A Slice of Life in the Galilee, in Wartime

This is a slice of life in our home in the Galilee now… no commentary on the war or the political situation, just a window into our reality.

Some of the older kids in our families (there are seven kids in total) have moved back in for now, as they don’t have safe rooms in their buildings — in Tel Aviv, Haifa, Jerusalem. This, in addition to the younger two kids, who still live here anyway.

One son got out of the country days before the war started, to spend the summer being a counselor at a Ramah camp in the United States. He says we should all come there. But with the airport closed and flights cancelled, that does not seem like a realistic option. Anyway, I am leaning into Etty Hillesum’s suggestion: “Wherever you happen to find yourself, be there with your whole heart.”

My youngest kid is actually supposed to fly in a few weeks, to be a camper there, too. We’ll see if the airport opens and the airlines start flying again by then. If not, she will be very disappointed — especially since her graduation and end of year big dance performance were already cancelled.

In fact, she suddenly broke into tears two days ago. When I asked her why, she said she didn’t know. But after we spoke for a while, we realized it was “just everything,” as she put it.

One son and daughter-in-law went back to Jerusalem after the weekend, as they do have a neighborhood shelter, and Jerusalem seems to not be a major target now. This morning, when the siren went off, there was a headphone dance party in their communal shelter.

This made me think about how we all let off nervous energy in our own ways. In our safe room, we crack jokes, drink Jezreel wine and Hersh beer (named after Hersh Goldberg-Polin z”l), do crossword puzzles, play guitar, read… I even take my laptop in with me and try to get work done.

My daughter who lives in Tel Aviv brought her fancy espresso machine here with her, the one thing she felt most important to bring for a long-term stay—although now, seeing the damage on buildings in the city (even ones she knows), she (an artist) regrets she did not bring her paintings with her, too.

She and her older sister (and her boyfriend) also brought their yoga mats. Another way to let off nervous energy between sirens. And there is ping, pong, too, of course.

I am so grateful for the naturally-filtered swimming lane we built on our property when we moved up to the Galilee and built our house here in Hannaton. That is where I let off nervous energy; swimming is my spiritual practice. And the frogs that migrated to the wetlands of our pool sing to us while we are in the safe room, adjacent to the pool.

More times than not, there has been a siren while I am swimming and I have had to get—as quickly as I can, which is not quickly at all—out of the pool and into the safe room. But it’s worth whatever time I can get in the water. Public pools are closed, of course. Even the summer pool on our kibbutz.

We try to work between missiles and sirens, although it is hard to concentrate. The main area of our house has been turned into a communal working space, fancy coffee maker and all. And when people have online meetings or classes, they go into a bedroom and close the door.

Yesterday, while I was online with a spiritual direction client in the U.S., a siren went off. Luckily, we were wrapping up, anyway. Later that evening, an online group meeting I was on with my Standing Together local steering committee was cut short by a missile as well.

I consider myself relatively lucky; we at least have a safe room and space to house our seven kids and their partners. And we still have food, electricity, and internet. At least for now. But this is all still very frightening, tragic, and destabilizing (of whatever stability was left from these past few years) — to say the least. Especially since there is no end in sight to this war or the one in Gaza. And especially knowing that people have been killed even in their safe rooms, when there has been a direct hit by a missile.

Tomorrow I plan to venture out, for a solidarity visit to the nearby town of Tamra, where four women were killed by a missile a few days ago. 

We each choose for what we are willing to take a risk.

And, of course, I think of all those caught in this war, on all fronts and in all places, without a safe room or even shelter at all… and the hostages…

My son-in-law — who has been entertaining us with the guitar — left early this morning, after the 4:30am missiles and sirens, for military reserve duty. 

The guitar is waiting here, for when he returns.

Photo courtesy of the author