Sunday, July 28, Day#296

I keep trying.

To make sense of everything.

To write. 

To share my thoughts and feelings.

To share life.

My last update was in February, on Day #142.

It has been 154 days since I last wrote and posted anything from start to finish.

Since then, I have written, deleted, rewritten, saved, and then deleted again—I have lost track of how many times.

What do I write? How do I express my confusion? How do I document living life during a war?

And who cares? Who is even reading?

No one is missing me or my posts. 

Very few have asked, “How is life in Israel?” or “Where have you been?” 

Who am I talking to anymore?

For everyone, life goes on…

There is so much disinformation in the world—so much hate. Why do people hate me because I’m Jewish?! The world I knew until now is slipping between my fingers and washing away. I don’t recognize what I see and read. There is an underlying fear of the next attack, and I don’t understand what is happening.

Posting anything with the trembling sounds of war in the distance feels insignificant: 120 hostages are still in captivity - some are still alive, the soldiers are still risking their lives for my freedom, the hostage families are suffering unbearably, and the soldier’s families are still fearing the daily news or, even worse, mourning their loss. And the world outside of Israel looks upside down to me.

It is all just TOO MUCH.

I have struggled both emotionally and mentally over the past 154 days.

There is deep, gut-wrenching survivor guilt in the midst of all of this chaos and loss.

How can I post a smiling picture or anything enjoyable when I know our entire country is grieving and everyone is carrying a heavy personal burden?

How can I post pictures of my grandchildren when my Israeli sisters and brothers have lost many - if not all - of their family members?

How can I write anything about my children being safe in their homes when hundreds of families have been displaced with no homes to return to?

How can I write about one of my children’s accomplishments when we are constantly wondering whether the next announcement of a wounded or killed soldier will be a familiar name? 

How can I go about my day knowing that someone else’s son has died while trying to make it safe for me to drive to the supermarket without worrying about a rocket landing on my head?

How can I complain about the air conditioning in my car not working or the slow service at my favorite restaurant? 

How can I do art projects with my grandchildren, go for a swim, or walk on the beach?

How can I enjoy visiting the States to see my friends and family? Or go shopping at Target, Trader Joe’s, or Old Navy? 

How can I enjoy a road trip, see beautiful places, or hike without worrying? 

How can I experience the thrill of the strip in Nashville, TN, or drink too much bourbon at a distillery in Danville, KY? 

How can I enjoy meeting new family? Or celebrate their happy occasions?

How can I do any of these things and share them with a smile while sadistic terrorists are torturing my brothers and sisters in dark and dirty, unknown places?

I don’t want anyone to think I’m freely or carelessly going on with my life, forgetting about the war. I don’t want anyone else to stop thinking about our hostages, the soldiers, or their families. I feel a responsibility to represent.

I don’t want to be silent. I cannot be complacent.

I want my family and friends to know that every day, I wear a piece of tape on my clothing over my heart, written with the number of days since the war began and our hostages have been in captivity. I do this as a stark reminder for myself or anyone who sees the number and asks, “What is that number?” 

It’s something small I can do to bring awareness to the world.

So much has happened in the 154 days since I shared any part of my life. I continue to need help with balancing the guilt. I want to live life while not forgetting that we are in a war with many painful and challenging consequences. I don’t want to feel guilty for living. I want everyone to know what is happening.

Thankfully (which I, of course, feel guilty saying), our children are all safe and accounted for. 

Dov is the only one in our family who has remained in reserve duty. His particular elite unit is involved with important stuff in this war, but I will never know what that is. I appreciate that he has gotten much better at sending SOLs (Signs of Life) when possible.

Becky and Dov moved back to Israel into a cute little apartment in the Old City of Jaffa. Becky has been busy working freelance with ABC and setting up their apartment.

Dov was my birthday date to an outdoor concert at an ancient amphitheater in Caesarea. Benaia Barabi is the Israeli singer who created the song “Ze B’seder” (“It’s okay”), which I wrote about and posted a few months ago, with a group of survivors from the Nova Dance Festival. I have grown to love his music and was excited to get tickets. Life goes on…

Malka gave birth to a sweet baby boy on April 16. After three girls, Amichai Reuven has given us much joy, even against the backdrop of war. Life continues to happen. Malka has been on maternity leave but plans to return to work in her Osteopathy clinic very soon. Yoni was on reserve duty guarding their community and the surrounding area for 258 days. They are both trying to return to some semblance of “normal” life with a family during wartime. I’ve had sleepovers with my granddaughters, with fun projects and storytelling. Last week, we had an entertaining Grama Day with baking and making projects. Life goes on…

Benji finished his reserve duty after 280 days. Then, he, Nechama, and their four children packed up their lives and moved to Toronto, Canada, for shlichut (emissary work for Israel). They will be there for at least two years, with the option to extend. For many reasons, it has not been simple for them, and having the country at war hasn’t made it easier. Following their dreams, though, gives them hope. We’ve been blessed to celebrate holidays and happy occasions together. Before they left, I went to stay with the children several times to do projects, read stories, and give lots of hugs and kisses. Life goes on…

Elysheva finished her reserve duty after 120 difficult and exhausting days. Then, in March, she and I traveled to the States for a seven-day road trip together. It was our first time leaving Israel since the war began. We both struggled with how to live life outside of Israel, knowing our country was still at war. We drove through seven states (wearing the piece of tape with the day number each day), seeing breathtaking parts of the country and visiting with friends and family. 

One of the many highlights of that trip was reuniting with my childhood best friend in Hickory, North Carolina, and learning how to use a pottery wheel. Another silly highlight was recognizing and introducing myself to the winner of American Idol 2022 in a rooftop bar in Nashville, TN.

After our fabulous road trip, I returned home to Israel, and Elysheva stayed in Baltimore for some downtime and family weddings. After two months there, she returned to Israel to work at a traveling Jewish summer camp for the summer. 

Ari has continued his job at Yeshiva University and is still traveling to Europe and South America to recruit. Ari’s mother passed away suddenly in April, so after bringing her to Israel for burial and sitting shiva for seven days, he and I flew to the States at the end of May to settle her affairs. Understandably, that was an emotionally exhausting experience. We then rented a car, filling it with his grandmother’s dishes and nic-nacs (AKA lots of crap!) from my mother-in-law to bring it to Israel, and drove back to Baltimore from Kansas with stops in St. Louis, Chicago, and Cleveland. 

Again, managing the heavy mixed emotions of enjoying time with friends and family, driving through beautiful parts of the United States, eating excellent kosher food, and being free to travel was continuously weighed down by the reality of what was still happening in Israel.

Our family continues to grow and thrive - which leaves me feeling blessed and grateful, balanced against the guilt and sadness for those who do not have what we have.

One last thing: This past Friday, while I was sitting at my desk (which is in our safe room), speaking to my mother on FaceTime, I suddenly heard the wailing of a siren warning us of incoming rockets and telling us to take cover in our safe room. Shocked that we were still being attacked, Ari quickly ran in, and I slammed the heavy metal door closed. We waited. We heard a loud explosion, recognizing the sound of an iron dome missile doing its job.

The last time we had a siren was a month ago. Still, hearing the familiar, nerve-wracking sounds of sirens and explosions reminds me to ground myself and send out a prayer of thanks to the IDF!

Please feel free to reach out, ask questions, and let me know you are there. Just because life goes on does not mean we don’t continue to need each other. 

I am living in a war zone. And I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else!

This is my HOME and my crazy reality.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring…