This article originally appeared in The Times of Israel
Parental advisory: Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we also have work to do in the morning
“Our shoes are by the door. If I wake you and your sister, you will put them on and walk to the shelter together with me. You won’t be afraid. And we have snacks.”
On Sunday, August 4, 2024 at bedtime, I instruct my children. They are 6 and 4 — so tiny. They shouldn’t be hearing me say this. I say it anyway. I hope they can’t smell fear.
On Monday, August 5th, I buy a stroller to make it easier if we have to go. I put my “go bag” inside. At twilight, we do a play-practice of how we will get in the stroller and we walk down the street to the bomb shelter. Isn’t this fun? We can do it. Show me how you’ll cover your ears if you don’t like the sounds. Amazing!
My younger one asks if there will be “an azaka [air raid siren] now Mommy?” looking scared. “Maybe, but we know what to do and you’ll be safe with mommy. They’re doing army practice this week, so we will practice too. Okay?” I’ve gone the route of normalizing it for them to make it less scary. I hate myself for this. I don’t want them to think this is normal or acceptable.
Nobody knows what will happen tonight. Or in the coming days. I realize that nobody is at the helm in our country’s so-called leadership, and there are no adults in the room. Certainly no leaders. They are normalizing us sitting here waiting to get bombed for the last week. I don’t want to start thinking this is normal. Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?!
I remember that in my house, I am the adult in the room, so one glass of wine will have to suffice tonight. If air raid sirens go off, I will need to manage the situation. I might need to push the stroller to the shelter down the street. Or drive.
I seethe. At the news for not knowing what will happen tonight. At my useless military connections for hinting but not really knowing. At my friends, for panicking. At this pathetic government of cronies, sellouts, and crusty old men who’ve put us at the tip of the spear, at the mercy of religious zealots in Iran whose mothers didn’t love them so they’ve taken their own people hostage. We actually have something in common with those people. As Israelis, we are also hostage to a government that is needlessly prolonging the war and avoiding a deal to bring our actual hostages back home. I try to remind myself that my anger isn’t constructive.
I remind myself I can’t control being surrounded by idiots, for now. I also can’t control the phantom air raid sirens that I hear in my head at random times, wailing in that bitter, split tone in the day and in the night.
But tonight, I can control a small number of things, and control them I will.
My go bag, pictured in this post (granola bars, a 2-liter of water, and wow, that is a large, scary knife. Pretzels for us and other kids. Excedrin, Xanax. Flashlight. Fully charged iPad. Transistor radio. I don’t even know what the word “transistor” means.)
A full tank of gas at all times. A solar-powered generator in the trunk. Water in the house, in the car. Dry goods, stashed at a friend’s house nearby.
What I tell my children and how. What I tell myself.
Having my work files available offline. And I’ll work on paper and pencil if I have to.
We won’t be afraid.
We are not “Jews with trembling knees.” Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we also have work to do in the morning. 300+ days later, we are still delivering no matter what.
Shoes by the door. But head on the pillow. Evil will not prevail. Not tonight.
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