The Days of Our Lives
I have not written for a while since I don’t really have a unified message to get out. These are very confusing and conflicted times. My contribution is to share my daily experiences and feelings. I feel that this story is also important to tell and difficult for reporters to capture. It is the story of a typical family. We don’t live in the North or the South, did not directly suffer loss in our immediate circle, and the kids’ military service is relatively safe. Nonetheless, there is nothing normal about our lives since the 7th of October.
The days blend together as sleep is elusive. The background noise of planes, 24-7, accompanies nearly every moment. The rousing sounds of the muezzins from the mosques nearby five times a day. Occasional loud booms made by the Iron Dome complete the experience. At least once a day we hear the dreaded words: “Now officially released that…” knowing that another name has been added to the list of the fallen.
Every night is an attempt to empty my mind and heart in order to relax enough to sleep. My head swims with thoughts of the hostages, worries about the war, concerns about our soldiers, our country, my community, my family. Mostly, my heart is full with thoughts of the hostages. I wake up many times during the night, read for an hour or two, try to go back to sleep.
Some mornings, we are woken abruptly by the air-raid sirens. They sound exactly like the sirens you hear in WWII movies staged in Europe. A few days ago, this happened at 06:30. I jumped out of bed, not completely focused since I only fell asleep at around 4 am. I made sure the kids were awake and we went to the safe room. Then I made an error in judgement, and decided that I had to go to the bathroom before closing the door to the safe room. In the meantime, our 90 seconds were up. I was still in the bathroom when I heard a huge boom, the loudest I had ever heard. The walls and windows shook. I learned that a missile from Lebanon hit very close to our community, less than a kilometer away.
If the wind had been a bit different, the missile could have easily fallen on us. I could see the news headline: Idiot Woman Killed on Toilet for not following simple instructions. How embarrassing for my family! I will never do that again.
I got up and had some coffee. The rest of the family went back to sleep for half an hour. So that was our morning on that day. From there, we all went to work. We had a mostly normal workday, but came home early because we had concerts at night.
The old folks (me and my husband) went to a “Hall of Fame” festival to hear Dire Straits, Pink Floyd et al. covers at a park in Tel Aviv. The younger people went to the Tamar Festival near the Dead Sea. Both events were full of people who wanted to dance, sing, eat, drink, and smoke (not necessarily cigarettes). So, we celebrated (but did not smoke).
In Tel Aviv we were all aware that there was no shelter anywhere near us, but we danced to spite our enemies. At the Dead Sea, there was a chance of enemy invasion (less likely, but then again the 7th of October wasn’t likely either), but the people celebrated Sukkot anyway.
As my husband, friends, and I sung the words to The Wall, I thought about how absurd and full of contradictions our lives are. Morning missiles, evening events, and nighttime nightmares.
After the concert, we went home and watched an episode of Master Chef (escapism) and then an episode of Heroes (a docu-series that tells stories of heroes in this war). Throughout the day, career decisions for the kids, personal dramas of close friends, medical issues, good news, cooking, laundry.
On a national level, the economic situation is getting worse, and we are all aware that we will have to find a way to pay for this war. We are fighting bitterly over the proposed law to exempt all Charedim from Army service despite our need for more boots on the ground. We have a whole generation of people with trauma related disorders and a dearth of therapists to treat them. Frankly, at this point, the therapists need therapists. Every time we deal with one foe, another comes up (thank you, Iran).
Simultaneously, we go to work, cultural events, restaurants. We still drive like maniacs. We travel around the country (where we are allowed) on our days off. We argue and protest. We watch reality tv. We complain about everything. We celebrate our holidays (despite the recently gained connotation).
I don’t know whether we are nuts or normal. Our strengths are our weaknesses and vice-versa. We are nothing if not resilient. After a lot of soul searching, I can conclude with full confidence that I love my country and don’t want to be anywhere else.