Journey to Darkness

Journey to Darkness

Life brings us difficulty and hardship along the way, and we hope we learn and then move on…

Outside the ground is covered with snow. A big snowstorm is expected this weekend. Snow and ice are anathema for an old woman in a wheelchair. If I could get out to begin with.

I found myself staring at the blank tv screen. Most of my day is filled with silence. I love my wife dearly, but she is a true introvert, involved mostly with her projects, quite happy to be at home to pursue such endeavors. A few guests pop in from time to time. Help with a chore now impossible, on maybe 3 or 4 guests to visit and chat since early November. How I treasure those moments, fleeting though they may be.

So how did I reach this stage in my life? I’m a person who loves to be out and about, sharing time and stories with other people. My wife laughingly refers to me as the social butterfly. Learning, enjoying activities at shul or elsewhere makes me so happy. Even in a wheelchair, I could load it into the trunk and head out to wherever life beckoned. On November 1st, it all changed. I was loading the chair in the trunk. After several false starts with the doctor, an MRI was done and I had additional spinal damage that took away all the strength I had in my good leg.

Did I mention we live in an upstairs apartment, the stairs being steep and treacherous? Save for doctor visits, I am captive to these lonely oppressive walls. Coming back from the last doctor visit, as I negotiated the stairs, I became very dizzy. The world was spinning and I sat down and lay back but I felt myself losing consciousness and I reacted by leaning forward, initiating what could have been a long tumble down the stairs, but for the fact my right leg, the one now affected by my back issues, got caught on the stair and I proceeded to be a perfect imitation of a human pretzel, hanging on for dear life knowing that if I let go, well perish the thought. Robin managed to grab my coat, holding on for dear life as I reorganized all my body parts. Muscles overstretched, but they are healing nicely.

So I am wrestling with my place in time. How many YouTube videos can a person watch, or movies, or whatever? A new and very unfamiliar guest has arrived. I never was one to experience depression, something new to cope with. Unexpected tears for no particular reason. “Move,” people say. And how do I do that, the two of us confined in this space unable to go and look. I am starting to sort some stuff, things to toss and things to give away. Hopefully I can find volunteers when I’m ready to unload some of that. I’m doing Daf Yomi, a page a day of the Talmud which takes about 7 ½ years. I read when I can, but pain makes that difficult sometimes. Oh yeah, my pain levels increased in this latest incident. But I cope.

Sleep is my best friend. There my mind can wander, meet new people and see new things, and these walls disappear for a few hours. There is life, and then there is life worth living. As old age and loneliness takes its toll, I wonder where that life worth living can be found? If it can be found? Oh how I do not want to become that person sitting in the chair waiting for that final hour to provide blessed escape. In my heart there is so much life I wish to live. I’d doing the exercises, my part in trying to restore that place. Meanwhile a tear appears, wondering if it will happen at all. For some reason, a very dark poem I wrote many years ago during dark times comes to mind. I will share it here. I transcended it before. Perhaps I shall again.

AIMLESSLY

Like a fish on its side, body still, moved only by the motion about...
Bloated white-gilled swollen amidst the waves.
Currents driving towards, then washing away
But the fish cares not, senses dulled by time.
The flies swarm, waiting for their banquet to wash ashore,
The flesh willingly gives of itself, a feast
To vermin that wait for what they deserve least.
It matters not, no great concern. Serenity has found the fish.
The furious feeding on its entrails proceeds
For they feed on the rotting carcass of solace.

The struggle is over, for the fish has
Surrendered to the bottom feeders;
Its breathless form a delight to those
Who feverishly rip it apart for its peace.
A piece of peace, for the strongest and most ruthless,
Swarming fury, then emptiness.
They have found what the fish has already known.
Bones sink to the ocean floor, some wash ashore
And peace silently waits
To be discovered once more.

Jessica Wicks
copyright October, 1999

Age's Steep Ascent

I can’t put it aside any longer. I prepare to carry down the week’s garbage. Slowly I move bags filled and with an aroma best not described towards the door. I love old homes and my apartment is an old 19th century dwelling, filled with history, character, stories told and untold. What I do not love is their penchant for building steep stairs to enter and leave.

