July 11th — Thursday — Yud Zayin Tammuz
I went to a class this morning. It was fantastic! It lasted
five hours. The rav spoke about fear, about different people
in the Chumash, looking at the lives of the Ovos and
what we can learn from them. One woman, from Australia, was
scared because of the bombing at 5:00 a.m. and 7:00 a.m. I
told her that I've lived in Safed nearly two decades and
there's never been anything in Safed! Nothing at all!
And that Safed is the safest place in the world.
After the class I went to buy vegetables in a store on the
main street of Safed. As I was paying, there was a huge
"boom"; the store shook, the glass shattered above us, and I
started screaming, then covered my mouth with my hand to stop
myself since there were two children in the store and I
didn't want to frighten them more than they were already
frightened. I finished paying with shaking hands and walked
home as quickly as I could. People in the street were crying
from fear. As I came down the hill, I could see Mt. Meron
smoking and I could hear sirens wailing.
I heard later that the woman from Australia caught the next
taxi to Jerusalem.
Boy, did I have to eat my words!
July 12th — Friday — Yud Ches
We had at least twenty direct hits on Safed so far. There
have been several casualties and I woke up to the sounds of
bombing as well as the sound of helicopters whirling above
— at least the latter are on our side!
It's weird how little the news is reporting. People are
spending hours in the bomb shelters but I can't since I'm
asthmatic and the closed in, airless, dusty bomb shelter is
more of a threat of life for me than being in my house!
Anyway, I don't believe it'll go on too long.
Those of us who are still here, staying for Shabbos, are
somewhat calmer than those evacuating, so at least the panic
level is not so intense. The only thing I did, personally,
aside from saying Tehillim with the kids, is to
arrange for my daughter Tzivia not to come home so she'll
have to stay in Rechasim (north of Haifa) in her dorm. Poor
kid. She looks forward so much to coming home for Shabbos and
now I can't let her. G-d willing, it will all pass quickly
but I don't know.
Meanwhile, here in Safed, the rumors are flying faster and
harder than the missiles! I won't believe anything until I
hear it from a reliable source. I have to get ready for
Shabbos. It's a weird feeling having to ask oneself, "Should
I risk MY life by going to the mini-market and buying
challos, or should I send my 20 year old son and, G-d
forbid, risk his life?"
I shake my head, as if by doing so, somehow, the question
will have no meaning. In the end he decides to daven
shacharis in the shul near the mini-market and he
buys them on the way home with no mishap. So many people are
leaving for Shabbos but I'm sure Shabbos will be quiet. I'm
sure of it.
July 13th — Motzei Shabbos
I had to eat my words again! And this time they had an
acrid taste! (Excuse my "black humor" — That's what
stress brings out in me.) Shabbos was like a thunderstorm.
The entire day and all night motzei Shabbos was
nonstop — literally nonstop — bombing, jets,
helicopters, ambulances. Whenever the kids squabbled I would
say, "There's a war outside! We don't need one inside too!"
They settled down quickly. The constant noise of bombing
outside said more than I could.
Two of my boys came home after davening and told me
about a Katyusha shell that fell about a block and a half
from our apartment. It fell on the side of a hill with no
homes and no people. "It was about 6 feet long and not really
wide. We watched it hit, explode, and burst into flames. Ima,
it was beautiful! Like the Lag B'Omer fire only bigger."
I had no response. I would never think of a bomb as
"beautiful" but that's the perspective of a child. They see
things so differently.
According to my count, the Safed area has had over 300 hits
in three days but it's probably more. It just doesn't stop.
Three were within a couple blocks of my house, rocking the
whole building complex of several hundred apartments!
I wish I could write something good but right now I can't. I
keep praying, telling the kids stories of all the times we've
come out victorious against all odds. It's so scary. My
stomach is in constant knots, the kids are all clingy.
A lot of people are frantic to leave Safed. I guess I wasn't
the only one who thought that Shabbos would be quiet. The bus
stops are filled, the buses overflowing.
July 14th — Sunday — Chof Tammuz
I'm not just receiving e-mails, but, also e-hugs, e-kisses, e-
love, and e-prayers! Everyone cares so much. I wish we felt
more united without having to go through these kinds of
trials and tribulations.
My 16-year-old waited to catch the bus back to Bnei Brak but
it was so full that the driver wouldn't let him on and he had
to wait for the next one which was also too full — but
the driver allowed him to sit on the steps. I spend the next
two and a half hours waiting anxiously until his call comes
that he's arrived safely.
