Stuck Energy from 1993

Exactly 30 years ago.

To the day.

Something got stuck in me.

An energy.

I’ve tried to explain it to myself.

And then to the people around me.

I tell them we’re all like those old-school sand bottles—you know the ones?

The ones from Sinai, if you grew up in the ‘80s like I did.

Layer after layer of colorful sand—pink, beige, white.

Each layer its own story.

That’s how I see us.

Each color, a year. A moment. A feeling.

Some layers flow easily. Others don’t.

Some are bright and beautiful and keep us going. Some are stuck.

And when they’re stuck, they block the good from flowing in.

We all want to reach that clear sand—the one that’s calm and balanced and at peace.

But if old energy is still there, buried and unresolved, it affects what we attract.

Because the outside is just a mirror of what’s inside.

Like love: if you feel love inside, you’ll start to see it around you.

(Not always easy to live that truth, by the way—just putting that out there.)

So here it is:

Thirty years ago today, my father was killed in a car accident.

He was on his way to pick up the Finance Minister at the time, Byga Shochat.

My father was the chief economic envoy for Israel in New York.

Thirty-six years old.

Father of three.

I was 10 and a half. My brothers - Elad was 9. Matan was 5.

And he just… didn’t come back.

Instead, two men in trench coats showed up at the door.

(Diplomats get a special kind of knock.)

That was the moment something in me froze.

That was the moment I stopped trusting the universe.

Because it took someone irreplaceable.

And with him, it left a lingering fear—that anything I love could disappear just like that.

For the last 10 years, the universe has been gently, persistently, showing me something else:

That I can trust again. That I’m held. That everything has a reason.

That maybe… the universe is actually crazy about me.

I have this deep sense—wherever my father is, he’s watching over me. He’s with me.

And right now, as I write this, I’m in India.

Learning through what I can only describe as “shock therapy”—the kind that comes from Indian roads, where one and a half lanes become home to two cars, moving in opposite directions, plus cows, goats, people, tuk-tuks, dogs—and somehow, it flows.

There’s this powerful current of chaotic peace that carries everything forward.

And I feel it: the universe is asking me to trust it.

And I’m so grateful to India for showing me all the signs.

(Okay, maybe we could tone down the cow poop a bit—but still.)

Energy—no matter what year it’s from—pulls in similar energy.

And I am more than ready to let go of that stuck red and orange from 1993.

It doesn’t serve me anymore.

I trust the universe.

I trust that every dream I’ve dreamed will come true.

Because my father is with me.

From the day I was born—until this very moment.