Another day in Israel

The alarm went off at six-fifty, but I gave myself another ten minutes. And another ten. When I realized the time, I didn’t shower; I rushed out of the apartment, chewing on a stale and rubbery piece of pita.

I hurried down the stairs of the building in Tel Aviv, where elevators are rare and slow. A neighbor waved at me in the parking lot, and I assumed my wave back through the dark car window was noticed. At the office, I went straight to my desk, trying to make up for a delay that, in my haste, hadn’t even happened. After checking and responding to 96 emails and deleting thousands more, I finally got up from my chair to get a coffee. My colleague Abigail passed by in the hallway with a smile that faded as our eyes met. Her “Boker Tov, Yitzhak” was cut short, and her lips moved soundlessly. Her facial muscles tightened in a slight shock while her eyebrows arched away from her eyes.

I went with three colleagues to a restaurant near the office for lunch. After sitting down with my plate of shawarma, I noticed fixed stares. Everyone, without stopping their conversations, cast glances in my direction. We talked about work and the war in Gaza. And the stares continued. I couldn’t resist and asked, laughing, if they wanted something from my plate, which seemed to embarrass everyone.

Back at the office, my boss called me into his office.

— Yitzhak, are you feeling okay? — he asked.

— I’m great — I replied, already intrigued.

— Are you sure?

— What’s wrong, David?

— Look, maybe you should take the afternoon off. Go home and rest.

— But I’m fine!

He looked at me seriously, got out of his chair, put a hand on my shoulder, and said:

— I don’t think so.

To prove it, I stayed another hour at the office after the end of the workday. Exhausted, I went straight home and skipped meeting the guys for Friday’s happy hour. I walked along the Tel Aviv promenade by the beach on Saturday morning. The sun was shining, and the crowd was good for that hour. As I passed by people, I noticed the same look from Abigail, but it was even more intense. Women covered their mouths in a silent scream; men shook their heads, and mothers shielded their children’s eyes. Something was wrong with the world, and those stares made me uncomfortable. Six minutes into my walk, I lost the will to keep going. I stopped at a kiosk to buy water, and the four or five people there immediately made way for me. There was something wrong with those people.

I went back home, took off my slightly sweaty clothes, and got into the shower. I finally saw what people were staring at in the bathroom mirror. On my chest, to the left of my sternum, there was a hole. The hole didn’t go through to my back but was at least ten or twelve centimeters deep. It was clear that my heart was no longer there.