The rest of Sunday passed surprisingly quietly . . . until
nightfall. Then the bombs fell fast and furious. Midnight. I
couldn't sleep. Too much noise. 2:00 a.m. I still couldn't
sleep. 3:00 a.m. I finally drifted off, sirens wailing in the
blackness of the night.
July 15th — Monday — Chof-Alef
I went to the mini-market to do the weekly shopping. I'm
scared to go out of the house but we do need food! Inside the
store there was only one other woman other than the cashier.
"How am I going to get through all these crowds of
people to do my shopping?" I asked her humorously.
She chuckled and said, "Yeah, the whole three families that
are left in Safed."
There are more than three families left in Safed (maybe three
families per building that consist of dozens of apartments .
. . ) but it certainly has emptied out. This time of year
Safed is usually packed with tourists and guests. Not now. It
feels more like a ghost town.
There were three men in my husband's shul. He'll have
to try to find a minyan in a different shul.
Other families have left or people are too nervous to leave
the bomb shelters. But where can he find a minyan?
Everything's closed down; no school, no intercity buses, no
stores other than the grocery stores, which are open for a
couple of hours a day (or "until a bomb falls," they tell me
when I call) and my husband has to go in to work at the
pharmacy also for 3-4 hours a day. It's termed "emergency
procedure." This is the second war I've been in (the first
was the Gulf War) but I never had it so close to home.
At the moment, we're doing fine, thank G-d. The truth is,
today was much quieter up here. I think they decided that
they did enough damage to Safed although as I write this, I
hear bombs falling. Maybe it's in the surrounding areas;
maybe the other side of Safed. I don't know. They're hitting
Arab villages as well. They really don't care as long as they
can do damage. We'll get through this, though — we Jews
always have; always will.
July 16th — Tuesday — Chof Beis
The e-mails and phone calls coming in from all over Israel as
well as from the States are pure love and concern. Whether it
comes from family or friends — it means so much!
I'm sure all the love, caring, and prayers, as well as
everyone's love, caring, and prayers, are helping to
protect all of us. It means so much. It does so
much!
When we went through this with the Gulf War, it wasn't so
close to Safed. Now it's in Safed! I've lived in Safed for 19
years without one incident so this has really shaken me up.
But Hashem will prevail. Perhaps He's just shaking us all up
to do teshuvoh.
It seems like about 80 percent of Safed has evacuated,
although I have a friend that says it's "only" 40 percent.
A group of volunteers came to the bomb shelter. After two
hours of games and singing and arts & crafts, the kids came
home smiling and happy — they had a blast! (Maybe I
shouldn't use that word...)
We'll get through this — Hashem does so many miracles!
(And sometimes we even merit to see some.) While I tried to
cook lunch today, my mind was so fuzzy with the constant
noise of bombs falling, helicopters, sirens, etc. that I kept
making mistakes. I was lucky I didn't cut myself. A neighbor
brought over a big container of potato salad. That really
helped. The kids loved it.
It's really boring being in the house 24/7, although today we
watched 8 missiles fall in the wadi below us, about two miles
from us. They started fires, then these little planes flew
out and poured red stuff over it to snuff them out.
Boy, are those Katyushas loud! At least the missiles
that fall in the fields and valleys don't do so much damage.
Of course, people's incomes are being seriously damaged due
to hardly anyone working. I won't say anything about the
damage from direct hits and the many, many wounded. The news
is covering that and it hurts too much to write about.
Even though we, personally, are doing okay, thank G-d, it's
still tough. I don't pretend it's not.
Someone called today. Arrangements have been made for free
transportation to Bnei Brak and free camps for a week or
longer. My boys don't want to go.
"They're not saying when we can come home," my 12 year old
son says.
"I know, sweetheart, but they don't know for how long."
"Then I don't want to go," he says, his large hazel eyes wide
with — fear? The unknown? Wanting to be near me but not
wanting to admit it?
"I won't force you, sweetheart."
"Thank you, Ima."
How is one supposed to know what's best for their children
and their family in a situation like this? Who says that one
place is safer than another right now? Some of these
decisions could be life and death decisions!
I close my eyes, inhale fully, and try to feel what's deep
within me. In truth, I don't want the family to be separated.
I don't want my children to go away. They'll stay. I let my
breath out slowly. We'll be together and Hashem will be
together with us too.
July 17th — Wednesday — Chof Gimmel
This morning, my 12-year-old went outside to "build." I don't
usually yell at my kids but I certainly broke that pattern
now! I yelled at him like I can't remember ever yelling at
him. "NOT ONE TOE IS TO GO OUT OF THIS HOUSE!"
