8 October, 2023
It’s my daughter yelling “airplane!” in excitement as a fighter jet flies overhead.
It’s my little nephew coming home early from shul to put on his uniform and go before the dancing has even begun.
It’s the mothers at kiddush swapping rumors and news as their sons and husbands are called up, while the children line up for candy and dance hakafot[1] because it’s still Simchat Torah and what else are we supposed to do.
It’s watching the videos that you don’t want to watch because the people in them deserve to be seen, deserve to have their stories told, deserve so much more than this.
It’s the horror and the tragedy and the updates and numbers that are unfathomable, UNFATHOMABLE, because this could never happen here, never to us, not with our army and our intelligence and our strength. God, we love talking about our strength.
It’s being at home today with my three children while my heart breaks for the mothers and children trapped in Gaza RIGHT NOW, while I snap at my two year old for throwing a ball at the baby and then burst into tears because oh my god we’re home and safe and together and how can I be grateful for that when they are STILL THERE.
It’s my baby giggling and I take a picture because all I want to remember from this day is that giggle, but as I take it my notifications pop up to remind me that the horror is there, it’s always there, it’s not going away.
It’s the family WhatsApp group with updates, who is home, who has been called up, who is safe, who is not yet safe.
It’s the Facebook posts looking for friends and family, spotting familiar faces and names, hoping for the best, reading the worst. Scrolling tragedy with one hand as I do a Winnie the Pooh puzzle with my other.
It’s today, and I can’t bear it.
[1] Part of the prayer service entailing seven cycles of dancing with the Torah scrolls
