My first time in the sea this year. A taste of freedom. Even though there are stinging medusas in the water. We hadn’t even eaten at our favorite beach place yet.
Ezi took this while I was in the sea. And I don’t know which one of us enjoyed himself more. Maybe, just maybe, Iran will leave us alone and we can get back to revelling in the joy of Tel Aviv.
I wanted to write something about the reason we’re not talking much about our experiences with the half-ton rockets smashing into our lives, but then I remembered I promised a piece for First of the Month, and so I wrote it and sent it there. It should come out tomorrow and I’ll add the link.
We were sitting with friends, considering the possibility of a vacation on a cruise, when the phones started sounding off about a rocket on the way. The party broke up as we began to descend the staircase, and joined some of the neighbors in the hall.
It was soon over – the rocket was shot down – but we didn’t speak more of vacations.
It was the only visible symbol of our recognition that the ceasefire had given us a sense of relief. No where else is there a sign. In the past weeks it became apparent that there is no public shelter in our neighborhood and there was an outcry. Now it’s over and forgotten. No one is talking about it any more. It’s the old “Arkansas Traveller” syndrome.