December 17, 2023

Joseph Zitt's [as if in dreams] 2023-12-16

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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Blobs and shadows, black, grey, or translucent, drift across the white tiles of the bathroom floor as I look at it, first thing in the morning.

I'm used to this. I'm old enough that my eyes have developed floaters.¹ I see them when I wake up, as well as when I look at bright lights, such as white screens. Nothing can be done about them. They go away quickly, though at any time, if I concentrate on noticing them, I can see that they're still there.

When I was in the hospital a couple of years ago, seeing only a blank wall for hours at a time, they turned into more complex images, then hallucinations. I knew what I was seeing wasn't real. I watched them move. Some turned into letters. I studied what they did. I'm using them in my film.

(And writing this, I flash back to one moment there. I hadn't gotten used to being in the hospital and what my eyes were showing me. I told a nurse that I was freaking out. She sat down next to me, held my hand, and sang "Sweet dreams are made of these..." until I could breathe normally again.)

After a few minutes, all but one of the floaters disappear. I look closer. It's real, about the size and shape of a clipped toenail. It's moving. It has antennae. It's the smallest slug that I've ever seen.

All the slugs that I'd noticed before were several inches long and about a quarter inch wide. They move more quickly than I had originally thought. I rarely look at them for long, and don't see them go from one spot to another, but if I look at one, look away, and look back after a few minutes, I often notice that it has moved several inches.

Watching the tiny one, I realize that I have no idea how slugs reproduce. Or what they eat. Or what they're looking for, as they wave their antennae back and forth and glide silently along floors and walls. I'll have to look it up.

I watch the slug for long enough that my left foot falls asleep. I move it around to try to regain some feeling, then hobble over to my computer, on the other side of my apartment.

I've been avoiding looking at the news. I know what the main story will be: that we killed three hostages across the border, young men who had been kidnapped from our own kibbutzim.²

The news arrives in fragments, in arbitrary order. How each of us might think of the events is based on how we hear about what happened.

I first hear that they had been shot by our own troops. I hear that they were shirtless, and waving a white flag. I hear that a soldier shot at them and killed two. The third went back into a building, cried for help in Hebrew, came out again, and was killed.

I hear that our soldiers had not been trained for these situations. I hear that, even though the hostages had given all the signs of surrendering, terrorists also had been doing this but then pulling out weapons that they had stashed among the rubble, and ambushing the soldiers who came toward them. I remember the ambush site with baby dolls that we had been shown yesterday.

I hear that several days before, troops had spotted spray-painted text on a wall nearby: "SOS" in English and "Help 3 hostages" in Hebrew.

I hear that a commander ordered the soldier who was shooting to stop after the first two were killed, but then someone shot the third. I don't hear whether it was the same soldier. I hear that that soldier is being held and given psychological care.

I hear that every soldier should know not to shoot in that situation. I hear that every soldier should know to defend themselves against an ambush. I hear that the soldier should have known about the "SOS." I hear that the soldier couldn't have known about it.

We will hear more facts, theories, suppositions, and disinformation as time goes on.

I hear people demonizing the soldier who shot them. I hear compassion from others. I have known a soldier who survived a "friendly fire" incident in an earlier war. I don't know the details. But I understand that afterward, he was never quite the same.

I read of different officials taking more or less of the blame on themselves. The defense minister says that he takes responsibility for the event, as he does for everything that happens in the war.³ The prime minister says that, like all of us, he is asking himself, "What if...", that the killing "broke my heart, broke the heart of the nation."⁴ The Army spokesperson says, "The fighting is complex, with unprecedented characteristics that we have never faced before.”⁵

The Army chief of staff makes a long statement. He says that he bears responsibility. He says,

“We failed... They did everything so we would understand... I try to place myself in the head of the soldier in Shejaiya, after days of hard fighting, close encounters, encounters with terrorists dressed in civilian clothes, who arrive in various deceitful ways. He must be alert and ready for any threat... A split-second decision can [result in] life or death... The shooting at the hostages was carried out contrary to the open-fire regulations. It is forbidden to shoot at those who raise a white flag and ask to surrender. But this shooting was carried out during combat and under pressure...  In one moment, the complexity of our just war in Gaza was revealed..."⁶

The Saturday night protest happens tonight as usual, demanding the speedy release of the hostages. For the first time, the stage in what is now being called Hostage Square is moved from its previous position, outside the Art Museum, to the other side, facing Army headquarters.⁷

A smaller, rival rally marches up to them. Shouts for a ceasefire clash with shouts that we must crush the enemy.⁸

At one point, the crowd erupts into the usual rhythmic chants of "Shame!" An organizer, coming onstage, asks them to stop. “Save it for different roads and junctions at a different time. There is no place for politics here."⁹

He tells them that rather than shouting "Shame" -- Bushah! -- they need to shout, "Now!" -- Akhshav!

There's other news. Little seems as important. We hear more of things in the recent past and their implications for the future. More details drip in. The liveblogs try to keep up.

I reread this post from the beginning. I wonder if I should just start with the news and put off the rambling about floaters and slugs for another day.

I do another edit pass. I leave it in. The war continues, an hour's drive away. But for many of us, life goes on.

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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.