Or maybe, how it is not.
I am on a strict diet of grief and stress. Mourning, shock and fear are pulling at the hems of our tight knit community. This is a small country, everybody knows everybody. Or you know someone who knows someone.
The feeling of insecurity is very, very real. It seeps into daily life like milk being poured into hot coffee. Every bus pulling up makes you cringe at the thought of another siren going off. A slamming door makes you jump. The kids are playing 'officer and captives' and practice fighting with makeshift weapons to try and get some imaginary grip on the situation. You casually gauge if the incoming rocket blasts are near of far. It is not a way to live but it is our reality.
I am not complaining.
I am very, very blessed. To be alive. To be doing meaningful work.
I want to share with you this dark period, because it's part of life. My life. It will get better, it always does. But it will take time.
Two weeks ago today. We do not have our phones on or watch any screens on Saturdays, but at 6.30 the explosions and sirens were familiar in the distance and soon the mill of rumours started spreading. What was supposed to be a holy day of rest, and the celebration of our holy book and one of our major festivals, turned into a day of dread. Sunday was spent in total shock and disbelief as we became witness to the sheer size and depth of this tragedy.
There was a life before this day, there is a different life after. It will never ever be the same again.
The next two weeks have flown by. I volunteered for making sandwiches for the troops. I found making food is not my strong suit. Then I got called to assist dyeing Tzitzit shirts (normally white, have to be green for the soldiers) and I knew this would be my way to share in the burden.
I started off aiming for 300 shirts. My studio filled up with boxes. I have now dyed 900. I have 400 more. An army of other volunteers are taking batches to tie the strings to them.
I started in my studio, and moved to a very very old industrial sized washing machine in one of the most disgusting neighborhoods of Tel Aviv. Yes, there were rockets while I was dyeing. Yes, I am physically and mentally spent.
This week, while I wait for all the shirts to get tied, I will try and restore my studio which is not in workable conditions at all. In the haste of getting the work done, we just moved things randomly aside and everything is covered in dye.
G'd bless my assistant Yael who just kept working and keeps things (and orders!) afloat while I hauled boxes and buckets and wet shirts.
This is the picture that will stay with me for while...My assistant in working the dangerous machinery, Gabriel, continuing his Torah studies while the machine is churning away at 100 shirts.
This current situation also means I had to cancel my two week work visit to Indonesia. What was supposed to be an absolute highlight of my work, an inter-cultural community exchange of knowledge and great vibes, meeting people I have been talking to for a long time, was erased with one click of a button. I am sure we will meet again, right now it just was not fair to my kinds and husband to let them deal alone. We are in this together.
I have rescheduled the interviews that were to take place there for a movie about toxic fashion, the team will still include the amazing Indonesian botanical printing community in their shots, just like I wanted.
Stay safe, dear people. Do something nice for someone random. I pray it should be all over soon, and we can return to our new 'normal'.