One year ago the first real rock was thrown in my neighborhood. The rock hit a car with a baby in the back seat, who was injured. It rocked my world. It left a hole in the neighborhood. But life went on.
Fast forward to the summer of war and riots and my neighborhood saw more than just a rock, but marbles (sounds nuts, but with a slingshot those bad boys really can harm you), firecrackers and Molotov cocktails. It was every night.
But now it is everyday. And after months of complaints, residents hiding and demanding more police presence, we have finally seen an increase in security.
The windows have been shattered, and so has reality.
But with the fear and the violence, we must always hold on to a bit of hope. Police and soldiers now stand guard 24/7. Rain or shine. After all, the summer has long gone and the Jerusalem winter is dripping down our streets.
So we thought we should probably feed those men and women protecting us. And maybe give them coffee. And cups to pour it in. And trash bags too. And some cookies (calories don’t count on guard duty when you are saving people’s lives), because who doesn’t want cookies or cheesecake. Did I mention the resident who brought cheesecake?
Then there was the family that brought enough to feed an army. Because they are indeed soldiers defending us, and our homes. There was a lot of delicious pasta and homemade sauce. That was dinner. Earlier someone else bought them pizza for lunch.
And tomorrow Pam is bringing them spilt pea soup. And now she wants to plan something special for Shabbat. They eat and drink in a small area that other residents built for them to try and stay warm.
This is why I live in Armon Hanatziv. Because we are a community. And something good had to come of this.