I'm a believer in the Golden Rule, but I have lapsed with so much  regarding  organized religion.

That's not a secret..I talk about it a lot in posts and/or blogging..

 I barely acknowledge all but secular holidays, I question a LOT about the  Law, I don't embrace  every tradition like so many of my friends do.

 I identify with my ancestors because I'm interested in their histories, their wry humor; their matzoh ball soup recipes.

Am I feeling this deep connect because of guilt?

Because I question??

 Because I no longer attend  religious services?  

Because I can only read a half-dozen words in Hebrew, even 'though as a kid, I loved the language and was fairly fluent in it?? 

I think the answer is seen in many of this week's Facebook  memes:  You don't have to be religious, or even Jewish, to be haunted by the atrocities  in the Holy Land. 

You have to be a human being..which hopefully, I still am???

 Even when I fear I'm a hypocritical one?

I'm weepy all the time now.  Every article makes me saturated with rage...this should never have happened!!

Listening to "Hatikvah" helps. 

 Encouraging friends to listen at the exact time, 9:18, every day, helps.

Customizing heart-felt lyrics to the anthem has helped too.

Just now, I was scrolling through the Wikipedia pages and reading all about "Fiddler on the Roof."..I see so many similarities in the fictional and real life stories; what can happen when madness rears its ugly head.

I gave "Alexa" a break with a new request:

"Far From the Home I Love" is just as beautiful and stirring as "Hatikvah" and the message of hope is similar as well.

This song is sung by Tevye's second eldest daughter.  Hodel,  who is willing to sacrifice everything for the love of a man and for  his love of justice.  And through all the hardships they both are subjected to, they never lose hope.  Neither does her family. Neither should anyone who has followed the horrifying news this week.

It's my favorite song in the show.

I might actually bend a little tonight.

I might actually send prayers without questioning them.

It may not help them, the victims of this tragedy,  but it'll possibly... help me.

I’ve been a lunatic

I have been an absolute lunatic these past  few days, there's no need to point it out. 

My nerves are frayed, my nails are frayed, my cowlick is mercilessly laughing at me, and I missed an easy Wordle today.

 I cannot stop replaying horrid scenarios in my head, even though I want to ..and sort of.... don't want to??

Last night I was screaming at the idiots on "Celebrity Jeopardy" as 'though they could actually hear me. Alex Trebek would not have tolerated these inane, witless comments from the peanut gallery via "celebrities" who couldn't even get the answer right if the question was, "what's your name?" or.."what's your name, and respond without a stupid side comment if that's possible?"

Yes, I've been a lunatic, sharing thousands of videos that make me believe that the guy who spends a fortune on masking tape and  crepe paper and balloons and bags of cookies every week to create wonderful family game nights could actually make every grey sky turn blue; could one day  result in less war.

Like there's a kid primed for terrorism somewhere who says, "Gee Dad..what do you say we put the bomb making kit aside for now and just play with these cool  water guns?" and the Dad says, "sure kiddo..let's have some laughs and some family camaraderie and nobody will ever be pissed off again about a mosque."

Sometimes I can take tragic global news with a grain of salt, other times I cannot.

I cried for a week when the Challenger exploded in 1986.

I sent Yoko a four page letter after the senseless assassination of an icon, hoping it would reach her, even though I addressed the envelope with just  her name and "The Dakota, New York City."

I couldn't watch coverage of Sandy Hook, especially when I initially believed it was the Sandy Hook here  in New Jersey, the one with the nude beach.  The one I accidentally stumbled upon  years ago, in autumn,  and befriended the Big Kahuna, telling him I'd be too self conscious to come here on purpose, to which he replied, "lady..you'd be the skinniest woman here if you did."

I sent poems about every victim to Sandy Hook Elementary, because it's all I felt I could do. (Besides becoming an anti-gun protester who has made donations to the right causes.)

I was all consumed by 9/11 coverage, crying non-stop, making my shy kid, then six years old, hug the mom of his classmate who made a brave escape from the 86th floor.

I'm emotional to begin with, but there are some things that gut me, and I need to share my thoughts in a public forum.

So thanks for baring with me as I bare my soul.

I did not write customized lyrics to "Hatikvah" to boast about my aptitude for rhyming, or to compete with Stephen Sondheim. I did so because the big 'ole heart I wear on my sleeve told me to do so.

At 2:00 AM.

While the rest of the world tried to sleep.

Jim and I reminded Alexa to play "Hatikvah" at 9:18, EST, last night, and we will do this every night.

We will try to find peace in our hearts, even when peace in the world is like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Hug your kids, even if they're grown-ups.

Buy that crepe paper and set up a maze on your kitchen table.

Do whatever it takes...and remember to Stand for Israel.

Today, tomorrow, and always.

Shalom,

Karen..

All our hearts are shattered

At 2:00 AM, I knew that sleep would be elusive, that the horrific news from the other side of the world would be replayed on a constant loop in my mind.

I'm not the only one.

At least, that's what I convinced myself.

It's 2:00 AM, and I am gutted.

 My husband and dog are quietly snoring, they cannot be disturbed.

I don't dare go downstairs to try to find something to stream or something to nosh on.  They cannot soothe me, not  now, nor can anything on my neglected kindle.

I  try to make sense of the senseless but cannot. I find some comfort knowing last night's Facebook post touched some of my  friends

I thought of the early days of Covid, when viewers of my local affiliate in New York would gather on their balconies in unison, every night, at the same time, to bang on kitchen pots and pans, to show support for the brave medical personnel  on the front line.

That led me to my second thought, that I shared and posted, that the world should do likewise, even those of us without balconies or decent  singing voices..

I encouraged all my friends to join in at a set time, to sing for all the victims of this tragedy, to sing the most beautiful of all the worlds' national anthems, Israel's "Hatikvah."

Friends were receptive and shared my post, but I still couldn't sleep.

It was only a symbolic gesture, I knew that, but still..the song is tough to sing. So many high notes. So much required diction. So much mastery of the native Hebrew  tongue.

And then I did what most insomniacs don't do.

I didn't snack, or read a book, or try to solve the Wordle.

Instead, I wrote custom lyrics to "Hatikvah" which I want to share here now.

If you like these words, learn them. 

Sing them.

Share them.

If you know a cantor or any singer, have them make a recording and put it on YouTube. 

We can send prayers and we can sing our hearts out.

At this point, it's all we pretty much CAN do.

"Hatikvah" inspired song for the fallen: 

All our hearts are shattered..everyone has cried..

all these souls... mattered..no one should.. have died...

All the world is broken..there's so much despair..

each voice has spoken: "Life is so unfair"

Chorus:

O, dear Israel..all those Angels killed..

O, dear Israel--let's vow to rebuild...

Let's sing "Hatikvah"..

every night--each week, we must..

sing now, together, we're weathering the storm...

let's sing for Israel..all our efforts cannot fail..

Love HER, protect HER...put on HER uniform.

I even wrote a second verse to give you more options.  You can sing one, both..or neither.

 But hear this music in your soul.

O, our Dearest Israel...United we MUST stand..

our hearts have reached out..to the Holy Land..

Wave the Star of David flag...let's wear blue and white

Let's stand with Israel..let's begin tonight

Chorus:

O, dear Israel.."Hat-ik-vah" means "hope"..

let's join hands now..as we try to cope..

Every religion..every Christian, every Jew

must make a promise.... to ..stand up.. for you

Let each lost hero..every angel  from above..

embrace you, dear Israel..and shower you.. with love.

Thanks for reading.

Love, Karen