Holidays: Feeling the Joy, Missing the Roots

Israel is a place where holidays are full of meaning and unity. When the memorial sirens sound, my heart stops for a moment along with the whole country. On Independence Day, my heart cheers and celebrates with everyone. On holidays, I feel truly happy for everyone else's happiness.

But there’s another side to it — loneliness. Loneliness is something every immigrant knows too well, and it feels especially strong during the holidays. It’s that feeling of being an outsider, even when everyone around is celebrating together.

It’s not that I don’t want to feel part of the celebrations — it’s just that I’m still a newcomer here. On regular days, it’s easier to feel like I belong: work, studying, and daily life make it feel more natural. But when it’s a holiday, I can’t help but feel a bit out of place. These aren’t my victories, my songs, or my pride.

I really do share the country’s happiness, but for me, holidays also bring a sense of being on the outside looking in. I’m learning to appreciate being here, while also trying to make peace with the feeling of being a bit alone. Maybe that’s just part of the journey of living far from home.

Freedom

 “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice. Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.” 

— Barry Goldwater

We’ve grown used to fearing extremes. We fear being too passionate, too direct, too sharp. The word extremism has become frightening — it's slapped onto anything that crosses the boundaries of what’s comfortable, approved, or moderate.

Moderation, on the other hand, sounds like wisdom. Like maturity. But is it? Sometimes, moderation is just a polite word for surrender.

And extremism — it isn’t always violence. Sometimes, it’s conviction. Refusal to be silent. Willingness to be inconvenient.

Not everything done in the name of freedom is truly free. Just as North Korea (Democratic People's Republic of Korea) misuses the word democratic, others misuse freedom to justify control, exclusion, even repression. Some who call themselves freedom fighters are really defenders of domination. That’s why clarity matters. Language matters. Because there can be no freedom for the enemies of freedom.

Ask Me What I Read, I’ll Tell You Who I Am

When I lived in Russia, there was one question I always asked new people — especially while dating. I genuinely wanted to understand who they were, especially in the context of everything happening around us. I didn't ask straightaway: “What’s your political agenda?” And definitely not: “What do you think of Putin?” — God forbid. That one could get you in trouble if asked too early, in the wrong tone, to the wrong person. You never knew who was listening. And the person in front of you might not trust you yet.

The safer — and strangely more revealing — question was: “What media do you follow?”

It always worked. People liked answering it. Reading and scrolling didn’t feel dangerous — not yet. But their answer told you everything. Who they trusted. How they thought. Whether they lived in the same version of reality as you.

Because in an authoritarian system, media doesn’t exist to inform. It exists to build one unwavering narrative: the greatness of the Leader. Everything else bends to fit that.

Let me show you what that looks like.

A few months ago, Russian state media proudly reported that a former hostage — an Israeli-Russian citizen held by Hamas — had come to Moscow to meet with Putin. Photos showed him stiffly shaking the president’s hand. State outlets praised the Kremlin’s “diplomatic success,” even quoting Putin thanking Hamas for their “humane treatment” of hostages.

Let that sink in.

Now, read an independent source — if you can still find one. You’ll learn that the man had watched his father be murdered on October 7th. He’d been shot in both legs. Dragged through a tunnel into Gaza. And now he’s standing next to the man who thanked his captors, being used in a photo-op to glorify Russian diplomacy.

At some point, you start to wonder: what do you have to do to that man to make him walk into that room? In a twisted way, Putin doesn’t just control the narrative. He holds the entire country hostage — even those who’ve already escaped captivity once.

So how does Russian media cover Israel? It depends entirely on who’s paying. Tell me the funding source, and I’ll tell you the headline.

The people reading these different versions of the same story no longer speak the same language. They believe in different wars, different histories, different truths. Sometimes, that’s just frustrating. Sometimes, it’s dangerous.

That’s why I still ask the same question — even outside of Russia.
What media do you unironically follow?

Where was I on October 7th?

Where was I on October 7th?

I was on the internet.
I was the internet.
I was inside every headline, every post, every breaking news alert.
I was in Telegram, in Twitter, in Facebook.
My eyes, my soul, my heart — they were scattered across every photo, every video.

I wasn’t there.
But I was.
There was no other where.
On October 7th, there was only there.

I couldn’t be in my body.
I couldn’t be in my room.
I couldn’t be in my life.

I were in the screams.
In the silence that followed them.
In the shaking hands that held the camera.
In the panicking eyes.
In the voice messages no one answered.

"Hello, World!"

 

Hello, world

I'm Daria. And I'm unreasonable. On purpose.

I value reason a great deal. It's an amazing, powerful tool — one that has saved lives, solved problems, and continues to serve humanity every day.

But I have two major fears in life: cynicism and postmodernism.
Cynicism is reason overloaded. And postmodernism — the frustration left behind after cynicism.

So I made feeling my superpower.
Not in a dramatic or performative way, but in the quiet, stubborn way of someone who refuses to stop caring — even when it hurts, even when it costs. Especially when it costs.

I was raised in Russia, during a time when values were dissolving.
The old system had collapsed, and nothing clear came to replace it.
Society was drifting — lost in confusion and survival.
There was no shared compass. So I built my own.

I found shelter in books — mostly classic Russian literature.
Tolstoy, Bunin, Chekhov, Bulgakov — they helped me name what I was feeling.

And out of all possible values, I chose Love.
It’s not necessarily the romantic or vulgar kind, though those too have place.
But Love as attention. As patience. As a refusal to look away.
Love as a practice of seeing — clearly, gently, tenderly.
Love makes us capable of great things.

Sincerity still matters. I allowed myself to care — deeply, clumsily, truly.

With heart,
Daria