After a night of missiles on the south of Israel, I got up
to a new day, full of missiles.
My nerves were frazzled. But why? Nothing happened to me. At
night I had reset the RED ALERT app so that it wouldn’t alert me of all
the missiles on my country, it would only sound the alarm if missiles came to
Haifa.
Only.
I allowed myself the luxury of sleep – something the people
of southern Israel did not have. Everyone who lives in proximity to Gaza has
safe rooms in their homes but can you really sleep when you have to move your
entire family into one room and you hear sirens and explosions around you all
night long? Can you sleep knowing that the Iron Dome missile defense system
works most of the time but not always? It knocks most of Hamas rockets out of
the sky but no system is perfect, sometimes it misses and every missile
interception means the missile explodes in the air, dropping boiling hot
shrapnel from the sky. Wherever it hits, it hits.
What right do I have to have frazzled nerves?! Watching your
people suffer is not the same as suffering yourself.
I cry when my friend in Be’eri tells me how hard it is for
her to breathe because of the arson terrorism. The smoke permeates the air, so
much so that she needs to use an asthma inhalator, something she hasn’t had to
do for years. I lived through one day of arson terrorism and I will never
forget the fear and the choking stench of the smoke. She has lived through
months of it, with no end in sight. I cry but it is she, not me, who is having
a hard time breathing. It is she, not me, who is worried about the long-term
health damage to her family, constantly breathing air that, to some extent or
another, depending on the whims of Hamas and the direction of the wind, is poisoned.
The images racing through my head were scenes we have seen
too many times before - wives saying goodbye to men, going off to war. Mothers,
trying not to show too much emotion when they watch their men walk away, not
wanting to burden the men, trying to not frighten their children.
The media doesn’t show the other images, of the military personnel knocking on the door to notify families that their beloved son, brother, husband will never come home again. I know what those scenes are like… enough bereaved parents told me what they experienced.
The media doesn’t show the other images, of the military personnel knocking on the door to notify families that their beloved son, brother, husband will never come home again. I know what those scenes are like… enough bereaved parents told me what they experienced.
That terrible phrase that sounds so innocuous to people who
don’t know Israelis. That phrase that makes those who are naturally flamboyant,
fast and loud become quiet and serious: “It wasn’t an easy thing…”
The worse the situation is, the less dramatic Israelis will
be. “It wasn’t an easy thing…” comes before descriptions of what it is like to
try to administer first aide to your friend as they bleed to death in your
arms. Or returning to consciousness after a bomb goes off and seeing the pieces
of your friends strewn all over the place….
I don’t want to hear those words. I don’t want to see Israelis
quiet or somber.
We all know the war is coming. It’s only a question of when.
We actually had thought it was going to happen earlier but whatever is
happening behind the scenes on the political level is keeping the attacks on a
low flame rather than a full-blown war.
I don’t envy our Prime Minister. Whatever decision he makes,
lives are at stake. Israelis are suffering now, how many will suffer later?
The seemingly indecisive political maneuvering, again and again
agreeing to terms dictated by a terrorist organization is sickening. We all
know this weakens us in the long term, emboldening our enemies. On the other
hand, we know the IDF can beat Hamas – the problem is, what happens after? Who
takes over Gaza? What happens with Iran in the north? We all know that the
current situation is terribly wrong but who knows how to fix it?
We have one son who is an Officer in the IDF. His base is in
the south. He says that he is ok and has a proper shelter to go to when missiles
rain down but who can promise us that he will get to shelter in time?
His younger brother gave a year of his life in pre-military
voluntary service (which does not count as part of his military service). Soon
he too will be inducted into the IDF but, if the war starts now / soon / in the
next weeks / months, he will be in training and not be in combat.
His friends will. It is their parents, not us, who will be
on edge every time the phone rings, every time they see a military vehicle
close to their house and if, God forbid, they see soldiers walking up to their
door, unannounced.
Yesterday I walked next to the beach in Haifa. It’s summer
and many families came to relax and swim. This is what people should be doing
on a hot summer day – not huddling in a bomb shelter, waiting for the next
explosion.
We all knew that it wasn’t likely that missiles would come
raining down on us. Not that day. What will happen tomorrow? Who knows?