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five times josh lyman, toby ziegler, and will bailey were acutely aware of their judaism

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Three months in bed doesn’t give a person much, but it does give time to think.

Especially if that person is Josh Lyman.

There wasn’t much for Josh to do other than think--Leo steadfastly refused to allow him to work from the hospital or, once he was discharged, his apartment. He had hoped that Donna would be an ally, someone to sneak paperwork to him at the very least, but she had given him that look that meant no, absolutely not, don’t even think about asking again. Even Josh wasn’t stubborn enough to go up against Donna when she had that look on her face.

So, he thought. He watched the news and thought about what might be going on in the White House; he watched press briefings and wondered what CJ was dodging; he watched his friends visit and knew that they were still keeping their distance, afraid to hurt him, as if the glass window that had separated them while he was in surgery were still there.

And he thought about the shooting. When he couldn’t sleep, he thought about it and was filled with the kind of rage he had only read about. Sure, he was an easily-roused guy, but shouting at senators couldn’t compare to this. The shooters--West Virginia White Pride, he remembered with a fury--had been targeting Charlie, practically a kid. Instead, they had hit the President. And they had hit Josh.

Josh felt a wave of revulsion wash over him as he thought about the videos of the FBI catching the third guy. The swastika tattoo on his hand, displayed proudly for all to see.

He wondered if the guy had been satisfied, had felt triumphant, when he heard that someone named Joshua Lyman was fighting for his life.

He didn’t tell his mother when she came to see him, but she knew. And he knew that she had said the mi sheberach with a righteous intensity in temple every Saturday morning for two months straight.

His grandfather had always said that living was the best form of resistance against those who wanted them dead.

Josh usually preferred action to merely living, but as he lay awake staring at the ceiling, a dull ache in his chest, he understood.