Situating myself in the doorway, holding firmly to the rail for these old legs tend to give way on occasion, I carefully drag the bags down those steps, through the breezeway, and out the side door. By then I’m already weary from pain and bones riddled with arthritis, spine with discs pushing against nerves and back bent with age, and still a few more steps off the porch. Carefully I sit down for a moment, resting and rising again, put the garbage in their proper cannister. It’s time to go back up. On the first step my leg gives and the rail supports me, a short prayer of gratitude, before continuing. If the steps were bad going down, the journey back even more so. One step at a time. Pain radiates up my leg, through the groin, into the small of the back. Then the next step. Same thing. Slowly I ascend.

I’ve a special name for those last three steps. Shit… Hell…F__k, and Damn. Still, as I rise, the light for the apartment beckons. Promise of rest and relaxation. My wheelchair sitting nearby. A short distance to a waiting recliner. I embrace each step. Shit… three more to go. Hell… Okay I know we Jews don’t believe in Hell aside from the hell we find on earth. Still this pain. F__k, and Damn I’m almost there. The light beckons me up and within. A sigh of relief for a journey once again.

So it occurred to me, my journey, discarding the garbage, struggling ever upward, is a metaphor for old age. One day there will be the final journey. Until then, I struggle. I prevail. Embracing both the pain and the light. Like so many before me and so many who will come after.

My Conversion to Judaism : Beit Din and Mikvah

So came the final day. I'd studies so hard over the past year, and deeply involved in synagogue life. At 71 my memory is not what it used to be, but repetition helps until it sticks. I've learned the Hebrew alphabet and some words, working with my chavruta partner. "The Way" that is the holidays of the year, memorizing various blessings, and most important, making may home a Jewish home in partnership with my wife who is not Jewish. It's been an amazing time, driven by a passion postponed for many years. See my last blog post entitled A Conversion Story that says why it was delayed for so long.

But finally the day arrived. We arrived at the Mikvah location where we met up with the three rabbis from Shir Tikvah. My high school buddy Steve who is a Rabbi flew up to participate as well. To say I was nervous was an understatement. Compounding it, the day itself was one of my "fuzzy" days. Something old people sometimes get when the mind is not firing on all cylinders. My wife sat in as did my witness and chavruta partner Kerry who was there to confirm to the rabbis (assuming I got past the Beit Din) that I indeed completely submerged in the Mikvah. In retrospect, I am not too happy about some of my answers, leaving out what I consider important details. But after questioning me on a range of topics related to Judaism and my own Jewish practice, they excused themselves for a short conference, then returned and welcomed me to the tribe, offering special blessings for the moment, then singing a resounding "Mazel Tov and Siman Tov:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hlcHA6bP8o

Then it is time to go to the Mikvah. First I enter the dressing room to prepare. My wife is there to assist. I remove carefully all clothing. I am to enter the Mikvah totally naked as the day I was born, for indeed I am in a sense reborn as a Jew. I shower and make sure I am completely clean. No cosmetics, clean finger nails and toenails. Each step involves a meditation. There is a word called kavanah, or intention. There are seven kavanot for preparation:

Mayyim Hayyim’s Seven Kavanot for Mikveh Preparation

The Holy One created the world in six days, but made it complete with Shabbat, the seventh day. The number seven suggests wholeness and represents the creative process. Seven steps lead into the mikveh.

These seven kavanot - preparatory meditations - are offered in the hope that your immersion will provide you a sense of shleimut or wholeness and peace.

1. Hineni. Here I am.

Take a minute and think about the transition mikveh will help you mark today.

Immersion in the mikveh represents a spiritual transformation from one state to another. In traditional language, your change is from ritually unready (tameh) to ritually ready (tahor). Prepare yourself by writing in a journal, or saying a personal prayer, or reading something of meaning to you. Breathe deeply. Sigh audibly.

2. Hiddur Mitzvah. The unadorned body is beautiful in itself.

Remove all jewelry as well as makeup, paying special attention to the eyes. Remove nail polish on fingers and toes. (Acrylics may stay on if they have been on for more than a month.)

There is no need for adornment or artifice in the mikveh. There should be no physical barriers between the body and the living waters.

3. Nekavim nekavim. You fashioned the human being intricate in design.

Empty your bladder.

Our tradition celebrates and blesses the body in every possible moment and mode.

4. B’tzelem Elohim. I am made in the image of God.

Remove all clothing, eyeglasses, contact lenses, dental plates, hearing aids.

