Israel's post-holiday return to normalcy marred by Hamas rockets - comment

From the end of the August vacation month, when many people are abroad, hardly anything can get done until acharei hachagim (“after the holidays”), the seven-week near-shutdown of the country for the Tishrei holidays. After the holidays is when the burgeoning list of must-dos can be addressed, and hopefully each to get crossed off quickly.

It is not just religious fervor for many people who look forward to the day after Simchat Torah. For the religious, it is another round of meals, guests, and synagogue attendance. As one who has always lacked zitzfleisch (patience to sit still for long periods of time) for shul, it is a true test of my endurance for yet more synagogue time.

Yes, the holiday of Simchat Torah itself is beautiful, the reading of the first chapter of the Bible, Genesis, is again a thrill. I look forward to participating in a women’s reading led by accomplished women scholars, and having my own aliyah l’Torah is a highlight, together with the jubilant women’s dancing. For most of my adult life, I attended a synagogue that had no women’s dancing at all, with or without a Torah scroll, let alone women being called to the Torah for an aliyah.

Luckily, after some grumbling due to the hour, I attended my husband’s honor of Chatan Bereishit at the early prayers that started at 6:15 a.m. at the Ramban synagogue in Jerusalem, and so was able to throw candies at him and the other honorees, get a taste of the traditions, and say Yizkor (the memorial prayer) for the many family members we recall.

This all abruptly ended at 8:30 a.m., when it was announced that there was a “security event.” From then on, the day was unlike any other Simchat Torah.

War comes to Israel on Simchat Torah

WE TRIED to assess how best to handle each siren. We live in a small three-story building that was built in the 1960s. No one in the building has a sealed room. As the sirens started, one of our guests, a man who had volunteered for reserve duty continuously into his 60s, gave us his assessment on whether it was a close or distant siren and whether we should stand in the stairwell – that has windows – or stand in the small bathroom that doesn’t.

And when the siren sounded really close, we sprinted to a larger building with a parking lot and let ourselves in with the code and were happy to find our neighbors and their toddlers who had decided to do the same. One of us stayed back in our apartment, since we had a seminary cousin who slept right through the multiple sirens and Iron Dome booms.

The last time I recalled having to shelter from a siren heard in Jerusalem was Jerusalem Day in 2021, when we had guests for a celebratory barbecue. With the unusual sound of a siren, we and our guests and grandsons grouped in the stairwell. But that was a rarity.

In light of the situation, we broke our usual Shabbat practices and opened the computer to get homefront alerts and a picture of what was going on. But we were not using cellphones, and it wasn’t until much later that we found out that our son-in-law had been called up and sent to strengthen the northern border, leaving his wife and toddler with family in their community.

My daughter, who grew up here, was not yet born during the Gulf War and has no experience of Iraqi missiles, gas masks, and plastic-draped and taped windows. She did the army, but it is one thing to be responsible for carrying out orders – in her case, teaching Hebrew – and another to be a mother herself. I could hear in her voice the little catch of insecurity. I recognized it as very familiar – my own.

My daughter-in-law, who married a career officer and grew up on Kibbutz Shluchot, was much better prepared than I to roll with the unfolding scene as we all readjusted our picture of “the day after the holidays.” She and her husband, who was off for the year to get his master’s degree within the framework of the army, had just returned from a well-deserved vacation with family in Mexico.

Upon learning that there was a security problem, he got in his car and started driving toward a base; his regular role was already given to his replacement. While driving, he got his callup notice and continued toward the base where he was needed.

She correctly ascertained that protecting her two-year-old daughter from the drone of the news reports, which were hard to avoid, was her primary goal. That reaction came with an association from my childhood, when TV news dropped the daytime cartoon programming, and the children of my era in the US retained the continuous loop of the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Lee Harvey Oswald, and Robert F. Kennedy.

And I was older than she is when I absorbed all that.

In the meantime, our seminary guest was in phone contact with her friends. At least two of them put themselves on planes and immediately left the country. She had already expressed an interest in going home and was counting the hours to speak with her family. We have joked that this will be a Simchat Torah to remember.

AS THE IDF planes rumbled throughout the night and continue to be background noise to the day, it recalls several earlier experiences. One was being in Eilat for a 6.3 Richter Scale earthquake. That is the feeling I have in my stomach whether or not there is the accompanying sound of a plane. The unease is just present.

So is the inability to prioritize my art needs. Do I crassly send out an email to my followers? Do I organize the pieces for an upcoming group exhibition? Dare I get all touchy-feely on social media, what my kids would say is seeking “tzoomy” (tzumat lev – “attention”). How can any of this matter in a week when at least 600 funerals will take place? I am nauseous even at the thought. This was how I felt after 9/11 – how can art even matter in light of the enormity of these losses, injuries, and fears of the unknown?

Not for the first time I have to force myself to really believe that there is only the One in charge – more than our politicians and generals. I tend to the cynical, and putting all my trust in that power is a bit of a risk, but that is what I’ve got.

The rumble of planes overhead has been steady, and we wait for news of what the day ahead brings. ■

The writer is an artist and writer living in Jerusalem. Her graphic memoir, Life-Tumbled Shards, was published in 2023. She can be reached at heddyabramowitz@gmail.com.