Friday, November 16, 2012

"There goes the boom."

It is not lost on me that I "escaped" New York's Hurricane Sandy only to arrive in time for Israel's Operation Pillar of Cloud. Though several Israelis note it when we speak just in case.

Still it's not until the siren goes off in Tel Aviv and Leeron comes rushing into the bedroom (where I happen to be watching "Homeland") that the reality of rockets flying back and forth across Israel's border with Gaza truly sinks in. We are at something of a war here and actual lives are at stake. Including, it seems, our own here in relatively far away Tel Aviv.

The sirens peel off in escalating wails indicating the alert. These are typical sounds for those living along or near Israel's North and South borders; not so for Tel Avivians who's "hands on" experience of the ongoing regional conflict last manifested most directly during the 1991 Gulf War (when 40 scud missiles fell on Tel Aviv) and the Second Antifada in the early 2000s (when suicide bombers were most rampant in cafes, markets and buses). Sirens are the regular occurrence of towns like Be'er Sheva and Kiryat Melachi in the south or Nahariya and Kiriat Shmona in the north. In Tel Aviv, people hear about them on the news and shake their heads in sympathy. Or worry about their fathers and sons who might be stationed somewhere near there.

There is a general code of conduct about what to do in the event of a siren and most Israelis - bordertown or no - learn it at young age. If your apartment has a bomb-proof room (as many do) go there, otherwise head straight for your building's basement or the community bomb shelter. The first siren caught us all by surprise early Thursday eve and was over before my sister, Yaron and I even knew what to make of it. Somewhere off in the distance we heard the muffled sound of a rocket making impact (with what we found out later was the sea). Moments later, I received a worried text from an Israeli friend telling me I should move away from any windows and into a stairwell if time was short. Duly noted.

The second siren happened this afternoon. This time I was out and about with a friend on Sheinkin, Tel Aviv's famed bohemian street lined with trees, juice stands and boutique shops. On a Friday afternoon people were busy enjoying the first day of their weekend before Shabbat rolls in and the cafes were packed. We had just walked into the Ronen Chen boutique to admire their Winter Season line when the wailing began.

Outside people were running for nearby cover. Inside the two salesladies ushered my friend and I into the fitting rooms in back. The four of us stood looking at each other slightly wide eyed. Although the situation felt more comical then scary my heart was beating fast. I was still calm but this second siren seemed more serious, more ominous somehow then the first. I wondered where my sister was, knowing she was on her way to visit a friend with Ariel and suddenly imagining her lone car on the highway with my blond baby nephew in back. My friend was unmoved by it all but patted my shoulder anyway and asked if I was okay. I told her I was.

Then the muffled sound of something somewhere making impact and the saleslady with the horn-rimmed glasses standing next to me matter-of-factly said, "There goes the boom."

And on cue the wailing stopped, followed by a brief silence then sounds of relief, exasperation, frustration, chatter, etc. At the bakery a little further up Sheinkin people were already making jokes, wanting to know about the special "rocket discount" on baked goods for Tel Avivians. A woman walking past was telling someone on the other end of her cell phone she had planned to go to Bank Leumi for cover. Yet another woman seemed entirely surprised to hear about the attack, having missed the siren altogether. "Really?? I had no idea!"

Tel Aviv life on a Friday afternoon quickly returns to normal and yet it is disconcerting to be caught in the midst of this latest unfortunate escalation. Later on, my friend tells me of running to his daughter's ballet class after the siren stopped to find a roomful of 9-year old girls crying in their pink tutus. Being shepherded into the school's bomb shelter by their otherwise stern Russian ballet teachers with neither parent in sight had perhaps been more then they could bear. Back home, I find my brother-in-law reading the Friday paper on the couch. He tells me hearing the sirens and knowing missiles are falling near or around Tel Aviv is not unlike holding his first gun as a soldier: more surreal then anything else.

The experience in the south is a little more concrete - not just in Israel but in Gaza too. My Israeli friends on Facebook issue warnings not to post information about where rockets are landing which could help Hamas figure out how to perfect their aim; and the Israeli Consulate sends emails about the millions of Israelis "under fire... with rockets landing as far as Tel Aviv and Jerusalem." On TV the ticker sign on Israel's Children's Channel informs us programs will run all night instead of stopping at 8:30 pm "given the situation." In many Israeli homes tonight some children will be too scared to sleep.

With that - despite that - it is impossible not to think about the children in Gaza too. Enough Israelis are as mystified as they are terrified by the war that seems to have suddenly once again started. Enough of them are acutely aware of the abysmal circumstances that make the Palestinians such easy pawns in the hand of their terrorist leaders to feel sympathy, not anger or hate. As the rockets fly back and forth down south I find myself adopting the quintessentially nonchalant "we will get through this too" attitude most Israelis have by now perfected - alongside the concern of some of my friends.

"Don't worry," I tell my parents when they call from New York, "Everything is fine."

Sure enough, in a matter of days or maybe even sooner the rockets will stop. It will be life as usual. The sad reality is things won't have gotten any better.


Postscript 11/17/12:

An Israeli friend sent me this comment in response to my post which I am including here because I think it's important for additional background and context:


Karen - I generally agree with what you say re: children of Gaza. I agree that most Israelis are concerned about them too, that as you stated, "the Palestinians such easy pawns in the hand of their terrorist leaders." The Israeli public unanimously support our actions (91pct public support according to latest survey), also knowing that we have the most Humanitarian military in the world (an observation shared by many military experts around the world). We take far more extreme precautions to protect civilians than US and European Militaries and we are compliant with International Law.

