WEDNESDAY October 11
This day turned out a bit differently from the promises it held this morning. As usual I ate breakfast looking out the window at the Mediterranean Sea. I was heartened to see more people on the beach today, and even a couple in the water, though still hardly the picture from last week. But watching the sea outside my window still gives the same solace-providing stress-wash that it did for me when I first got here, though I admit that without the brightly colored boards dotting its surface, even the water seems less welcoming.
I read an article about how surprised and moved Israelis were by Biden’s speech yesterday. I too didn’t know he had it in him, and watching it before I went to bed last night shone a real positive light in some fairly dark days (and yes: I am well-aware that his speech was also aimed at the larger geo-political situation and it wasn't all feel-good-we-love-Israel vibes. But regardless of motives I'll take the support from big brother anytime). So maybe I was pre-disposed to feeling more hopeful and optimistic this morning when I woke up and watched the waves.
I spent most of my day trying to put this blog together. I sent off the link when most of you were just waking up (reminder that I’m 7 hours ahead – which is actually great for getting focused work done before the emails start coming in. Too bad I haven’t been able to actually do any focused work lately).
By late afternoon I really just needed to get out and hear the waves. So I dictated some thoughts on my phone as I took what used to be my daily walk down the beach, a little more slowly today than I had last week because I seem to have hurt my foot on Saturday when I was taking all that heavy stuff out of the apartment and into the car to drive north. This walk was the first time my daughter and I had been apart since Saturday morning, but she really hasn't been in the mood to take a walk, and I've just been itching for it. (I said the following into the phone as I was dictating…) I will just keep it short because, although there have not been any air raid sirens over Haifa – yet - anything can happen.
At first the boardwalk was empty of other walkers and joggers, and there were no kids on bikes, even though I know all the schools are closed. There were several fishermen dotting the rocks along the way though, and I even saw a sailboat way out on the horizon. Still, the boardwalk that had been so vibrant and full every day of September - even on Yom Kippur - was weirdly empty except for the stray cats that are part of the landscape here (interesting side note: the government has directives for municipalities to care for these cats, so unlike the feral cat problem in other European countries, these are all healthy, spayed/neutered, and well-fed). A man in a kippah was doing pull-ups in the outdoor gym, across the way from a couple of bare-chested fisherman trying their luck on the beach. One called out to the other in Arabic and received a cup of hot liquid from a thermos in response.
I passed a couple on a bench holding hands and staring out at the water on silence. I can’t tell if they were Arab or Jewish unless I hear the language that they're speaking. I guess that's why the official census here doesn't categorize people by race, but rather by religion. Honestly at this moment it doesn't really matter because all are under the same threat, as fighter jets roar overhead on their way to the northern border. But I point it out because if you've ever walked down the street in any Israeli city, the idea that Israelis are white colonialists would make you laugh out loud.
A passing jogger asks me in Russian-accented English if I would mind filming him on his phone so he could check his form. I took his phone and filmed him doing a couple of laps up and down the sidewalk where I was. He smiled as he took his phone back and ran off with a cheery “shalom” over his shoulder. I guess I’m not the only one feeling cautiously optimistic so far today.
On my way back to the apartment, my daughter texted that she's coming to meet me. And it seemed that others had similar ideas in the time that has passed, because there are now children, parents, dogs, and more joggers out. But while the restaurant patios are open, the hundreds of people usually milling around in front and sitting at the tables outside are nowhere to be seen. There are a couple of employees from inside the restaurants taking a cigarette break. A man on a delivery service bike pulls up and they get up to load his cooler bag.
My daughter joins me to sit on a rock and stare at the waves for a while. We talk for a bit, trying to make sense of the anti-Israel demonstrations still taking place throughout North America, and reflect on how hard it would be to go back to Canada right now and be confronted with all of that. In particular, to have to see and hear the way the major Canadian news outlets are continuing to report (or not) what’s going on here. How can they possibly think that what it means to be “fair and balanced” in the narratives they choose to relay is to give equal air-time to those who continue to justify and even celebrate the torture and mutilation of babies, the elderly, children, women, people at a concert for peace in the middle of the desert?
