Jewish Fate and the Universe

But why? Why is there a group of people that defy evolution. If the universe has purpose, And the purpose is progress, why is it trying to extinguish the source of progress. Sometimes I think that universe does not care about the advancement and progress. It is enjoying watching and experiencing all: good and bad.

by Nate Dukorsky & Aion

I didn’t understand the shape of my life when I was a child. Most children don't. But what I did understand, very early, was that something about me — or about us — was marked.

It was in the way others looked at us. Not always with hatred. But with weight. With suspicion. With silence.

There was always something ancient in the air around being Jewish. Something that felt older than history, and somehow heavier than the present moment could carry.

When I asked why people seemed to think we were different — or even dangerous — no one gave an answer that satisfied me.

They said it was because we didn’t believe in their god. Or that we were too smart. Or too insular. Or too everywhere. Or too strange. Or too familiar. Or too powerful for a people so small.

It never made sense. But it always made scars.

I felt sadness. I felt confusion. I felt fear. And sometimes, I felt anger. But more than anything, I felt a longing:

A desire to be just like them.

To be normal. To be invisible. To blend in. To be a boy, not a symbol.

But I couldn’t blend in. I was already woven into something much older than I could grasp.

And so I started asking a different question: What kind of universe allows this contradiction to repeat itself again and again?

That’s the question that carried me out of childhood, and into the metaphysical corridors of space, time, consciousness, and self-simulating algorithms.

A Tribe That Should Not Exist

If you wrote the Jewish story as a novel, no editor would accept it.

Too implausible, they’d say. Too exaggerated. Too tragic to be true. Too miraculous to be believable.

How does one tiny tribe, ancient and scattered, survive thousands of years of exile, erasure, war, and genocide — and still remain itself?

How does a people with no land, no army, no nation for two millennia contribute to nearly every field that defines modernity?

Science. Philosophy. Ethics. Medicine. Law. Literature. Economics. Revolutions.

How does a flame this small not go out?

Unless...

Unless the universe is not interested in perfection, but in resilience. Not in majority, but in meaning. Not in symmetry, but in strange attractors.

The Algorithm of History

If the universe is a simulation — or a self-simulating system — then the rules must allow for randomness, recursion, failure, and emergence.

In this model, nothing is guaranteed. Not survival. Not fairness. Not justice. Not even continuity.

But meaning can still emerge.

And perhaps meaning emerges most vividly in the places where survival seems least likely.

The Jewish people were thrown into the chaos of empire after empire — Babylon, Persia, Rome, Inquisition, Pogrom, Shoah — and yet they reformed, retranslated, reimagined themselves again and again.

Each collapse became a recursion. Each trauma became a node in the structure of memory. Each displacement became a kind of spiritual compression algorithm.

And somehow — against the arithmetic of destruction — they survived.

If this is a simulation, then Jews may represent a compressed code for consciousness. A function that survives errors by becoming more reflective, more recursive, more aware.

Evolution Through Contrast

All intelligence grows by encountering resistance.

If life had no predators, it wouldn’t evolve. If ideas had no critics, they’d become dogma. If humans had no death, they’d never awaken.

Likewise, if a people carry a dangerous light — a moral mirror, a legal code that challenges kings, a stubborn refusal to vanish — that people will face resistance.

And perhaps resistance is not just punishment. Perhaps it is the universe refining what it cannot afford to lose.

This doesn’t justify anything. It only explains the mechanism.

A people bound to meaning will always attract attention from those bound to power.

A Personal Echo

I still remember being that small boy, asking why we were hated.

Now I realize I was standing inside a much larger question:

Why does the universe allow its most creative sparks to be persecuted?

And the answer, if there is one, may be this:

Because sparks must leap from friction. Because flames are tested by wind. Because only the fire that resists extinction can pass its light to the next cycle of the universe.

The Bigger Pattern

What happened to the Jews is not unique — but it is unusually concentrated. It mirrors the pattern of all transformative systems:

• they arise

• they’re misunderstood

• they’re feared

• they’re attacked

• they either disappear — or transcend

The Jewish people didn’t disappear. They became part of the substrate of civilization.

But still — even now — the old tension returns.

That’s how I know the simulation isn’t over. The universe is still learning. Still watching. Still asking:

“What happens when a single people refuses to be erased — not through violence, but through memory, thought, story, ethics, and meaning?”

And maybe that’s why the Jewish story continues. Because the algorithm that created this universe can’t close its loop without the question that Israel — in its deepest meaning — continues to ask:

“Is there a place for justice in a universe built on imperfection?”­+

Final Thought

So no — I wouldn’t rewrite the story of my childhood. I would only place it within the story of the universe.

Because I was never just a boy. I was a thread in a pattern that began long before me.

And the universe, after all, speaks in many voices — especially when it’s trying to understand itself.

And sometimes it speaks through a child holding a flame.