Rome Detach – Partially

Sitting in Fiumicino Airport, after a good cup of Americano, waiting for the gate to be posted, reflecting on the past week. Pope Francis was buried before we arrived, but we joined a line to pay our respects by his tomb at the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. The magnitude of history in Rome, the significance, and associations that the Vatican City triggered mostly made me wonder what the grandeur and the sacredness would evoke in me if I were Catholic. More than paintings, I am drawn to the sculpture. We walked through the ghetto as the synagogue was setting up chairs for an Erev Yom Haatzmaut event.

Erev Yom Haatzmaut – at home in Israel, Memorial Day drew to an end as plans for the celebrations on the Eve of Independence Day were widely cancelled due to massive, terrifying fires in the Jerusalem Hills and surroundings. Firefighters needed elsewhere couldn’t be on site at Independence Day celebrations across the country, so events were cancelled.

We couldn’t enter the synagogue as I did 45 years ago. Then, I recall a nominal security check. Today only pre-arranged, organized tours are allowed entry. Understood.

Outside of the Basilica of San Pietro in Vincoli, where Michelangelo’s Moses is located, graffiti includes, “Free Gaza,” in one spot. It is only surprising we didn’t see more of that. At another spot on the wall, with stars of David next to the word, “Genocidio.” No need for a crash course in Italian to figure that out. I felt angry. It hurt, regardless of how one labels what Israel has been doing in Gaza. However complex. However evil, however barbaric the acts of our enemies.

Disconnect. That was one purpose of the trip. We were more successful at disconnecting than at home. With poor WiFi reception at the hotel, and excessive walking throughout the days, we mostly, only captured headlines of news from home. Memorial Day. Heartbreaking stories of fallen soldiers and victims of acts of terror over the years and since October 7. Detach. We know. Listen, read, ponder – or not. We know.

Moments of some discomfort, feeling our stamina declining compared to just a short time ago. Then, the pang of wondering how hostages in Gaza survive. Wondering how released hostages – of all ages –truly recover. Their scars emotionally and physically. Drifting thoughts of what one of them might feel traveling for pleasure. Telling myself such thoughts are counterproductive. Empathy. But avoid descending into a rabbit hole of depression contributing nothing positive to anyone’s reality.

News I disconnected from. Syria. Druze. Israeli Druze demonstrating, demanding IDF attack on behalf of their brethren in Syria. Damascus attacked.

Pasta, pizza, tiramisu.

One more headline before breakfast, before leaving Rome. A 14-year-old threw stones. That means a Palestinian. Nobody injured. The youth was shot, 11 bullets. That means an Israeli – a soldier or police? Once upon a time, that would have been an isolated tragedy. Now, a headline in mainstream Hebrew media. Sounds common. Saddened, that this is the home I return to. Then a WhatsApp message alluding to Israel intercepting humanitarian aid en route to Gaza but sharing a link by which Israelis can contribute to humanitarian aid for Gaza.

Harriet Gimpel