Inundation. We are inundated with information, most of it so horribly vile that we defer to absorb it. In taking upon myself to comment about some of the events that flood our consciousness, I opted for naming drops of water. A useless, impossible task.

What I have not yet done is try to confront this powerful stream, and this is not done with empty words. It is done with deeds.

Can words also be counted as deeds? Most people would say they can't. I say sometimes.

One such time was eight days ago, when David Grossman spoke to tens of thousands at Rabin Square, including myself.

As he was speaking, I asked myself if what he said meant anything beyond the act of speaking. Why all those people came here and wouldn't come to rally at the entrance to the Prime Minister's office EVERY SUNDAY, and call for peace talks now.

Why calling our leadership "hollow" is just as hollow an act – sounds that die after being uttered, shapes in black print that get thrown away the week after?

Yet the very next day, I was privileged with the honour of translating this speech on the Haaretz website.

And as I was translating Grossman's words, I felt like I've never ever felt before when translating, even my own words. I felt as though the text was writing me, not vice versa. Every word resounded through my body, reverberating powerfully and quietly, like a Tibetan prayer bell.

Did this speech name the drops in the flood? Some of them, certainly. Did it prevent the water from flowing? No, not directly, but I cannot say that it failed altogether.

Olmert was forced to shrug it off. Lieberman could not help take offence. The media felt compelled to quote a different section every day and highlight its accuracy.

Grossman has given us the first written document that sums up the unprecedented reality Israel now faces. It's what I've been talking about here time and again – a hollow, useless leadership. The absence of a proactive agenda, and the prevalence of a reactive conduct.

Grossman was forced into the flood, and he will remain soaking wet in his grief over the loss of his son, Uri, in Lebanon. At the time, I couldn't even direct my eyes at his eulogy. When I called Grossman's home to thank him for the speech, I neglected to express my sorrow at his loss (although I spoke to his wife, whose grief is just as deep). So I would like to rectify this by simply saying - I share your bereavement, the Grossman family.

To conclude this wet metaphor, I will refrain from offering to construct a dam. The last thing we need is another buffer, another wall. Those will not protect us, but merely cover our eyes for that little bit longer.

I don't know what can be done against this inundation, but I sure would like to try to find out.