Each person enters the mikveh as naked as the day of his birth, as the day of her birth. Without rank or status. Simply a human being. Gloriously a human being.

5. Elohai neshama shenatata bi tehorah hi. The soul in me is pure.

Shower or bathe with thoughtful attention to the miracle of your own body. Pay attention to every part of yourself. Wash yourself, head to toe; shampoo your hair, lather your shoulders, back, arms, belly, and genitals. Scrub elbows, knees and heels, removing calluses and dead skin. Wash between fingers and toes.

Relax and enjoy. The water of the mikveh will feel even sweeter after this.

6. Kol haneshama t’halel yah. The breath of every living thing praises You.

Clean your ears, blow your nose, brush and floss your teeth, rinse your mouth.

Stand before the mirror. Consider all of your senses. Look into your own eyes and smile. Think about the words that come from your mouth.

7. Tikkun Olam. We can stand for justice; we can build a world of peace and justice.

Clean under your nails - toenails, too. (Nails do not need to be cut.)

Consider the power of your hands and feet to create wholeness in your life, in our world.

When you enter the mikveh do not rush. Walk slowly. Count the seven steps into
the water, stopping on each one. Relax into the embrace of the water, into
whatever the next moment may hold for you.

In the mikveh, every body is a sacred vessel.

So I begin entering the Mikveh. With each step, a flood of memories wash over me. Of the completion of a decades held dream. The oft used phrase is joining the tribe. It really was a simcha, an celebration, but also an obligation to be held dearly. I remember each step into the warm waters, all the while awash in feelings of joy, love, and fulfilled desire. Down I went and submerged the first time. I remained under a few seconds, then recited:

Baruch atah Adonay Eloheinu melekh ha-olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu al ha-t'vilah.

Blessed are you, Eternal God, ruler of the universe, who sanctifies us through mitzvot and has enjoined us concerning immersion.

Then I submerge a second time for a few moments:

Sh'ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad.

HEAR O ISRAEL, THE ETERNAL OUR GOD, THE ETERNAL IS ONE!

Then I submerge the third time:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheynu melekh ha-olam, shehekheyanu, v'kiy'manu, v'higianu, la-z'man ha-zeh.

Blessed is the Eternal, the God of all creation, who has blessed me with life, sustained me, and enabled me to reach this moment.

In this moment, I am fully Jewish. Kerry awaits with a towel and somewhat dizzy from the flush of emotion, I return to the dressing room. We visit a few minutes outside, then Steve, Kerry, my wife and I head for Cecil's deli for a celebration. It was an amazing day which I will never forget. I still glance at my certificate of conversion and a wide smile appears. A new journey lies ahead.

A Conversion Story: My Journey to Judaism

For many years I have been a part of a church community at First Universalist. It's a wonderful community, deeply devoted to social justice and radical inclusion, and friendships made there will last a lifetime. Still I chose to convert to Judaism, not because of any dissatisfaction, but rather from a deep seated desire over many decades. When a person converts, there is a period of deep study and participation before a Beit Din (Rabbinical Court) is convened, and if they say yes, the person enters the Mikveh (ritual bath) and is fully Jewish. It's a major life change and one I have entered into seriously. Towards the end of our period of study (though study actually continues for a lifetime), I was asked to write a short piece on why I choose Judaism. Here I am sharing what I wrote:

Why I Choose Judaism

History:

My exposure early in life to Jewish practice was minimal. I did have some aunts and uncles who were deeply involved in the early history of the State of Israel, evangelists who for their reasons supported and funneled substantial resources towards Eretz Israel. I saw slide presentations and heard the stories from their repeated journeys there. I had family who were actually there during the six -day war and later the Yom Kippur war. Several classmates were Jewish as well. As a liberal in Tyler, Texas, while attending the UU congregation, there were so few liberals and we tended to cling together with our progressive Jewish brothers and sisters in mutual support, working for our common vision of the world we dreamed.

However, I think I first really became enamored with serious Jewish teaching in a research project studying the Holocaust. My goal at first was to try and understand why it happened and could it happen again. Seen a gay man wrestling with gender identity as well at the time, I knew people like me had been sent to the death camps. I wanted to know why, and could it happen again.

