A few thoughts, episodes and dilemmas of the last 11 days

• Assaf, my eldest son (8), is our expert on bomb alerts. As a student in Da'at school in Kibbutz Sa'ad, he has heard the "Red Color" alert more than any of us. He taught us what we should do and even now made himself responsible for making sure everybody is in the sheltered room on time, meaning 15 seconds after the alert if we are in Sa'ad/Kibbutz Alumim/moshav Kfar Maimon or 30 seconds if we are in Netivot.
• Last Shabbat, on the first day of the current operation, the siren went off many times. After one of the first alerts and after Benny, my husband, had been called to the operations room, Iddo, my youngest son (5) asked: "How can people be so mean, to sadden a little boy?"
• Iddo's birthday is on Tevet 6th, which this year happened to be last Friday. Iddo was sad because we could not buy him the present he asked for or celebrate with the extended family, as we are used to doing. I thought that buying a present, as important as it may be, is not a good reason to leave our home when missiles might land at any moment; and the store would be closed anyway. In order to make him a little happier, I called Netivot's radio station and asked them to greet him on air. Instead, Hagit, the radio manager, put Iddo on air! She interviewed him about his feelings and plans – it was the cutest interview! And do you know what? It really did make him happier! We got balloons, a cake and had an immediate-family party on Friday night. He makes sure, however, that we do not forget about either the promised present or the party for the extended family, after the war is over.
• Every house in Israel that was built after 1991 (the first gulf war), has an in-house bomb shelter (mamad). Our home was built prior to that, so we do not have one. Last Shabbat, when we heard the siren, we ran to the little bathroom downstairs, because according to the home front command instructions, we had to choose an inner room, with the minimum amount of windows. So, the bathroom seemed appropriate though small – very small. We managed to congregate there and even to sing the Red Color Song – more about that in the next paragraph. The next day my mom told me she heard the designated sheltered room should not have ceramic tiles in it, as they tend to explode… So, since then our sheltered room has been the downstairs play/computer room. The house is built of cement – which makes us feel a little safer.
• Shahar Bar, an art therapist from our area attached therapeutic words and moves to the music of the A-Ga-Du-Du-Du song, and created the Red Color Song. In a joint project with the JDC, she taught it to all kindergartens and elementary schools in the communities surrounding Gaza. This is what the kids are singing immediately as they hear the "Red Color" alert, while dashing to the sheltered room. Since both of my kids have been studying in these communities in the last few years, they learned the song and its effect on them is just amazing. During the first day of operation Cast Lead, at one of the times when the siren went off, Iddo was almost crying. I began singing the song with him and with Assaf inside the little bathroom, and after one minute he was as cheerful as could be. If you are interested, I can send you the lyrics and moves of the song, as well as a video clip showing Iddo singing the song and dancing.
• A dilemma: When should I take a shower? Our shower is in the upper floor. If the siren should go off, I would have to be in the sheltered room in 30 seconds. I do not want the kids to be alone in the bottom floor when it happens. So it has to be very quick, only when Benny is at home and only during the day. Why? Because experience shows, based on my un-official statistics, that chances for an alert are higher at night.
• And another one: Should we leave Netivot or stay? Benny has to stay, as he is part of the emergency team of Netivot. Of course, I do not want him to stay here alone. Also, it feels bad to leave, both because home is the best and because it will make our enemies happier. But, and it is a big but, the kids should be as safe as possible. These conflicting points are not directing us to a solution. So in the meantime we are here, taking the kids out of the bombarded area every now and then and praying.
• I am naturally optimistic, but something my mom told me the other day is not making this easier. She is 65 now and lives in Kfar Maimon, one of the communities nearest Gaza. She told me that, during one of the last not-so-quiet days, she felt very bad and began crying. When trying to understand her own reaction (which is not at all usual for her), she remembered herself - at four or five years old, during the War of Independence in Netanya, taken to the bomb shelter by her dad, while her mom, who was sick and could not get herself to the shelter, remained at home, unsafe. My mom says she could feel the fear she felt back then, 60 years ago. I am now thinking, “What does it do to my kids, their need to run to a shelter because someone wants to kill them? What did it do to my nefesh (soul/spirit?), growing up in Israel, which means going through wars, terror, and life and death situations?” – not that I can point to any direct effects, but listening to my mom, I must wonder.
• As I was putting the kids to bed at the "sheltered" room one day, one of them was saying that if a Qassam/Grad were to fall on our home, the toys over our heads might fall on us. The other kid said, “Well, if that happens, we will become a pita bread.” The first one said, “Well, if that happens, I would like chocolate spread all over me.” His brother said, “And I want Halva.” I said, “I want letcho over me” (an eastern European version of Gevatch or shakshuka). We laughed with tears during this bizarre and surrealistic conversation.
• Two of my relatives, Itammar and Avner, are officers in the Givati brigade and are inside the Gaza strip. My brother, Arik (39), is in the reserve forces and is waiting just outside the Gaza strip for the command to move in. We can still talk to him, but when he goes into Gaza, his phone will be taken from him and we will have no contact until he comes back out of that hell. He lives with his wife and four kids in Bney Re'em, a moshav inside the range of missile fire.
• I don’t usually cry much, but I did yesterday when Nahum Barne'a, a favorite journalist of mine, was asked in a TV interview if, in his opinion, "Lanetzach Tochal Harev" (the sword will keep striking forever?), and he responded, "I do not think there is a solution."
• Throughout the last week and a half, a sentence continues to go round in my head: "Ma'asey yaday tov'im bayam, va'atem omrim shira?" (my creatures are drowning in the sea and you are singing?) It is written in the Gemara and the story tells about the angels who wanted to sing as the Egyptians were drowning in the Red Sea, while they were chasing the Israeli people, when G-D shut the sea over them. G-D told the angels to stop singing, asking them the same question: how they can sing when human beings are dying? I have to think about it when I hear about the terrible tragedies on the Gaza side of this war, about the dead and the wounded. As much as I am totally positive that this war is a necessity and that Israel has done everything possible to avoid it and that we have the right to defend our civilians and soldiers, I am still so very sorry for the misery of people in Gaza.
• We get so much support – from family members outside the bombarded area who flood us with offers to become their guests, from friends in Israel and abroad who flood us with pure concern and with offers to help, from many, many volunteers who direct activities with kids in the shelters, from famous singers who go from one shelter to the other to give people (who now have remained there for more than a week) a half hour of pure joy, from total strangers who open their homes for people from the south, who might want a change of atmosphere for a few days or even for a Shabbat (there are not enough guests, relative to the amount of hosts, from all around the country), from a potential client of mine who figured out I am from Netivot. She does not know me other than from a few phone calls and e-mails; she called to ask how I was doing and we had a long, wonderful conversation.
• LeShalom! For a long lasting peace. Do you know what? 40 peaceful years, according to the biblical definition of a peaceful period of time, will do it as a good start…