I don’t know what to say anymore, though every time I say I’m having trouble finding words, they seem to spill out anyway. I have no idea what direction this post will take.
While my mind is hazy about the events of the first Intifada back in 1987 – months after I returned home from spending a transformational gap year in Israel, since returning after college in 1991 and staying, I’ve borne witness to far too many terror attacks to count. I remember my own close calls; hearing single ambulance sirens and waiting with dread for additional sirens, signifying that a terror attack had taken place somewhere nearby; choosing where to eat lunch with colleagues based on whether or not restaurants had security guards…
During the early days of terror sprees, so much of the country would stop. Comedies were not shown on television (these were the days long before VOD and streaming) and the local children’s channel would intersperse their modified programming with child-appropriate conversations about what was happening. Most of all, though, I remember how the radio stations altered their playlists to play only quiet songs – mellow, sad songs that mirrored our collective mood.
While it sounds almost surreal to say that we eventually grew accustomed to living with terror, that’s exactly what happened. Over time, most of us stopped coming to a halt unless we were either directly impacted by an attack or there was a large number of dead and wounded. Gradually, TV schedules and radio station playlists were no longer changed, as Israelis were determined to carry on as usual – to not let the terror win.
Whenever I drive somewhere, I generally prefer to listen to my own playlists on Spotify than listen to the radio. Earlier this week, however, while commuting 40 minutes to and from my office, I chose to listen to the radio instead. It felt like the “right” thing to do – hearing the same music at the same time as so many other Israelis across the country. And, once again, the music is quiet and sad. Sometimes I forget how many truly sad songs of loss and wartime have been produced here (as well as many songs about peace, but they feel hollow these days). On our national memorial days for fallen soldiers, terror victims, and victims of the Holocaust, I actually look forward to hearing the somber songs on the radio, but not now. Now, like nearly every other waking moment of the past few days, it is unbearable.
The lyrics of one song in particular keep reverberating in my mind, a mournful song by Israeli musician Aviv Gefen, whose tune alone is one of deep sadness:
“The horror of the enmity, songs of war, and brotherly hatred that grows every day…”
“Beloved homeland, we are very tired and need to rest…”
“Beloved homeland, we live once in a lifetime, give us some love and give me strength to love you…”
And my god, we are all so very tired. I’d forgotten how exhausting war can be. They are saying that Saturday we experienced the single highest number of Jewish deaths in one day since the Holocaust, and I can’t find a way to wrap my head around that. As of this morning, the number of dead has risen to 1,200. The bodies of approximately 40 murdered babies were found on a single kibbutz – some of them were beheaded. Can you even imagine the degrees of diabolical depravity one must have to carry out such an act? There are no words…
We heard three rocket alarms on Saturday, and I heard two explosions yesterday while working from home – apparently something having to do with a missile that reached an Arab community somewhere south of us that may have resulted in one death, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to keep track. The northern border is heating up as well, but for now, we’re still safe – as safe as anyone can be, I guess. And for those of you asking if we will leave the country if things get worse, the truth is Israel, with all of its faults, is still home, and that as long as our son must stay to carry out his military duties, we aren’t going anywhere. May we all know better, quieter, safer days.