While researching, I learned of the historical, religious, and cultural histories of the Jewish people along with other oppressed groups, and the more I read, well, Judaism resonated deeply. I wasn’t Christian, so no issue there. I wasn’t an Atheist either. I fell in love with Jewish belief and practice. Studying alone from the late seventies (I know this because a new book came out around that time… The First Jewish Catalogue) and into the eighties, I felt I would like to convert. Friends in my LGBTQ community in Houston who were Jewish however said as a gay man, much less trans, conversion wasn’t really possible. Not there, not then anyway. So, I shrugged and set it aside. Over the ensuing years, I tried various Christian denominations, then returned to Unitarian Universalism, the best compromise as a faith community for someone who’s not Christian and can’t be Jewish.

Until recently. My interest in Judaism never waned and I would perk whenever the subject would come up. But it wasn’t until this past year that I learned of changes that had occurred within Reform Judaism. I read of inclusion for LGBTQ folks, and I realized being Jewish was a possibility. I contacted Rabbi Latz and told him I wished to convert and set up our first meeting.

What attracts me to Judaism:

1. I love how we wrestle with Torah, the evolution of faith making our belief relevant in our own time.

2. Marking the passages of time. Seeing G_d within time even as we occupy space, and using that time to reflect on those moments, whether in the daily services, Shabbat, the holidays and festivals or just because of a particular moment.


3. Prayer life. I’ve come to see Shabbat as the highlight of my week. I do daily prayers and it brings me a special peace within.

4. This is a faith that is not just about belief, but responsible action. The three three pillars t’shuvah, t’fillah, tzedakah, i.e. correcting a wrong, prayer, giving.

5. We are not simply a belief or religion. We’re a culture with a remarkably long history. It’s an amazing history. We are responsible for each other, and for the outside world as well. We have 613 mitzvot, a body of literature ranging from Torah, Prophets, Writings, Mishnah, Gemara, Midrash, Kabbalah, literature right up through today, all the while wrestling with our faith within today’s context. There’s an emphasis on study I find refreshing and invigorating. We have rituals both as individuals and as a community carrying us through our life journey.

6. For me personally, I believe in one G_d,

7. I love to sing the psalms, nigguns, and despite inability to carry a tune, I love song as prayer.

8. As a historian, the history of our people is one that has held my fascination since youth. The survival of our people is remarkable. There was the destruction of the Temple and the birth of Rabbinic Judaism. Or the rebirth of Hebrew outside of the ritual role within synagogues. I’ve followed archaeology in the area since the first issue came out of Biblical Archaeology Society so many years ago up to the recent discovery of a seal from King Hezekiah and what may be a seal from Isaiah from the same period. For me, it seems our culture is firmly based within our historical experience.


9. I love Torah study. I plan to continue studying Hebrew to hopefully reach that point where I can understand better the context of Tanach.

10. The communal nature of our faith. Chavruta, whether in twos or more.


11. Tikkun Olam, our responsibility to the world around us. That’s a faith statement and a call to action I hold dear.

12. My community. Shir Tikvah, yes, for it’s a community whose actions speak for themselves. But beyond that, the wider Jewish community as well. I love how Judaism is there from birth to the grave, with rituals to hold, comfort, and sustain us each step of the way as we hold each other in our journey through this life.

13. Traditions. Some hundreds and even thousands of years old. From the Mikvah to our Oral Torah, to rituals more alike than different.


14. I’ve just begun preparing for study of Zohar, and already I know I’ll have to add this to my list.

From that moment decades back when I felt the call to Judaism, that love never left. So “hineni,” here I am. I understand the history and know the worse and the best of being Jewish. I would choose nothing else. I am fulfilling a dream that has been with me for many decades now. My deepest desire, is that when I’m laid to rest, people will say, she was a good Jew.

Jessica Wicks
Yiskah Rachel Bat Avraham v’ Sarah

I cannot explain why the attraction has remained so strong over the years. But I can vouch that it feels so right, and I am where I belong. I will still go back to visit First Universalist, my former congregation. One does not suddenly drop people who have been community for so very long. But spiritually I belong where I'm at. In the next blog post I'll speak to the experience of Beit Din and the Mikveh, and what it meant to me.

In Memory of My Skip, RIP Beautiful Spirit!