I told him I'll send him to Bnei Brak since he doesn't
realize that there's a war going on. He's been good the whole
day, poor kid. We've all been holed up for seven straight
days now. How much can they play with Lego and read the same
books over and over again? There are almost no neighbors left
and no one wants their kids out of their sight so, it's us,
here, and that's it.
July 18th — Thursday — Chof Daled
Yated came out today and the poem I wrote last week
was in it. My friend sent me this e-mail: " `Storming, in The
Holy Land' is amazing. No rhythm, which in this case really
fits. It touches feelings that I buried long ago, and am not
sure I can find.
"I'm quietly going nuts, being away from my home in Safed. I
miss having my own space, my own bed to sleep in, my own
fridge and chair and everything! No rhythm to my life right
now. This is the hardest part for me. I discover that my life
is built on structures that are there to keep me safe —
and some are hollow.
"Hang in. I don't know which is harder — having the
bombs or being completely out of place. My son came with his
wife so we are four families in a 3 room flat. We've mostly
been paying for food and it's been running close to 200
shekels a day. People who are nervous eat lots. And it's the
only thing that will keep nerves down. Mine, anyway.
"I hold you safe in a huge huggggggggg."
She has a good point: at least I am in my own home with my
own things. Having to go away might be quieter, it may be
less dangerous, not as life threatening but it's not
necessarily easier. So, I do appreciate my friend's feelings
of missing being in her home. I wish that she and every other
"exile" could come home already. Soon. I really think it'll
be soon.
The first several times that there were rounds of fifteen,
twenty, or more bombings in quick succession, I called
friends in Jerusalem or Bnei Brak just to get that link to
normalcy but they would have to get off the phone to take
their kids to school, go to work, etc.
I felt shocked: school? work? Such things exist right now? My
life consists of boom, boom, and boom! To think that a two
and a half hour drive away there is no war.
This afternoon was much quieter. There are I-don't-know-how-
many bombings per minute but now we're the ones shooting.
Still, the noise...
I fall asleep around 6:00 in the afternoon and am awakened
half an hour later from a siren near the house. All three
boys fell asleep too. This war is exhausting.
"Devory," I say to my youngest daughter, "You wake up Yitzhak
Shneur and I'll wake up the other two boys. They have to eat
dinner and go to shul."
From Yitzhak Shneur's room I hear her singing out
dramatically, "Yitzhak! Wake up! The Geulah has
arrived!"
I can't help but laugh. Children! They're wonderful!
My husband takes the boys to daven but he's getting
more and more concerned about having a minyan on
Shabbos. The few people that are left seem to be leaving. The
bombing is getting so nerve wracking.
Meanwhile a friend of mine is aching to come home and she
calls me three times a day to find out exactly what's
happening. Today is the first day that's quiet enough (or at
least we're not the ones getting hit — "only" two hits
in Safed that I know of...) that I tell her that considering
where her apartment is located and because she doesn't have
little children that, yes, now I'm finally willing to say
that maybe it's okay for her to come back (until now I kept
saying "Not yet. Not yet...")
"But I take no responsibility for the bus ride up here and
take into account, my dear friend, the constant sounds of
bombing and jets. It's very hard on the nervous system. Think
it through carefully . . . Do you think you and your husband
will be able to tolerate it?"
I can hear her thinking hard over the telephone line.
This is such a tense time. No one can make judgments on
anyone. Every person, couple, and family has so many angles
to consider. Everyone has to do what's right for
themselves.
July 21 — Friday — Chof Hei
I woke up at 3:00 a.m. I lay in bed for a full hour and a
half listening to the jets soaring through the sky. I hoped
for a five minute interval so that I might be able to fall
asleep again but there wasn't even a one minute interval. I
wonder if my friends that call think I'm exaggerating when I
say it's nonstop bombing. I wish it were just exaggerations .
. . 4:30 a.m. I get up.
After sitting and writing for awhile, I turn to look out the
window at the olive tree swaying gently in the breeze outside
my apartment and there — there are birds, hopping from
branch to branch. The sun is rising and it dawns on me that I
haven't seen any animals [outside my `ark'] for the past nine
days! I take out the garbage and see something I haven't seen
in over a week: cats. Two of them pawing their way through
the bags and scraps of food. The animals have been holed up
the same as we've been!
But now they're back. We can all hearing the bombing still
going on in Lebanon but the birds and the cats are coming
back. G-d willing, lehavdil, the residents of Safed
will start mending their way back to the dawn of normal
life.
As I get my candles ready for Shabbos, all I can think, hope,
and pray for is when the day will arrive when — "the
Merciful One will let us inherit that day which will be all
Shabbos...for life everlasting".
Amen!
