Every morning, I make sure to get the news somehow. Whether by listening to the radio over breakfast, checking my favorite websites, or grabbing the paper on the way in to the tube, I manage to get the daily scoop (Or, at least, what the mainstream media thinks is the daily scoop).

I’ve been taking it all in—natural disasters, budget cuts to important social services, murders and suicides of gay teens, starving regions of the world, wars, genocides—on a fairly superficial level. I read different opinions about the event or issue, and start to structure political and economic analyses or potential activist responses.

But every once in a while, the feelings catch up with me. When I saw the horrific photos of the family murdered in Itamar on Friday night, a familiar wave of sickness washed over me.

It was like I had entered a completely different world, one where things were turned upside down and blood and tears were splattered all over the walls. Panic, fear, sickness and rage built up in my chest and I had to get out. I jumped on the bus to run some errands, and when I walked, I almost ran. Every scent and smell seemed to hurt or offend me.

It was the same feeling that I experienced in the culmination of the devastating number of months following September 11. There was the tragedy of 9/11, a tornado, and then the violent sniper attacks, and I remember feeling fairly surreal about everything. But when a friend’s mother, as I was getting out of her car, told me to walk in zig-zags so I would be a more difficult target, it smacked me in the face. All the events, all of the deaths, just seemed overwhelming. I wanted to scream, to cry, something.

As I grew older, I embraced activism and chesed (acts of loving-kindness) as a both a spiritual and a socially responsible response to tragedy. If something bad happens, I’ll do something good in response. Repair the broken world.

I’ve been getting by being somewhat emotionally detached from the issues I work on. I know that if I let all the death and despair catch up with me, it would envelop me and I wouldn’t be able to do the work I want and need to do in this world.

But eventually, it hits home. You can’t avoid it; it will affect you at some point. The activism becomes personal. And tonight, I realized that it is not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe I need that occasional dose of emotional energy and empathy to really make my work truly meaningful.

I finish my walk, and go up to my room. As I now sit and sip a cup of comforting mint tea, I’m reflecting and writing this post.

The Jewish holiday of Purim is fast approaching. The spirit of the day is framed in the phrase “ונהפך הוא” (V’Nahafoch Hu), and it was turned upside down. Both the celebration and the folly implicit in this phrase, and in the holiday as a whole, are important for Jewish people today, who are deeply in need of a reason to celebrate Jewish identity and strive for Jewish unity. But beyond that, there is a purpose to the holiday. We feast together, we come together as a community to be educated about the story, and we give each other gifts. Furthermore, aiding the needy is an obligation on Purim.

So, Jews and non-Jews alike, let’s make a pledge to “ ונהפך הוא”, to turn the world upside down this Purim. Let’s make a mess-we’ll flip  sadness and tragedy upside down into strong communities, healthy societies, and meaningful lives for all.