In the middle of the evening the siren went off, and we escorted our guests to the shelter.  My friend was speechless from terror, and I didn’t succeed in making her situation easier with my silly attempts at humor.  It made me realize how lightly I’m taking the sirens, and what a terrible thing they are.  As soon as our company left to make their way home (with great trepidation), we turned to the news, and when there was nothing on the Israeli channels we went to CNN.  There we saw the situation in north Gaza, the terrible injuries, the damage, the suffering.   When the news turned away from the middle east, we switched to France, and saw an interview with a man in Beirut who pointed out that the Israeli government  built shelters for its citizens while they were killed on the streets.  

I do indeed bless the shelter we visit frequently, and I complain about it all the time.  How is it that the floor was not finished and I have to wear shoes when i go down there?  The tenants built the shelter in 1970 and didn’t notice then that the contractor had forgotten to even out the concrete floor.  The laws to build shelters with apartment buildings came later, and the government never paid for the shelters.  Why should the Lebanese or the Gazans build shelters?  After all, who would attack them?  

We, on the other hand, have always been under attack, and I can remember different stages of my life in different shelters.  

This doesn’t justify anything.  It just points out some facts.

Gaza is always in my mind.  I will always remember walking the streets there, learning about the orchards, my daughter playing with the children… I will always remember how simply I identified with the people there.  Those days will never come again.