Under Fire, part 22

In another galaxy, far, far away: How utterly strange to be walking around outside in Tel Aviv as if nothing was going on. And here, in fact, nothing is going on. It is a normal Friday; people are doing their Shabbat grocery shopping, running last-minute errands before the shops close, sitting in cafes, visiting friends, and just generally having a normal life. It makes our experiences in the north seem all the more surreal.

I leave the house at 5:55 and am in Tel Aviv in just over 1.5 hours. A new record! No one is on the roads up here, so it's easy to make great time. I teach until 14:00 and head back. Meanwhile, the north takes another pounding all day with close to 100 rockets falling. The total is now about 1600 fired into Israel by Hizbullah.

Yesterday, my brother-in-law's family shares this with me: Elite (one of the large Israeli chocolate companies) is sponsoring a "Send a Hug" campaign You can write a message of support that will be delivered to an IDF soldier along with some chocolate. It's free and it's a nice way to give these guys a bit of moral support.

A friend in the north (a former student who is now a freelancer) is creating rather zingy cartoons to help cope with the situation. (These are the work of a very bright and talented adult with limited vision: think James Thurber's cartoons for the New Yorker before his eyesight completely failed.) You can catch the rest of Bracha's work on her website.

Meanwhile, more damage in the center of town finds its way to my computer as friends document scenes from their neighborhoods. When a crater like this is made a block from your house, believe me, you feel it.


This car got hit by shrapnel. These types of ketushot carry, in addition to the explosives, metal balls like large ball bearings. They can rip through metal like a hot knife through butter. Add to that the flying glass, downed power lines, and fires, and it is amazing that more people haven't been killed.

Driving back from Tel Aviv, I feel the tension mount as I get closer to home. I eventually turn off the radio and roll down the window, listening for sirens as I drive the final few kilometers. As I unload the car, I hear that ominous rumbling that means something is falling somewhere, and I race for the door. It's locked. I don't even think to try my key, but scoot around to the side where the screen door is open.

A peaceful and quiet Shabbat to all...