Talya Woolf

We are all frayed

October 31, 2023

Headline on Times of Israel: Projectile said downed over Red Sea after Eilat drone alert; IDF presses Gaza strikes

Last night, my husband and I went out for dinner in an attempt to feel normal.

We hadn’t really been able to have a conversation for weeks since he was working and I was working and putting together our concert (the reason I didn’t write an article on Sunday night – and a thank you to those who watched and donated!).

It wasn’t our best date. The restaurant was out of several choices, he had work emergencies, we were both tired and hungry, and there was just a low-level depressing mood floating around the place despite the full house.

I sat, we ordered several times (more food was out than anticipated), and we had nothing to talk about. More than three weeks into the war, and last night was just not a good day for either of us. We sat, mostly, in silence.

At the end of the meal, with music playing over the speakers, everyone suddenly stopped everything and looked up and around, listening intently. I locked eyes with the girl at the table to my left, she had fun black eyeliner on and had been sitting with two of her girlfriends – also trying desperately to have a good time and escape reality.

We asked each other simultaneously, was that a siren?

We debated. It might have been a part of the song on the speakers. It might have been a siren from far away.

She asked her friends. I asked the next table behind me. We asked the waitress. Everyone stopped.

I’m pretty sure it was the song, I said to the girl with the eyeliner, but no one was smiling. The waitress confirmed, and we knew she was right when that part of the song played again.

We all laughed nervously after that, but whatever was left of the night was shredded.

Selfie. Myself frayed.

As we walked out to our car, I passed by the group of girls again, wished them a quiet night, my new wish to people. They wished it back.

We drove home in silence. Rode the elevator up in silence. Until we reached our floor when he asked me if I was okay.

“Our country is not doing well,” I said.
“No,” he said. “We’re not.” And hugged me.

About the Author
Talya Woolf is an eight-year Olah with four spirited children and a fantastic husband. She is a writer, American-licensed attorney, handgun instructor, amateur photographer, and artist. She is politically confusing, Modern Orthodox (though she doesn't dress the part), and ardent Zionist (ZFB). She enjoys spending time with family, friends, running, photography, and reading about highly contagious diseases and WWII.
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