Day 358: WTF

The space between "f*ing unbelievable!" and "now what?" is very small indeed

Like most Israelis, we heard of the attack on the Dahya neighborhood of Beirut (the stronghold of Hezbollah) shortly after Shabbat began.

My cousin J, who lives in the Galilee, was visiting over the weekend. His phone started pinging with a discussion in his bicycling group on whether or not to continue with their plans for a Saturday morning ride. (In the end, they cancelled it. He still left early in hopes to make it home without a siren. As he texted Y later in the morning, he did.. though he sent that particular message from his safe room, in the middle of a siren.)

In synagogue this morning, the events of last night was all everyone talked about. Some of the reservists showed up in uniform, an indication of where they had needed to be earlier in the morning, or would be later that day. But the synagogue was packed full: one family celebrated the recent marriage of their oldest son, and another family, the bar-mitzvah of their youngest one. After the service, there was kugl and salads and pastries and lots of chatting in the kiddush in the garden.

The question of the day, of course, was “where’s is your son/daughter?”

Answers varied. “Called back to her base.” “Still in the south.” And the most popular reply: “called up north.”

Worried looks and sighs invariably followed.

*

All day, local news channels regurgitate the same images, adding an occasional morsel of information to maintain viewership: “Netanyahu signed off on the order in a call with IDF Chief Halevi and Defense Minister Gallant shortly before the speech at the UN.” “Some 83 tons of explosives were used.” “The ‘golden info’ came that same day.” “A [female] intelligence officer in charge of the Lebanon put together all the pieces of the puzzle.”

And little by little, there are more are “analyses” and “commentary” and “exclusives” added to the mix, each with a different take on what happens next. Continued air operations to target the large arsenal Hezbollah amassed over two decades? A limited ground operation? A retaliatory strike by Iran? A truce? An all out war?

*

Modiin, like most of the center of the country, had another a siren in the afternoon, around the time my kids’ scouts troop begins its Saturday activities. It was set off by another ballistic missile from Yemen (intercepted by air defense systems, with no damage or injured except for the remnants of an interceptor falling in a road in the outskirts of Jerusalem.)

After the compulsory 10 minutes in the safe room, I walked over to the school near my house where the scouts meet, in case some of the younger kids needed consoling, or if the staff needed help sorting kids when their parents showed up to take them home.

A few other parents who live close by had the same thoughts, and we chatted outside the gates. But as it turned out, our presence was entirely unnecessary. We watched in amazement as circles of kids ages 8 through 14 were being led by other older teens chats, songs and games. Someone kicked a ball. Two girls chased each other. In other words, a normal Saturday at the scouts.Nobody would have guessed the kids had run inside to the shelter only a few minutes before.

The older teens approached us asking for details (was it only in Modiin? Was it a big barrage or a single missile?) and shared the comic timing: they were giving the announcements of the day, and just about to give instructions on what to do in the case of a siren. “Oh well, we’ll need to do this live.”

So after shaking our head in amazement at the resilience of the kids (and argue whether it’s really resilience, or the fact that this is such an absurd situation that nothing really surprises them anymore,) some parents went home, while others sat down to chat int he neighboring park.

The activities ended like they always do: hold a Havdallah ceremony in the basketball court to mark the end of the Shabbat and the start of a weekday. As the songs were winding down, more parents arrived to pick up their kids. As everyone made their way back to their cars, one could overhear the snippets of conversation. “So where were you in the siren?” “What’s for dinner?” “Did you finish your homework?” “No sorry, you can’t go to bed so late— remember there’s school tomorrow.”

(That is, unless we get new instructions from the Home Front Command by the morning.)

Marking the end of Saturday and the beginning of a new week