I woke up this morning feeling really yucky. I either had a very bad night, or the first good night in a while. I always feel worse after the first good night’s sleep in a while.
So I was sitting in front of the computer, and complaining a bit because my back hurt, when I heard a couple of very close ‘booms.’ Scarily close, and I wondered for a second why the rocket alert hadn’t sounded and concluded that it couldn’t have been rockets aimed at us… THEN the alert sounded. What it sounds like here, which is not the same all over Israel, is outside loud speakers saying ‘tseva adom, tseva adom,’ followed by this intense high-pitched beeping from the electronic box in our house. Can’t hardly hear yourself think.
Oldest son and I met in the centre of the house with plenty of room as it was just the two of us. The Husband, as happens too frequently, was working in the small house, and either with music too loud, or concentration too intense, didn’t hear any of it. He also left all the doors open. A closed door won’t do much to stop a rocket, but it is one more layer between us and possible shrapnel.
Nothing I can do about TH besides breathe and pray. I’ve talked to him, we’ve all talked to him, but he remains oblivious either of his personal danger or the effects of his behaviour on the rest of us. It is almost as if he wants us not to care what happens to him.
While oldest son and I stood in the hall discussing TH and the fact that the alert came after the bombs there were still more booms. We hung about the five minutes we need to wait to be sure there are no more rockets that the detection system missed, and went about our business. My back is still killing me.
Youngest son is coming home tomorrow, for the sabbath. I am looking forward to it and worrying about it. He will be here through Sunday for sure, and if things seem calm enough he can stay home. He wants to stay home, and I’d like him to be here, but only if he is okay. He most certainly wasn’t okay when we sent him to friends last Sunday – he was so sleep deprived, and he looked pretty bad. I’m hoping at the least that he will be better rested when I see him tomorrow.
The sky is grey outside my window, and I can’t tell if it is from the guns firing, or just the grey skies that I’ve been plagued with most of this summer. One doesn’t often get grey skies in the desert, certainly not in summer.
Well, the excitement has gone, the war has gotten old. I am so bored with it, I want to resume ordinary life. Hunkering down trying not to be bombed is no way to live.
I want to answer those stupid voices in my head – the ones who want to create some kind of moral equivalency – that there is a huge difference. We never have any idea when rockets might be shot at us, or what they are aimed at. For that matter, they so often don’t hit what they are aimed at (mostly to our benefit) that if we were warned, we couldn’t do anything with it. On the other hand those living on the other side of the fence are given explicit information about what is going to be bombed and when. They are given sufficient time to go to a safe place. They are informed where there are safe places. When they aren’t being warned that something is about to be blown up, they can safely go about their lives.
Regardless of how one feels about the *reasons* one side or the other is bombing, that is a difference that is real, factual, and effects hugely how we live our lives during wartime.
Me, I want to go shopping in Be’er Sheva, and not have to worry about explosions, or what I might come home to. I know, I know, I have too little sympathy for the sufferings of the other guy. So sue me.
I think the long period of intense stress I am living through has begun to affect my sunny disposition and emotional equanimity.