Dear friends and family in The Golden Medina

(Originally published in The Times of Israel)

A seder enveloped by sirens and a heart rendering funeral motivated me to write to friends and family in the United States, some of whom have been in touch as well as the many who have not.

Family and friends:

This Passover, and last night’s seder in particular, is especially poignant and, in some ways, quite strange.  We know that many in the U.S. are opposed to the war or, if not that, are conflicted about it.  We know that includes many American Jews, including those that care about Israel.

We understand that position from an American perspective: the economy, being seen (wrongly, in our view) as the aggressor, the cost, the price of a gallon of gas, dislike of President Trump, lack of clear messaging, apparent lack of a well thought-out strategy, etc.

(We are also cognizant of the shock and the feelings of vulnerability and isolation that many American Jews feel due to the startling increase in Jew-hatred in America and around the world.)

Most Israelis, including us, see it from a different perspective. We see an axis that bombarded our north and south with missiles for over two decades, that viciously attacked us on Oct. 7, 2023, that continues to bombard us to this day, that repeatedly declares its intention to destroy us, that dedicates itself to developing the weapons to do so, and that appeared to becoming very close to being in a position to do so.

Regardless of possible differences in perspective, we REALLY APPECIATE the messages of concern and support we have received.  At a time when we are running for cover, when our lives and movement are restricted and fraught with danger, when we are sustaining injuries and deaths, when our young people are making the ultimate sacrifice, when our neighbors with young children are under incredible strain, when we are feeling very isolated and alone, your messages have been a lifeline, a reminder that people care, that we are not alone.

We’re hanging in there.  It does take its toll.  Everyone is weary. It seems that in Jerusalem the frequency of attacks has decreased a bit the last 48 hours. But we’ve had periods like that before.  The north is getting hit hard by Hezbollah.  And they get no warning—they have to get to a shelter in 15 seconds.

The center of the country and Tel Aviv are still getting hit hard by Iran.  Our daughter in Tel Aviv  had them at 9 and 9:30 Monday night and then, starting about 7:45 yesterday morning, had about four in the course of two hours.  Many were wondering how they would cook for the seder while running to shelters.

The shelter, the siren, and the check please

(Originally published in The Times of Israel)

Three weeks into the war and I'd say we are tired, weary, worried, united, committed, sometimes uplifted, and resolute.  We have a routine of sorts.  We've adapted.

Me: Want to go to dinner? Restaurant A or Restaurant B?

Wife: B. It's less expensive and less formal.  I'd rather be interrupted and run for shelter from there.

Waitress:  Can I have your phone number?

Us:  Sure. Why?

Waitress:  In case of a Tzeva Adom (red alert).  Some customers "forget" to come back and pay after spending time in the shelter.

I've been reading an 880 page book, the biography of William F. Buckley, Jr., a seminal figure in America's modern conservative movement.  I've gotten through 550 pages. Three-fourths of my reading has been done in 15 minute timeframes while sitting in the shelter up the block from our apartment.  Neighbors have asked about this big, heavy book I lug up to the shelter night and day. Now there is interest in what will be finished first: the book or the war.

One of the neighbors we have gotten to know in the shelter, an upbeat woman with a Ph.D. in a science, likes to take long showers, a risky endeavor these days.  She's figured out that, based on the history, the most unlikely time for missiles being aimed at us is 4:00 a.m.  So she got up at 4:00 a.m. to take a long shower.  A smart, or a mad, scientist.

Everyone has his or her own way of adapting to the situation. Everyone has their own tolerance for risk, for what makes them uncomfortable, and for what doesn't.  It is not all logical.

We take walks in the neighborthood.  We are always cognizant of where the nearest public shelter is, what apartment building might have a shelter we could use, how long it would take to run to a shelter.

It helps to use an app that plots out the nearest public shelter and how far away it is.  I have it on my phone.  It is red and has a person sitting under a roof with three missiles pointing down at it.  It is called "Bomb Shelter."  Very subtle.

Red alerts and clown noses: Purim under fire

 (Originally published in The Times of Israel)

It has been quite a Shushan Purim in Jerusalem.

We were awaken to a tzeva adom (a red alert) at around 6:00 a.m.  Nothing like running half asleep to the shelter down the street to get a morning off to a quick start.  No coffee needed.  After visiting with our neighbors in the shelter–we've gotten to know some very nice people the last few days–the all-clear sounded and we headed home.

One of the most difficult challenges of this war has been deciding when it is safe to jump in the shower.  After there has been quiet for a while?  Right after an all-clear, the thinking being it will take them a while to launch the next round?  Who knows?  In any event, I got a quick one in.

The rest of the morning was quiet.  Or, I should say, free of missiles.  I could hear the sounds of Purim from the streets.  Singing, kids laughing,  glasses clinking.  In the early afternoon I decided it was safe enough to take a walk in the neighborhood to soak up the atmosphere.  Lots of kids and adults in costume.  A festive atmosphere despite the tension and worry in the air.

Then, an alert sounded.  I floundered for a moment, until a man with a big red clown's nose on his face and clown's shoes on his feet told me to follow him to the nearest shelter.  Only in Jerusalem on Shushan Purim would I put my life in the hands of a guy with a clown's nose and shoes.  But it worked.  I spent about 10 minutes in the shelter with my new clown friend, lots of cute Queen Esthers, 10 year-old breakdancers, and soccer players, among others.

The all-clear sounded and I started what I thought was a leisurely stroll back to our apartment.  Another alert went off.  I was too far from the shelter I had left but not close enough to the one on our street.  So I again followed the crowd and found myself with another group of Purim celebrators.  This time there was an assortment of dogs with them.

Another all-clear and I got home.  Thinking the action was over for the day, I was relaxing or, I should say, doing the best imitation of relaxing that one can do in these circumstances, when at around 4:15 this afternoon, another alert went off.  If we are reducing Iran's ability to fire missiles, we have not experienced it today.  Could they be throwing some last Hail Mary's?  Should I be bringing Mary into this?  Aren't things complicated enough?

It is not lost on Israelis that we are taking on an evil Persian regime, and that we killed an evil Persion leader, while we mark a holiday that celebrates the demise of Haman, an evil Persian Prime Minister who wanted to exterminate the Jews and who was stopped by the heroic action of the Jewish Queen Esther.

It also is not lost on Israelis and many Iranians that the Persian King Cyrus ended the Babylonian captivity in 539-538 BCE by issuing a decree allowing the Jews to return to Jerusalem, financed the rebuilding of the Second Temple, and permitted religious freedom, and that, if things go well, the Jewish nation, in partnership with the U.S., might return the favor 3100 years later.  What goes around sometimes does come around, we hope.

Friends and acquaintances abroad understandably have many questions and concerns regarding the war or, as some American politicians prefer to label it, operation or action.  Secret: It is a war.