[as if in dreams] A newsletter from Joseph Zitt - 19 October 2023
The insurance agent has thrown out his back. I think he had been exercising. He's older than I am, but doesn't look it.
He has rolled a chair from our office out into the hallway for the afternoon prayers. We usually stand for most of them. It's customary, but not mandatory. He sits down front, but stands at the end of the service to lead the prayer for times of danger ("Out of the depths I call to you..."). Another of our guests leads most of the service, but the agent tends to lead the less-known prayers for particular occasions and situations. He has memorized them.
He also stands for the Mourners' Kaddish. He has been saying it, pretty consistently, for the five years that I have known him. We tend to only say it for limited periods. I said it for the traditional eleven months after my mother's passing. I don't know why he has been saying it for so long. I don't know if it would be rude to ask.
In recent months, he has said it in rough unison with the dentist and with another guest (whose job I don't know). They begin each verse together but move ahead at slightly different speeds. Since they come from different traditions, the texts that they recite differ in small ways. One of them recites a lot more words in the next to last verse than the other two do. They wait for him to catch up, then speak the closing phrase together.
It's another day of incremental motion on the war. Much of what's happening is between leaders, behind closed doors. At one point, there are rockets from both the south and north. They're not saying if that's coordination or coincidence.
The American president is set to do a major prime-time TV address on the situation. US prime time will be 3 AM here. I'll have to catch a replay in the morning.
It looks like some humanitarian aid will get across the border, far to the south. The UN will be in charge. Leaders have spoken to the Pope about helping somehow. The Prime Minister of Britain may still be here. So may the Governor of New York. The Governor of California is on his way. They may not be able to do much, but they get to perform support for causes important to their voters.
In Berlin, where a synagogue was firebombed yesterday, a violinist posts a video of a version of "Yizkor" to draw attention to his nephew, who is a hostage. In Paris, after stabbing attacks, the MTV Europe Music Awards are called off.
The English language news from abroad (though not, I'm told, the Hebrew language news here) tell of protesters demanding a ceasefire in the conflict. I doubt that will happen. For a ceasefire to work, each side has to trust that the other will keep it. Trust, right now, is in short supply.
News on the web flows with articles and warnings that the other side is manipulating social media with edited videos, deepfakes, and bots. The local paper reports that hundreds of the reservists newly brought in on our side will be working on public relations. I flash on a quote from Alfred Bester: "There are fighting generals (vital to an army), political generals (vital to an administration), and public relations generals (vital to a war)."
Rumors spread about an emblem that has been drawn on walls around my city. It looks vaguely like Arabic. People fear that it might mark a location for some sort of attack. The city government calms people down. They say that the graffiti shows up every few months. It has something to do with a rock band.
The mayor announces that payments on property taxes for the next few months can be postponed without accruing interest. The city doesn't have the power to stop the billing, but they're doing what they can to make it less of a burden.
After work, I stop for sachlav at my usual café. Electronic signs by the registers usually rotate images of menu items. They just show static text now. Many items, they announce, are free or very cheap for soldiers or members of security forces.
Several Facebook groups I'm in show pictures of people from charter flights arriving from the States. Signs greet them: "Welcome Brave Olim!" "Olim" is the Hebrew word for immigrants, literally, "those who are coming up to the land."
At the end of the day, I get texts from my friends who had moved here from the States a month or so ago. They hadn't planned to immigrate into a war zone. They're at the airport, flying back. They may return here someday. But for now, Elvis has left the building.
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L'hitraot.