Living in a movie

Yesterday, shortly before 6 am, we were awoken by a siren. It is a terrifying feeling to be shaken out of a deep sleep by the wail which signifies incoming missiles and rockets. We pulled our kids out of bed and ran down to the safe room. After we waited the required ten minutes, the kids asked if they could go to school late since they were woken early. “No,” we said. “It’s just another regular day.”

Recently, someone sent me a Venn diagram — of two side-by-side overlapping circles. In one is written (in Hebrew), “The end of the world.” In the other, it says, “Everything is normal, you need to go to work.” In the middle, overlapping section, there is an arrow that says, “You are here.” It deeply resonated and perfectly captures our day-to-day lives in Israel over this last year.

Israelis have an expression they love to use. If they think you are being ridiculous, detached from reality, or too rooted in fantasies, they will tell you that you are חי בסרט״” – “you are living in a movie.” You are living in a dream world. Come on. Get real.

But we are indeed “living in a movie.” Who in the “real” world starts their day with a ballistic missile headed their way from Yemen, hears some booms, and then carries on as normal? Sometimes, life can feel so ludicrous that we actually laugh about it here. There are moments that, if this were a movie, it would be discredited as too farfetched.

But there is another way that “we are living in a movie.”

It is recruiting season in the world of post-high school seminaries and midrashot. That time of year when my colleagues and I at our Israeli midrasha need to turn some of our attention towards the students who are applying from abroad and who are bravely considering spending “their year in Israel” integrated into a fully Israeli institution. In trying to capture this experience for prospective students, our head of school, Rabbanit Esti Rosenberg, often remarks that “in Migdal Oz, you are not watching the movie. You are in the movie.” Whatever is happening in Israel, you will experience from the inside.

In the 13+ years since we have made aliya, I have thought about this line often.

I thought about it last Thursday morning, as we left our house at 3:30 am and drove down South. We were taking part in a ceremony where 700 new Givati soldiers would get their purple berets, after eight months of intense training that culminates in a 30km overnight hike done while wearing their full gear and carrying heavy stretchers. My son had the privilege of serving as the “mashak tash” – the army social worker – for some of these extraordinarily brave men. He oversaw a group of charedi soldiers, who, against all odds, had joined the army and made it through the grueling training experience.

At 5 am, thousands of family members from all over the country had come to join the soldiers in the last 500 meters of their hike. In the pitch black, we streamed in the direction of where we were told they would be coming from. The sky was dark, and it was eerily quiet. As we walked on, the sky slowly lightened, and birds began to chirp. A new, bright day was beginning. Grandparents, parents, siblings, girlfriends, cousins, and friends from across the Israeli spectrum all mingled together as we waited.

And then, suddenly, there was a big roar. We heard them before we saw them. The sounds of passionate young men chanting and cheering as they came to the final stretch. The first group came around a bend. Overcome with emotion, families ran to their sons and brothers, and we all marched forward together. Mothers hugged their weary but proud sons, while fathers grabbed the stretchers to take part and give them a little break.

As we stood at the formal ceremony, I watched these parents watch their sons get their berets. Unlike years past, these boys are not headed for guard duty. Everyone there knew that within a week or two, these young men will be on the front lines in Gaza, with the rest of the Givati brigade, ready to serve their country and to fight for the safety and protection of their people.

And still, the underlying feeling was that of pride and honor. These boys feel privileged to be in this movie. Privileged to have the honor of taking part in shaping history. Privileged to live in this time, in this place.

And this scene is just a small one in this, long, dramatic movie. Longer than this moment. Longer than our lifetimes.

As I took off last night, headed to America to recruit, I looked out the window at the thousands of sparkling lights shining forth from this country.

There is nothing like being in this movie. It is nervewracking at times, and often downright scary. A real nailbiter. Sometimes, an event occurs, and we are left hanging. We don’t know the next turn the plot will take. There are exchanges that anger us, surprise characters that suddenly make an appearance, and others that are killed unexpectedly and leave us sobbing.

And yet the movie is also inspiring, exhilarating and deeply moving. It arouses our passions. It leaves us burning with idealism. We are so proud to make even a short, cameo appearance.

We know how the movie ends. We are not sure how long it will be, but we are certain that this movie finishes on a high.

And we know that we will be satisfied and fulfilled to have been part of its making; to take part in the action; and maybe, if we are lucky, to even help write the script.