It is a very slow process, the healing, the incorporation of the facts of what happened to us, what it means, what its implications are, and how it will be possible to achieve a normal life after. For me, it is not that bad – I’ve been through wars before and not that much happened to me any of the times. I’ve never been shot at directly, although sometimes I felt like I had a target on my shirt when I felt the rockets getting closer and closer. I’ve never been in the situation the people in Gaza are in now.
And I’m trying to get to the point that I can actually feel their humanity. Vivian Silver, whose body was found last week, used to meet cancer patients at the Gaza border and take them to the hospital in Israel for treatment. She was a friend of my friends and she really believed in peace.
“You don’t call, you don’t write…” my friends complain. “What are you doing?” Anything to survive. Here are a few examples: Our portrait of Kurt Gerron was supposed to be exhibited in the Tel Aviv Museum starting next week, but the museum closed down for the war. Now they’re talking about opening it, I spent the war writing a book about him in Hebrew – with lots of pictures from his films to cover my painfully small vocabulary in Hebrew. It’s at Eli Oren’s now – the guy who does my books when I want to be in complete control, and if I can put it together properly it will be out in 2 weeks which is when I’m praying the exhibit will open.
Secondly, I spend as little time as possible talking to friends about politics and/or the horrors of war. Don’t want to know more than I have to about all my ex-students who were mowed down at a dance party, or friends who will never come home. I prefer talking to old ladies or kids. They don’t pretend to know everything.
And of course we volunteer as much as we can. How wonderful it feels to choose which coat you like best and give the rest away. Last night we went to the distribution center to give away the coats and the kids there were so great – and there were so many coats people have donated. It was so comforting.
In every war there is someone I hang on to. In WWII I’m told it was Churchill, but the first one I remember was Walter Cronkite. In this country there was no one I remember in the 1973 war because all the leaders were crazy (remember how Moshe Dayan was sweating and shaking), but it was Nachman Shai in the Gulf War who told us to drink water after every attack…
I don’t think that since Roosevelt did those Fireside Chats on the radio, it’s every been a president who soothes the population in wartime, and our canse is no exception.
But now we have Danny Adari, who not only tells the truth but also shows it, proves it, and summarizes it perfectly. His talks are brief, clear, and no-frills – and when he talked about Shifa Hospital today, the medical aid brought in there, the effort made to communicate calm and clarity in Arabic, and the evidence remaining that Hamas had just cleared out – leaving a lot of evidence behind – I was reassured that the population of Gaza was in good hands.
Not so the Israeli woman hostage who gave birth the other day. If it were me my milk would have dried up in fear and suffering. I would be horrified for the infant that it would grow up under siege. I would have nothing to offer him/her.
The hostages make me weep – each time I think of them. Each time I see a photo or hear a story or see a display of their photos I think of the coming deal that will bring back some of the hostages but leave the others, but will give Sinwar a chance to escape, I weep. As it is we have a government that barely functions, but I don’t think they should be pushed into a dangerous deal. Let’s find those hostages. Each one – babies and soldiers – must be counted.
I don’t know too many people who sleep well around here. Maybe the neighbor who flirts with all the tenants (gorgeous Arab girls) and wonderful Phillipine aids who come out to the hall on the second floor every night when there is a bomb alert. We’re in the basement shelter with some really sang-froid neighbors so it’s only if we get visitors from the street that we have any fun any more. Anyway it’s not that people are scared – it’s that their sleep patterns are no longer certain and they are disturbed. They’ve been trying to put in the back of their minds the sight of terrorists entering shelters and butchering, raping, burning, and dismembering them alive, but the vision sometimes comes up.
What about the people in Gaza, you ask? I think it’s a little difficult to feel as much for them now, when we’re in such danger. We’re busy trying to help out the ones physically closer to us. For example, last night we brought an enornmous quantity of sweaters and coats to the center for the 200000 displaced people in our country. The first rain was violent and reminded us that most of these people left everything behind if it hadn’t been destroyed, and they don’t have any protection. We were a little worried about the rockets but the empathy was stronger.
It has been a very difficult time for us, but somehow I’ve gotten used to rockets, used to staying home every evening, even used to the fear that I will be one of those Jews who don’t manage to find a hawthorne bush to hide behind and will get slaughtered. (i think this was this weeks chadid. more when i am not so sleepy).
But hearing the daily news of death – of soldiers, of hostages, of babies – is too much to bear. I can’t watch the elegies any more.
But when Biden said, hang on, I prayed he had a secret plan.
How unsurprising it was to me that there were Hamas headquarters under the children’s cancer ward, that it was full of explosives and the hostages were brought there first. The reasoning of Hamas is slowly becoming clear – the way they utilize our values against us. So we come to understand that anything we hold dear, honorable, basic, is susceptible.
Life, to us, is sacred, but the lives of the Gazans seem to exist because it provides the Hamas with a cover.
I know this is not true for the Moslems I know. It is actually not true for all the Moslems I know. But it is true for Hamas.
Does anyone remember Walter Cronkite? A news anchor whose morality always stirred me, he had a program that relived historical moments called “You Are There,” and it always ended like this “What kind of a day was it? A day like all days, filled with the events that alter and illuminate our times. And you were there.” He brought me into the Boston Massacre in 1775, the death of Socrates, the signing of the Declaration of Independence. And he made me feel what it was like to be part of history.
One of the many emotions I feel in this land is the involvement in history – the good and the bad times. I feel that everything I do makes a difference.
But in the past few years I’ve felt that my presence doesn’t matter, that this tiny country has lost the ability of the individual to influence it, to create a better history.
But when I see the people – the way they’ve been working together supporting each other in so many ways – transcending governments, going beyond the expected of regular people – I am overwhelmed. It’s not just the expressions of love and care for the hostages, the generousity toward all the refugees. Look at my day. Well, not all day – but we had covid shots at the health clinic – 2 Arab nurses shot us up, and both made sure we were comfortable after that. And then at the pharmacy, the grocery, the builders – Despite everything that is going on here – the prejudices and the hatred, the bombing, the reasons for hatred, divisions – people can transcend – and I am here.