It was on August 10, 1997, twenty years ago today, when my beloved partner and soulmate, Skip Wood, departed this world. How can I describe him? I know from day one, we could not get enough of each other, and we would talk into the wee hours. He had been a teacher, mostly in the Catholic School systems but also for a time with Spring ISD in Houston. He was brilliant, with a classical type education that included German, Latin, Classical Greek, English, Theology, Philosophy, and Music. He was well grounded in Classical Music and had befriended Sir John Barbirolli when he conducted the Houston Symphony. I had not begun transition yet, and when we met, it was electric. We simply could not stop chattering, I said then, like two school girls, telling our stories, and it was in short time after that, he moved in with me.

We shared so much together, and it was Skip who showed me a love I could not have imagined. For the coming years, our lives were so completely entwined. Skip lived with Rheumatoid Arthritis, and even after he could no longer work, he would greet me as the car drove up, and we would plan the evening’s adventures. I had never before known such happiness as I did when we were together. Even when I began transition, he did not run away. I will always remember the moment I sat down and talked with him about it. He paused a bit, said there was much he did not understand, but we could talk about it as we went along. Then he said, he loved me, and if this was what I needed to be happy, then he would support me. “Love is like that,” he smiled.

So many memories. Nights at EJ’s or later dinner at Charlies. We watched classic movies or gay theatrical films, or listen to music. We often entertained friends and our apartment became a bit of an open house for neighbors in our complex. I'm smiling even as I write this, remembering the non-stop drama in our small complex, akin to the fictional Barbary Lane so delightfully offered in Armistead Maupin's Tales of the City series. Or we would slip off for a romantic get away to the Hill Country or to Galveston, sometimes on a moment's notice.

Then in July of '97, he began to get visibly weaker and we didn't know why. His voice lowered to a whisper. The doctor put him on a regime of iv fluids to rebuild his immune systems. One night I heard a crash. I ran into the bathroom where he had collapsed to the floor. I ran to the neighbors to have them call the ambulance. I sat there beside him, checking his breathing and vitals and holding him and…

We arrived at the hospital, and after a violent seizure and a spinal tap, he slowly slipped into a coma. I sat with him in the hospital. Days became weeks, and we learned he had contracted viral encephalitis, a direct result of his compromised immunities, and those being compromised by the meds he took for his Rheumatoid Arthritis. Day after day, a watch in i.c.u. and no change. The nurses were so good, and I remember one day a doctor stopped by, asked about him and me, then quietly showed me his Lobo card, code that he was gay. We learned he was not getting better and to expect the worse. Oh I held him so close and even if in a coma, I would tell him the events of the day, and of course, so many times, sharing the love I felt for him. I recall then one night, Jimmy Carper at KPFT had me on the program and he and I did a tribute to Skip. The nurses at the hospital had turned on the radio for him to hear, even if in a coma. I got back to my apartment in the wee hours, only to get a call from the hospital. He’d taken a turn for the worse. I rushed back to the hospital, where I held him, told him how much I loved him, and told him if it was time to go, it was alright and I’d be okay. Okay I lied, but it needed to be done. Slowly he slipped away. August 10th 1997. It was 20 years ago now. The nurse came in, gave me ten more minutes with him, asking if anyone was there for me, then I left and the family and the priest walked in. I headed for the coffee shop where our favorite waiter asked about Skip and when I told him Skip was gone, he held me and we both cried. Then he played "I Will Survive" on the Jukebox.

With time and lots of love from my friends, it did get better. Each year at this time, I hold up his memory. I got a lovely letter after he passed from Lady Evelyn Barbirolli. He would have been so pleased she had done that. Months and years passed and life does go on, and I learned to appreciate all he had been in new and different ways and with new perspectives. After all, he gave me the greatest gift anyone could. He gave us our time together. More importantly, he taught me how to truly love. What a profoundly beautiful gift! I choose no longer to try and get over it, but rather honor it for the gift we had. Thank you Skip. Yes, I found love again. Yes, I love you. Love is like that after all, immortal even if we are not…

Dedicated to my True Renaissance Man...

SAY THEIR NAMES, 2017

It's 2017 and the pace of trans lives lost to violence has not slowed it's pace. Say their names. Hold those names in your heart. Join in working towards the day when such lists will no longer be required. This slaughter of trans persons, mostly women and overwhelmingly trans women of color must come to and end and soon!!!

