Frum N' Flipping

I don't think I'd be able to write this now, even if I tried. I found some scraps of paper, which I wrote during Shnat Avel, and put them all together. And sorry about this sad streak of posts. Someone asked me for an essay about mourning, by special request. The Day He dies. Death. You think it's the worst thing that can possibly be, the end, to everything. It's not real. It's a dream, a nightmare. You're sure you'll wake up soon. You are numb. The Week Slowly you feel again. You thought mourning was sadness, you weren't expecting the pain. You feel pain, you live pain. All of your being is pain. There is no escape. You can't shut it out, you can't let it out. You don't cry, because if you start to cry, you'll never stop. No rainfall of tears will ever be enough. The Month It hurts to see the sun shine, to hear people laugh at a joke. All you can manage is a wan smile. Everything seems unimportant, trivial. Daily life pales...

"You're going where ?!" A score of faces turn to me in horror. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to bring this up at the Shabbos table. "It's a conference. For work." "You want to go to Germany? Of all places!" "I don't want to go to Germany. But that's where the conference is going to be. In Berlin." "So don't go." "But it's for work. I need to go. You know I'd never go just for a vacation." "You don't need to go. You want to go. Nobody is forcing you." "Well yes. OK. True. I could skip the conference entirely. But I really want to give a presentation there. It's a great opportunity." "Work. Phuh. IBM also justified being in Germany before the war, they also said it's just for work." "This isn't the same thing. Germany is the least anti-Semitic country in Europe at the moment." Even in my ears it sounds lame. I feel I'm playing devil...