Just got up. Have not checked the news yet. Rumblings in the distance were like thunder all night. Since Jerusalem is a no-fly zone, any aircraft that comes near is military. I am sure they have been bombing the hell out of Gaza. I hate how it will affect the innocent. I hate that we have POWs and that they are young and beautiful and scared, and some are elderly and some are children and that we have no idea where they are, how many, and that one is a 20-year-old boy who is the son of friends. I just sat in the sukkah last Thursday laughing and hearing stories about him. Hersh Polin, where are you? Please be safe.
It is hard to know what to do with myself. Working on design projects just does not seem right now, besides most stores are closed, construction is at a standstill and somehow picking out the right curtains for someone’s apartment is not in my headspace, nor theirs. And so, I watch the news, listen to the news, try to find out more new stations, look at posts from friends on Facebook and WhatsApp, reply to concerned friends and family. I need to find a spot to drop off the items I purchased yesterday for the soldiers and remember on one of my groups a posting about being able to volunteer at a distribution site – aka the new acting school in the center of town. I get in my car.
As I approach the building, I am following many others carrying boxes and bags of groceries, supplies and clothes into the entrance of the building. I recognize the faces of some of the staff, as the school was on the fourth floor of the building where my studio is until they moved a year ago. There is already the sense that we, the collective we, are doing something now, something real to help. Enough sitting in front of the TV getting depressed and feeling helpless.
This seems to be a well-oiled machine, there are people directing people and people with computers signing people in and piles of bags and boxes that are being sorted outside the stage area and piles of sorted items inside the stage area: toothpaste, underwear (new), coffee, snacks, oil, pasta, rice, sleeping bags, phone cables, battery packs, army clothes, baby wipes, diapers, formula, and more and more. Some of us are organizing the areas, some are filling boxes according to lists. I am with the army clothes, folding towels and sheets and dig in like I am organizing my own store separating coats, pants, shirts, there is even a flak jacket that I unpack. We are out of men’s underwear! I send a WhatsApp to friends about the items we need and are lacking – headlamps and flashlights.
Suddenly we are all called into the safe room. There are maybe 50 of us. This is the dressing room filled with rows of lightbulbs and mirrors. We are told a suspected terrorist is roaming around somewhere outside. They lock the doors and then double lock them with steel poles. It is hot. Half of us sit on the floor. Sari reads a psalm from a typed piece of paper stuck into the back of a phone belonging to the girl sitting next to us. They tell us it was two boys fighting and one called the other a terrorist. We laugh but take these things seriously.
At 4 p.m. there is the funeral of a lone soldier (one who comes to serve in the army without parents here) who was originally from England. They have asked people to come and support them. Another silver-haired English-speaking lady and I begin to chat and she decides to join me for the funeral.
We are part of a constant stream of people pouring into the Har Herzl military cemetery. From every direction they are flooding into the cemetery. I would guess 20-30 of the people actually know this boy. We have no relation to him, but he is also our son, brother, grandson, and friend. That is what we do here. We are family. There are hundreds and hundreds here to hear his name, hear his story, to understand who this brave boy of 20 was and to say the prayers to send him to heaven with love.
I am with my new friend L. She is like a soul sister sent to me on this day of aloneness. (Eitan went to play with his little cousins at the hotel where they are waiting to get a flight back to America.) We are moved to tears listening to Nathaniel Young’s sister speak about his love for music, his big and warm smile, and his love and dedication to his nieces. The siren that has just started is very, very loud. There is no place to run for cover. They instruct us on the microphone to take cover, lay on the ground and put our hands over our heads. It is loud and seems never-ending. A siren for one full minute; a LONG time. I reach next to me and grab L’s hand. I focus on my breathing. I stay in the moment. I tell myself we are ok. Her hand is tight around mine. We hear three-five-six booms in the distance and a minute later can get up. The ceremony continues. I hear ambulances in the distance. Everyone searches their phones for information. This is a strange new reality.
We head back to the distribution center. Here there are likeminded people who are focusing on action and I need to be a part of that. I continue to sort and Eitan joins (I want him to be part of this effort). My friend Sari joined. It lifts us out of our depression. Sari and I are sorting clothes, fancy dresses, baby clothes (too cute!), t-shirts and jackets and items I am not sure anyone would wear. We are laughing and enjoying ourselves.
We leave at 10 p.m. when they send everyone home. Eitan and I decide to find water bottles (6 x 1.5L called a shisha) before heading home to put in our mamad*. We have been instructed by the Home Front Command to have 72 hours’ worth of supplies. Usually, gas stations have piles of them, makolets (small supermarkets). We stop at three gas stations and four makolets and no one has. I will go tomorrow to a big supermarket hoping we can find one. If not, we will fill our own bottles.
Home around 11 and start preparing my safe room with all the necessities. They have told us to prepare enough for 72 hours. Water, food, meds, computer, candles, lantern. I fill the cupboards like we are going camping – a bucket and plastic bags – makeshift toilet, 2 bowls, silverware, paper towels, nuts etc. passports, need to get cash. It is all just in case. Just in case. Just in case.
*safe room
