Joseph Zitt's [as if in dreams] 2025-06-20
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. You can also read this email online here. Here we go...
At about 1 AM, I decide that I need a shower. I had dozed off watching Kate Bush videos, but woke up after an hour feeling scruffy. I can't remember if I had showered today or only yesterday. I do know that, if this night is like every other night in the past week, I'll have an impromptu meeting with my neighbors at the House of a Hundred Grandmothers before dawn. I should freshen up. This is the new calculus.
I get out of the shower and go to the computer to catch up on new messages. Now, at 3 AM, I'm a bit tired, but not sleepy. My body doesn't know what time of day it is.
The headlines tell me of an explosion outside the Norwegian Ambassador's house in my town. It wasn't a missile, though, just a grenade. These things happen.
There aren't any alarms overnight. My clock wakes me up at 7 AM, for no good reason. I move into my big comfy chair and fall asleep again.
Breakfast arrives at 8:15. The server is cheerful. I manage to be, too, for the moment. Unlike other days, supper isn't served along with it. Friday night supper is meat-based, so it can't be served along with dairy.
I eat a bit, then fall asleep in my chair. Lunch arrives at a bit after 11 AM. Later in the day, I can't remember what it was.
Our staff's Manager of Culture brings supper at about noon. She also brings us plastic envelopes with pencils, markers, and pages for coloring and Sudoku. A card at the front wishes us a quiet weekend.
I smile when I see it. The Manager asks to take my picture. I maintain the smile, holding the packet so that it is well-framed with my face and the card is right-side up. The picture will probably appear in our electric gallery in the lobby and in publicity.
A moment later, she knocks on my door again. She's holding a bottle of grape juice. "Do you have a glass? You'll want to make Kiddush for yourself tonight."
I bring a coffee cup over. She pours in enough for the blessing.
I eat lunch and head out. I have to pick up some medication for my cough. I had tried several apps, but each has its bugs and crashes, preventing me from ordering it online.
It's hard to get out the door. Putting on my socks is a difficult decision. Putting on my shoes is another.
I tell the worker at the front desk that I'm walking downtown. He nods and waves.
I get as far as a bench in the park outside. Walking to the pharmacy would take about half an hour. I seem to remember that Google Maps shows public shelters on the way. It doesn't.
I walk to the bus stop about a block from me. There won't be another bus for half an hour, but I know that in case of a missile alarm, I'll be able to walk back to the House in time.
Once downtown, I get the medication (about five dollars, over the counter), and some toothpaste, which I have badly needed. I also stop at a grocery store for some green apples and some dairy treats, which I particularly like.
I think there are about as many people out on the street as on any other Friday afternoon. No one looks particularly concerned. I wonder how many others are keenly aware that the nearest shelter is right behind the hummus joint at the other end of the square.
The next bus is in a few minutes, although the automated app keeps changing its mind about that. I take it straight home.
The alert before the alarm goes off right as I step into our parking lot. I sprint into the lobby. I tell the worker, "Perfect timing!" He looks confused. I often get the alerts and alarms a little before he does.
I head into the nearer shelter on the ground floor. People from the neighborhood shuffle in. Many have dogs. Many are listening to their phones. At a large table in the center, two little girls resume a game of chess that they had left there during the previous alarm.
Most of the people, once again, leave after ten minutes, even though they're not supposed to. We hear some distant booms.
I stop by Continual Care briefly, then head upstairs. The packaging of my medication confuses me. A roll of paper around the tube of pills has detailed instructions in Hebrew, Arabic, and Russian. I finally find out when and how to take it from my health plan's site online.
When suppertime comes around, I say Kiddush and take out the prefab meal. I can't tell if I'm hungry. I nibble at some things, mostly the breaded broccoli.
I flip through some YouTube videos, then watch a documentary that I like on the making of "Hamilton." I eat some grapes, then head back to my desk to finish writing this.
I try to decide whether I feel scruffy enough to need another shower. I don't know. I'll sit in my big chair again until I make a decision, or don't.
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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 at that Las Vegas address, 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.