Every day that I write I’m okay so far. We may be crying or going crazy in other ways but we’re okay. We haven’t been successful much in trying to provide equipment for the soldiers, but we have been trying to comfort others as much as possible. so far so good,
this is an amazing country and people have taken over many of the tasks the government has not been capable of handling – like counting the dead, taking over the farming tasks of those incapable of working, etc. The government may stink, but the people are incredible.
Here is my morning: – We call the pharmacy to see if it is open today. It was closed yesterday afternoon when we went to pick up our flu shots and today there was a very long queue to get in. Since the supermarket isn’t delivering, I thought to use the time to buy vegetables, and made a sizable purchase. After that I remembered that we needed ice for the vaccines and ran to buy frozen veggies. (The lines were too long and no one was willing to let me by with my peas so I bought some frozen sauce at a take-away shop) By the time I came back Ezi was closer to our turn so I joined him. But to my chagrin, even though I had the order in my hand, the computer refused to give me the vaccine. Mohammed was very apologetic about it, but the order just wouldn’t go through. We have an appointment for the injections themselves on Tuesday so there is time to try to solve the mess, but it was a waste of a morning.
Not a total waste, because I wanted to see which stores in the strip mall were open and which were closed. Ezi’s argument was that Arabs were afraid to show up for work against my theory that other workers were on reserve duty were both disproved when the dress shops were also closed. Ah but at least one of the dress shops is run by Arab women. How silly, I thought, why shouldn’t everything be open. Then, as we were driving home, an alarm was sounded. Like the others, we stopped the car in the middle of the street and ran to lie down against a wall. I discovered myself doing a duck-and-cover position learned from the cold war. How strange to find myself in that position 70 years after the grammar school drills.
The big problem was getting up.
After a visit to the beleaguered grocery store who isn’t getting his deliveries so is guarding over empty shelves, we visited our grieving neighbor whose wife died in the night. He didn’t even hear the sirens, and probably didn’t care.
Now I call my friend on the northern border – just to crack a few jokes about her old age and Parkinsons and how she’s guarding the border – and then we’ll see what come after lunch…
Oh, yes, my new shoes from Amazon were delivered. Lovely golden heels.
We’re in the middle of it. So we concentrate on whether there are terrorists in our neighborhood, if our friends are safe, if the dead can be identified, attaching names to the kidnapped, providing food and clothes for the newly homeless, protection gear and weapons for the conscripted, donating blood, and most important, finding out where the terrorists are now.
When I want to know the wider picture I go to CNN or France or somewhere else. I tried Al Jezeira but they include bits of fake news that with my own eyes I’ve proved false.
Our politicians are busy, or hiding out from the rotten tomatoes we want to throw at them, so we get our news from retired generals.
So thanks to all of you who are writing. I’ll let you know what I’m experiencing, but not the grand picture.
Right now the number dead has gone up to 600 as people such as families in shelters are being identified, and the number of wounded 2000. Since there are still terrorists wandering around Israel in stolen cars, we’re all at the front. Picture this scene: When we go down to the shelter we make sure the front door of the building is open so passersby can take cover. Sometimes they are Arab. What if we get an unwelcome guest?
There are three new buildings being raised right around our co-op, primarily by workers who come in every day from the West Bank or Gaza. A few days ago I spoke to one of them in the little grocery store. Tall, shy, a teenager, he could speak only Arabic and comes over the border every day. From Gaza, he comes through the Erez crossing.
But I won’t be seeing him for a while. The crossing was destroyed yesterday when hundreds of nearby residents were slaughtered in their shelters.
The demonstrations were cancelled last night – most of the pilots, the soldiers, the navy, the doctors – were in the sites of the catastrophe, trying to clean up the remains of the slaughter, to treat survivors, to find some of the terrorists who may still be around.
I still haven’t been in touch with my friend from the northern border – her information about the explosions in the night from Hizballah would be more accurate than the news but her Parkinson’s make it impossible for her to use the morning for anything but getting herself ready for the day, and she has to focus.
Since I live in the middle of Tel Aviv, all we had to do was stay home and be ready to race the few flights down to the shelter when the sirens go off. So we were woken at six thiry in the morning and went up and down a few days. A whatsapp from an Arab neighbor asked whether it was safer to just stay in the stairwell, but we explained that the shelter was preferable. The rest of the day we spent glued to the television and on the phone to check on family. Then in the evening the bombs began again and we ran down and up and down and up.
We are chicken – a while ago we took a demanding tourist to the settlements on the Gaza border, but refused to get too close. She wanted to see Gaza, but we shivered and drove her back home. Now I am sure that more than a quarter of the residents in that pastoral moshav are gone.
Every single mother, every single baby, every single old lady in that moshav is in my mind now, as I get out of the clothes I slept in, and get ready for a new day.
We’re safe. So far. Sleeping near the door in our clothes because the shelter is 2 floors down and we have a minute and a half to get there. Then we hear the boom, wait a few minutes. and go back up.
Back up to watch the tv and hear the voices of people stuck in their shelters with terrorists banging on their doors, burning down the house, celebrating the murder of someone they’ve caught. So far there are at least 250 dead and 1,500 wounded. so far.