(Speaking of which, here's a story that I just saw in Israeli live updates that I'm fairly certain you won't see back at home.)
We walk back and see a lone surfer with her bright blue board catch a wave. She wipes out, the wave rolling her and her board for several feet. We watch as she shakes herself off and sets back up on her board, paddling out again. We walk on. Upstairs I look out the window and am unreasonably cheered to see that she has been joined by 4 or 5 others, paddling around the waves in the setting sun.
My son texts me and we video chat for a bit. I report that the rocket fire has all but ceased, there have been no new sightings of terrorists in the south, the Israeli government has finally managed to agree to a unity coalition to strengthen its wartime cabinet, Hamas terrorists are actually being treated in Israeli hospitals, and that things seem to be quieting down everywhere. Eventually we say goodbye and I ask my daughter what she wants for dinner. The sun is setting. Everything has been so calm, and almost normal today. I thought, I’ve launched this blog and now I’m going to have such a boring post for October 11.
The air-raid siren tore through our apartment, shattering all illusions in its wake. My daughter and I looked at each other, gathered up our computers and plugs, and headed to her bedroom/the panic room. It took us a minute to figure out how to properly close the heavy steel door. We turned to our phones and computers to find out what was happening, only to discover with frustration (and more than a little angst) that there was no wifi in this room, and the cell service was pretty spotty. I guess there’s a downside to reinforced steel and concrete walls, but I’ll take it.
As we tried to find news, we started reading each other what we were seeing. At first it seemed that nothing had happened, except that Biden had ordered the American Embassy in Beirut to evacuate. We waited the 10 minutes post-siren that was required, and then we emerged back into the living room. I got a text from the property manager of our apartment telling us that we should be in the panic room. I wrote him that we had been, but that 10 minutes had passed. He said the alert on his app said that we were all to remain in shelters until further notice. I told him we had trouble with the door, and he sent me a photo of the proper position of the door handle – he had the same make of shelter as we did, apparently. So we went back into the room and started looking at headlines again. One of us saw a headline that said an unidentified aircraft was seen flying in from Lebanon. Another site said paragliders had infiltrated from the northern border. Yet another informed us that the entire northern region was under high alert for missile strikes, and that one had landed somewhere in Haifa already. Then a headline said that 15-20 drones had been flown across the northern border, and that we were to all stay in our shelters indefinitely. My property manager texted to make sure we were safely ensconced, and sent a link to the homefront app. I told him we had tried to instal it the other day but it wouldn’t work on our non-Israeli phones – even though we had Israeli SIM cards and I had invested in a VPN connection for that purpose. He promised to keep us updated.
We debated the pros and cons of messaging our family because we didn’t know anything concrete yet. We didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily so we decided to hold off texting anyone. But my mom soon texted that she heard there were sirens in Haifa. I told her we were safe in the panic room. I told her that I would keep her posted. After an hour my property manager texted the all-clear. I told my family we were out of the shelter and all fine. And now the news sites are finally saying it was all a false alarm – no drones, no paragliders, no unidentified plane. No American withdrawal from the embassy in Beirut. Just one missile that had fallen south of Haifa in a field.
So all’s well that ends well, I guess, though the (non-)events were sobering. Still a bit shaky, I finally put some leftovers on plates and we ate quietly while we each scrolled through our phones.
Leaving the news sites and the dirty dishes and heading to the computer to write this all up, I got to there as my aunt called. She wanted to see our faces, so we video-chatted and caught each other up. Various family members have been regularly checking in with texts, phone calls, and video calls. Although the stress we're causing is palpable, they are all doing their best to understand why we're still here, and I am so grateful and appreciate them so much for all of that.
Then I opened my email to find that many of you friends and colleagues had sent warm, loving, supportive, and very kind notes of gratitude for this blog. Thank you, all of you. I can’t tell you how much what you wrote to me has meant tonight. Your messages have by far been the highlight of this past 5 days. Thanks to you, this day turned out differently from the promises it held this morning, but no less full of hope, for me.