December 4, 2023

Joseph Zitt's [as if in dreams] 2023-12-03

Hi. I'm Joseph Zitt. I moved from the US to Israel in 2017. This is my newsletter about more-or-less daily life in my city in the shadow of war. You can select these links to subscribe or unsubscribe. There are more links at the bottom. Here we go...

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The third time that my alarm clock goes off, I stay awake. I keep it at the far side of the room, so I have to get out of bed each time, but I frequently fall back asleep.

It's Sunday. The work week has begun. I eat my breakfast at my computer, including a challah roll left over from Shabbat supper.

Meanwhile, across our border, to the south, we drop leaflets announcing that we are planning to bomb areas 1772, 1808, 1811, 961, 963, and 760. Other leaflets dispute that. People who have been running for their lives run again. I picture people checking off those numbers as if on a deadly bingo card.¹

Farther south, rebels in a relatively distant county fire missiles at commercial ships connected to us. A US warship fires back.²

I have schnitzel again for lunch. I'm getting tired of schnitzel, but we can order it from our desks. Tomorrow, when I won't have come in to work so late, I will take the time to harvest a healthier lunch at the supermarket downstairs.

Meanwhile, in the city east of us, the high school announces that a sixth graduate, who had been kidnapped, has died in the war. ³ He was a soundman at the all-night rave. A trio of music teachers from the high school in the town east of there record a moving music video honoring their former students who are fighting.⁴ At the end, it lists three who have died.

Farther east, in the capital, the Prime Minister calls the father of a man killed at a bus stop at the entrance to the city.⁵ The man had shot and killed two terrorists who had shot and killed people waiting at the stop. He then dropped his gun and fell to his knees, hands raised, and called out to the soldiers there, so they would know that he wasn't one of the terrorists. The soldiers still shot and killed him. The Prime Minister's response yesterday seemed callous. Today, he calls the father with apologies and condolences.

The afternoon prayers at our office proceed at the usual time. Two people from our office are out. One has car trouble. The other has unexpected guests. We still have the necessary ten men. At the end, the insurance agent leads us in Psalm 130⁶ and the prayer for the army,⁷ as he has since early in the war.

Sirens sound to the north, but not due to missiles.⁸ One of our drones malfunctions. A combat helicopter shoots it down. The sirens are a precaution, in case fragments of the drone fall. Yesterday, as I had mentioned, someone in a town near us was injured when falling shrapnel hit him in the head.

Further north, near the border, an enemy anti-tank missile hits a town on our side. Twelve people are injured. We strike back with artillery and airstrikes. I don't see word on what was hit or who was hurt.

I have supper at the usual chicken joint. The salad is larger than usual, with both chicken and beef and some different vegetables. I'm one of the last customers for the day. The owner knows that I like just about everything, so he tends to improvise with whatever's left. I read news on my phone as I eat, wondering what I'll write.

Nothing happens immediately to our west. Nothing ever happens to our west, other than occasional booms over the sea.

Far to the west, though, in Europe and the US, there are more antisemitic⁹ and terrorist¹⁰ attacks.

I walk home. I pass other people. Dogs lead most of them. I stop to take a picture of the bush that I thought was basil. The streetlight makes it look like plastic.

A car rolls past me blasting classic rock. Sting howls, "Many miles away / Something crawls to the surface / Of a dark Scottish loch."¹¹ I think about the structure of the song, and realize how to write tonight's post.

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Here’s an archive of past newsletters.

You can find me via email, Bluesky, Mastodon, Facebook, and, just out of inertia, X/Twitter. There's more about me and my books, music, and films at josephzitt.com.

The newsletter’s official mailing address is 304 S. Jones Blvd #3567, Las Vegas NV 89107. (I’m in Israel, but if physical mail comes to me there, it’ll get scanned and emailed. I don’t expect that to happen much. If you want to send me physical mail, ask me for a real address.)

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L'hitraot.