This generates two problems.

The first problem is that the terrorists are aware of this and thereofore use their own families as human shields.  For ex: the procedure have been that before we attack a target such as a missile arsenal hidden in basement of a terrorist's house, we would telephone the house and tell the terrorists and families that we're bombing and to leave now. We would then fire warning shots at the house and only then bomb it whereas the US/UK/NATO would just bomb it (um "Homeland" anyone?? - kk). We see in some cases, some documented in film, the terrorists take their children to the roof of their homes to wave up at the jets/reconnaissance planes. They know we won't bomb them this way and we don't. The arsenal and building are saved. Missiles from this arsenal later are fired and kill/injured Israelis.

The second problem is that unlike you, many in the West do not see the Gaza Palestinians as victims of the their terrorist leaders but of Israeli aggression, who is "bombing them". Not only in Europe and radical press.  This astonishing headline appears in yesterday's Washington Post:
http://www.nationalreview.com/sites/default/files/nfs/uploaded/u25930/2012/11/pic_corner_111512_wapo.jpg

Of all the faces of the Gaza war they chose to show a Palestinian baby killed. There have been "only" 15 deaths in Gaza at that time almost all terrorists (the handful non-terrorists included the son of the terrorist killed in the first attack). I'm not in any way, undermining the tragedy of this baby being killed. But to choose to lead with this is unadulterated "Israel-bashing" which helps create anti-Israel sentiment.

On the morning after BinLadin's killing, Did the Washington Post lead with the picture of Bin Ladin's dead child? (also an innocent bystander). Do they regularly show dead babies killed sadly and accidently by US forces in Afghanistan?

So I'm just saying all this to underscore your point.  We understand that we don't just have the Hamas on the other side but also those that indirectly back their effort (sorry, but the Washington Post is included).  And in doing so, are on the wrong side of both Israel and of the Palestinians.

(By the way, Hammas fired a missile last night into the West Bank. Landed near a Palestinian village. Luckily no one was hurt. It was intended to hit Jerusalem, to kill Jews, but they missed).

Friday, November 9, 2012

Friday in Florentine

The streets of Florentine are shiny and dark by the time I leave Studio Naim where I'd come to attend a Jivamukti workshop with the visiting Dechen Thurman (of Robert Thurman fame). I'd been mostly practicing yoga on my own since arriving in Israel and so looked forward to some yogi camaraderie as well as Dechen's guidance. The class is great and I leave 3 hours later in a relaxed yet invigorated stupor - the perfect state of mind for Shabbat.

Outside the rain has already begun. Though still balmy, this is Fall in Tel Aviv (add some more gusts of wind and shave off another 10 degrees and you have your winter - ha). I'd been meaning to get to Florentine for a while. A cross between the East Village and Williamsburg, the neighborhood is classic "old Tel Aviv" - dilapidated yet full of character, as well as some of the city's funkiest bars and clubs. Basically, Downtown to my sister's "fancy" Uptown in North Tel Aviv, where I've been mostly stationed.

On a rainy Shabbat evening, however, Florentine is nothing but empty.  The street lamps are measly, barely lighting my way up the long avenues of Derech Shlomo then Yaffo to Nachlat Binyamin where I turn unto Rothschild Street. There the rain returns, slamming into the back of my jeans and soaking my Old Navy canvas sneakers. In a rare moment of prescient clarity, I'd remembered to bring my pink polka dotted umbrella (digging it out from one of my four suitcases still sitting in my sister's living room) and I huddle beneath it in the wet dark.

Rain on Rothschild
In a well timed text message, my sister suggests I take a cab in this weather. But I like walking and I don't mind the rain and besides my wet dark lonely predicament suits my mood. I've been in one for the past few days because my moods always just come and go at whim and here it is. This time though I've been waiting, knowing its arrival would inevitably coincide with the buzz of my Big Life Transition slowly giving way to the "reality" of my new routine.

Life transitions are exciting. It's taken me some practice but I see that now that I've been through a few. Like setting off for some far off land, they provide a rare opportunity to break out of boundaries and predictable patterns to experience life more... experientially. Since leaving my last job for Central America, I'd had a few months of that and know they changed my life forever. It had been a time full of travel, yoga, adventures, self-assessment and growth. I'd gone to Nicaragua and Guatemala then to Colorado to hike and be with good friends. Stepping out of my routine in New York for a while is also what helped me realize I wanted to move to Israel.

Now that I'm finally officially here, it's time to settle in and make some important decisions about what I want the new "reality" of this next chapter to look like. The adrenalin buzz of being in limbo is gone and on a wet rainy night with so many unanswered questions still looming - and so many suitcases still unpacked - it's easy to feel overwhelmed.

I remember what Dechen repeated as he guided our breathing and alignment throughout the evening. He was talking to all of us in the room but I clung to his words, pretending he had chosen his workshop's theme about connecting with our intention just for me.

"Really think about what you want," he kept saying, offering additional encouragement as we hovered - mindfully, patiently, gracefully - in each pose. "Then think about how you're going to get it. One breath at a time."

One breath at a time. This seemed like good advice.