1. Mesha Caldwell, 41 year old trans woman of color, found shot to death on a road near Canton, Mississippi on January 4, 2017.

2. Jamie Lee Wounded Arrow, 28 year old trans woman Native American member of Oglala Sioux tribe,found dead on January 6th in her apartment in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Police believe her death is a homicide.

3. JoJo Stryker, 23 year old trans woman of color found shot to death in a garage in Toledo, Ohio on February 8rd. Gunshot wound to the chest.

4. Jaquarrius Holland, 18 year old Trans woman of color, killed in Monroe, Louisiana shot after a verbal altercation on February 19th.. Originally she was misgendered in the press and that was not corrected until later.



5. KeKe Collier aka Tiara Richmond, 24 year old trans woman of color shot in a vehicle then dumped out on street in Chicago where police found her on February 23rd. She died hours later at the hospital.



6. Chyna Gibson, 31 year old trans woman of color shot several times in a shopping mall parking lot and found dead in New Orleans, La.



7. Ciara McElveen, 26 year old trans woman of color, stabbed and left on the road in New Orleans, La on February 27. She died later in the hospital.

Thoughts on Saturday's Women's March in St. Paul

A few days have passed since Saturday’s march, giving me time to absorb what all happened that day. Our purpose was pretty clear I think. Following the inauguration of a president who objectifies and physically assaults women, who wants to dismantle health care as we know it, destroy the environment, and a laundry list we all are familiar with.

So yes, the march was political. The political has become personal in our time. So many have reason to be concerned. Immigrants, Muslims, Jews, Lesbian Bisexual and Gays, Transgender people like me, People of color, Women, Disabled Americans, all who have in the past been marginalized. But for the first time, many who felt comfortable in their cisgender, heterosexual, white identities stand to lose as well.

I was grateful to be able to attend. In a wheelchair, I needed others to assist. We gathered to fill up four buses at church. Turns out many volunteered to push me. We sang and prepared for the day to come.

Whenever 100,000 human beings come together in the spirit of justice and with hearts centered in love, it transcends beyond simply political. It was a spiritual experience. Here we were, packed together like sardines, and one would expect crankiness, especially after standing in place for an hour. But rather there was laughter, sharing, planning for the future, and a firm commitment to action understanding this was but the beginning. The crowd began to move, and I had no clue where I was and others had said the same, but we moved, this mass of humanity and yet space was made for my wheelchair (and another we encountered along the way. Old and young, disabled and able bodied, a truly eclectic crowd moving towards our goal. Then we rounded a turn and ahead was the capitol and the view was breathtaking. Later some news media wanted to portray the size of the crowd by comparing it to the RNC protests. But see, I attended those protests and they were no where near the size of this one.

Personal disclosure here, I am by nature an empath. I feel the emotions of those around me. I have to say that on this day, I felt so much energy, so much love that it was overwhelming, in the best sense of course

We live in a world of identity politics, and that is important. As a trans woman, I have to speak clearly about the issues facing my community. I saw some speaking through their signage about the separations they feel and the discrimination they encounter in this country. Yes black lives do matter. Privilege by some is real. What I was seeing on that Saturday was that we all have intersections and by fighting for ALL of us, by loving ALL of us, together we make an impressive response to a president who seems unable to see beyond his own ego and shows little respect for anyone but other greedy billionaires. The energy that day by these huge crowds of women and men was palpable. Here lies the strength to undo the harm since this past election. It depends on all of us to continue to organize, to continue to look out for each other and to grow even larger this community of women and men committed to justice, and we can create the world we dream of.

Make no mistake, the forces of evil currently occupying the halls of power will not yield easily. But if we continue what we began Saturday, then we will prevail. Each of us can ask, what gifts do we have to serve the cause? How do we grow this community? For some it will be civil disobedience. For others protests. We all can call and visit our elected officials and hold them accountable. Officials who don’t seem to be able to serve their constituency needs to be replaced. Some will blog, write op-eds, others may be skilled public speakers. We must organize, organize, and organize. As community, we look out for each other, providing sanctuary, provide safe space for self-care, whatever is needed. But to quote something my pastor said, all of us can love the hell out of each other. This is our time in history. How we respond will be the measure of our futures to come. We must resist and we must prevail. All I can say is bring it on!