After an evening of rockets in Tel Aviv, we slept exhausted and woke to the news that the bombing of Gaza City, preparing the ground for their house-to-house search for terrorists. All Gaza City is Booby-trapped and we’re going to suffer many losses. I look around the shabbat table at the men and boys who are or will be going there, and I pray we will be able to celebrate hannuka all together in joy.
And me, I’m talking about calming each other down and supporting each other, and all the while I’m thinking – why are they not eating my kugel, my moussaka, my chicken soup? I’m finding little was to make little battles within me that will displace my anger.
Aren’t I petty? I was much more mature in kindergarten.
After a day of cooking and hosting lunch for the family, we weren’t ready for the steady stream of alarms in the evening. I had promised to do a whole bunch of things this evening, and now I can’t concentrate on anything.
I feel like i have to keep writing so you will know we’re okay. There have been a number of bombardments on Tel Aviv today, and people have been injured. I’m waiting for another one tonight. but so far, all is well. Of course we sleep in our clothes and run for shelter when sirens go off in our neighborhood. (and my neighbors denied that I push – they agreed we’re all behaving with great care toward each other.)
We have always known it – that Gaza hides their terrorists under hospitals. This time the terrorists who ran from Israel back to Gaza went straight to Shifa hospital because they knew they were safe there. And now they have to be captured, somehow. Actually, I can think of ways.
But since I know what it is like to be a patient in a hospital, the total dependency on the regular functioning of the staff, the medications, the quiet, I cannot imagine doing it.
Oh, yes, and we’re apparently being targeted for bombing in our area so I’m not planning on anything but a fast sandwich close to the door that takes me to the shelter. No long games of monopoly for us tonight.
Roy Liran came for a short visit from the north to give me his new book, but we spent half the time running down to the shelter. I was particularly anxious to get down there because I felt responsible for our guest, but suddenly I realized I was pushing everyone else out of the way to make room for us, as if poets deserve extra protection. I’ll have to be more careful of my manners in the future.
But it’s a beautiful book and I can’t wait to hear him read and discuss it. He’s one of the only people I know that can write in two languages.
And oh yes, there were three people injured in the last rocket attack on Tel Aviv.
when I dance with my husband of almost 44 years, he does everything to ensure that I don’t know the next step, to keep me on my toes, so to speak. He doesn’t do that with other women, and he doesn’t do that in our life, so I think he’s training me for war.
“There’s going to be a war at the end of the holidays!” I’ve said to friends, who didn’t even acknowledge my cry with a question. “Don’t go into Gaza,” I’ve been screaming for the past three weeks, and now I’ve begun to breathe because I see just a bit of logic in our movements. I kept thinking we were like the British Army in the American Revolution, standing in formation to shoot while the wily Americans shot from behind.
All this I learned from getting caught up in the music while getting my foot stepped on repeatedly while dancing with my husband.
What a great evening! It began with a siren that Ezi assured me was not worth hiding from – “It’s pretty far enough away,” and I went into Bob McBarton’s zoom meeting with Adam Mansbach with my heart still beating double time.
But the meeting about “The Golem from Brooklyn” was so much fun and yet so profound I forgot about the world outside, even when we spoke about the moral responsibility of power.
Then the meeting was over and the news was on and another few barrages brought me back to reality.