SHANE​ WARREN

I’ve been noticing something lately, and I’m trying to name it without turning into the cranky guy yelling at clouds. It’s this… vibe. A kind of social theatre that plays out in comment sections, on talkback, at family dinners, in workplace kitchens. The place where someone says, “I’m just asking questions,” but it doesn’t feel like a question. It feels like a door gently closing.

There’s a name for this weird little void we tumble into every year, that space between Christmas and New Year’s Eve when time stops making sense, calories stop counting, and the line between “afternoon nap” and “existential crisis” gets deliciously blurry. It’s called Gooch Week.

Freedom of speech… or freedom to be a nuisance with a microphone?

When fear rises, when the world feels brittle, when people are tempted to retreat into suspicion or anger, the instinct is to pull the light inward protect it, hide it, ration it. Hanukkah does something else. It puts the light where others can see it.

If you squint, the ban looks sensible. The harms are real; the stories are heartbreaking; the platforms have been slow to grow up. A hard age line feels like action.