We are all adjusting to the new “normal”. The cells in our body are now attuned to differentiate sound. Sensitive to the difference between thunder and fighter planes roaring in the distance. Attuned now to the acceleration of a motorcycle and an air raid siren. (In Jerusalem there were six the first day, plus one other.)
For some, the act of just getting to a shelter is an anxiety-producing activity, especially for families with small kids that have to go down flights of stairs to the building bomb shelter, or run to the closest one in the neighborhood. My mother’s former caretaker who now cares for a 90+ invalid woman has to leave her in her bed or her wheelchair and retreat to the shelter downstairs alone, leaving R upstairs in her apartment.
Grocery, hardware, and other stores stock items of need near the front entrance, whether they are socks, underwear, long underwear or portable lights, Leatherman-like tools or battery powered radios. They sit there now mainly untouched from our earlier panic. The new normal has brought back traffic jams and difficult parking. Lines at the grocery stores alongside the normal hustle and bustle of everyday life. In the center of town, I see a group of Israelis surrounding two mounted police, petting their horses.
My new normal includes driving Eitan wherever he needs to go. Everyone has their own red lines. I prefer it if he does not take the bus and am happy and willing to shuttle him around once or twice a day. Especially if it means spending more time with him 🙂. In the car yesterday after our dentist appointment, he had his first meeting (virtual) with his program MEET. This is a select program of 120 kids from all over Israel. Half are Jews and half are Arabs, half boys and half girls. It is run by and supported by MIT in the States. Their focus is on leadership, entrepreneurship, and coding. By the end of the 2.5 years, they will have built a start-up in their respective teams.
The first half an hour is a cafe-like talk time where I hear the moderator asking them about music and what they ate for lunch. I feel like there is an elephant under the virtual rug. No one mentions the war, mentions the situation. I wonder if it is because they are 15 years old and that is not what is on their minds, or that they are just avoiding the topic. After the three-hour meeting, I ask Eitan if they spoke about it at all, to which he replied that only in the context that one of the girls from Beit Lechem (Bethlehem) was not able to go back to school because the army had come to arrest someone there and he put up a fight and was shot and killed. Apparently, the town is in mourning.
The new normal is that this does not phase me. The new normal is that we have not heard one word about any of the hostages. The new normal is that we are going about our lives and work while less than a two-hour drive away, a full-scale military operation is taking place. The new normal is that we are fighting on two fronts of our country. The new normal is checking my apps to see where the rockets have been fired to. The new normal is that we have no idea what the future will look like. The new normal is taking it a day at a time.
New outdoor lights are being put on the building at the studio. I see a bag of tools on the bench outside and ask the workers if they would like some coffee or water. One of them replies in perfect Hebrew, not now, but soon.
Thirty minutes or so later, they motion to me from outside. They are ready for something hot to drink. They both want tea; one will take Earl Grey Green and one regular. Sugar and a half. I invite him in, and he helps me prepare the cups. I have heard him speak Arabic to the other worker, so I know he is an Arab. I ask him where he is from – Beit Safafa, he replies.
As I have said before, Arabs from this village work side by side with us in almost every sector.
I ask him what he thinks of Hamas. He replies: “You want to know honestly? I hate them all, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, they all make our lives miserable.” He tells me stories of other villages where he really does not like the population. I feel his sincerity and I want to hug him. He, like so many others, just wants to live life in peace. I set out a plate of cookies on the bench for them.
They are planting new flowers in the traffic circle down the road. I see it as I am driving by. I have always seen planting as a sign of hope. Hope for the future. Then I realize who is planting them. Our cousins. The irony gives me pause.
There has been a rescue of a female hostage. A soldier who was in a watch tower at one the kibbutzim. This is good news and gives me hope. It is one out of what are now 240 hostages. I am not sure how the number is climbing. There are still 100 or so bodies that still have not been identified, so it is kind of a mystery as to how these stats are being processed. I will say: “Come home Hersh, come home hostages” every day when I wake up.
A nice size group of designers showed up yesterday for our first Designers Lunch & Learn. Every month during the year I host a guest speaker at the Design Hub, who is relevant to the design industry. This was the first event of our new year. We have had lectures on smart homes, designing stairs, planning for drapes and shades, specialty wall finishes, and more.
This lecture was on planning ceiling design and AC systems with our mentor and head of the Israel English speaking design community. She is always a big draw. A great teacher and generous human being. There were lots of hugs and sharing – whose kids are in the army, or husband or whatnot. We need to get out, to be together. There is talk of a beloved teacher of one of the designer’s kids who was killed in a training accident the day before. His tank somehow flipped over. It is the first war casualty I know of close by. Sadly, this marks the beginning of what will be more.
After the event I must drive to Modiin, about 40 minutes away. I will check on a carpentry installation that should have been done months ago and is just happening now. I see the work, make my notes, and head back to my car.
As I enter my car, my phone blurts out: CODE RED, CODE RED. I roll down the window and hear no siren. I check my phone and it is in Jerusalem, specifically southern Jerusalem. We have not had a siren for a few weeks now, so it is surprising. I call Eitan and he and his classmates (not southern Jerusalem) are down in the shelter. They are fine. Day continues.
I shuttle Eitan to sayarut (Scouts) which is near the Hartman School where there is a distribution center. I will volunteer to help pack boxes or organize whatever is needed for two hours until he finishes. There are vans and drivers, some with white shirts and black kippot and some in t-shirts and jeans. It doesn’t really matter. They will stuff, and I mean literally stuff, their vehicles and drive all over the country delivering goods and supplies to army bases.
We all have one goal: to help in any way we can to help our soldiers do their best to keep themselves warm and safe so they can keep us safe. There are now boxes of knee pads, army green ones and ones with silicone, there are boxes of tourniquets, and containers of sugar and lots of sugar! I did not know they needed sugar.
