An Awakening (n.) is precisely the proximity of others.
An Awakening (n.) is disquiet disturbing the heart at rest — and that is temporality.
An Awakening (n.) is often only insomnia, nocturnal truths in which God still calls Israel by his old name, Jacob.
An Awakening (n.) is obligation — an involvement older than any deliberation I could remember.
An Awakening (n.) on the great scale means leaving the disorder where each person is concerned with his own existence for an order where the other man is finally visible.
An Awakening (n.) by the other is a trauma, not a wonder — a sobering in which the I, before the Other, is freed of itself and roused from dogmatic sleep.
An Awakening (n.) as responsibility for the neighbor is not complacent in its state of wakefulness and does not fall asleep standing up.
An Awakening (n.) is the trauma by which the Infinite in us rouses a consciousness that is not awake enough — a demand, as an order is signified in a request.
An Awakening (n.) of Me by the stranger, the stateless person — neither reflection nor universalization, but responsibility for the other who must be fed and clothed.