Thu, Oct 12, 2023
I wake up intermittently during the night, as usual. Some sounds seem more present in the darkness, although I know what they are and aren't. Living in a comfortable basement apartment, I hear filtered versions of what's happening outside.
My landlord wakes up much earlier than I do. The early morning booms above me that sound like rocket interceptions are actually from their front door, which gives a solid thump when they close it. The roar of low-flying aircraft is usually a motorcycle or a truck some blocks away.
The rocket sirens, when they happen, are muted. I have set the Home Front Command app on my phone so that it also plays the siren sound when it is triggered. That way, I'm sure to hear and recognize it. This has startled some people in my office during alerts. Many weren't aware that the app could do that.
We're starting to get used to the alerts. The last couple of times we had them, two days ago, we sprinted to the stairwell and gathered there. During the first, one boss had happened to be holding a container of cookies. He passed them out to us. During the second, the other boss took a staff photo as we stood below her, arrayed along the stairs.
Many workers return to the office when the booms have stopped for a little while. Some of us stay for the full ten minutes that Home Front Command demands.
I'm hearing from recent immigrants who are thinking of going back to the US. I probably would have considered it if a war had broken out in my own first months here. I've been forwarded an email from the US embassy for people who want to go back. I saw a headline an hour or so ago that they'll be running chartered flights.
Meanwhile, our national airline will be flying here from the US on Shabbat for the first time in sixty years. A lot of young people had been in the States through this week on vacation. Many want or need to get back here to fight in the army. The rabbinate has approved of the flights. By Orthodox Jewish law, you can only violate the Sabbath to save lives. The rabbis agree that that rule applies here.
The day at work is quiet: no sirens, no new crises, no gunfire sounding from funerals next door.
Rather than deal with the supermarket, I get lunch from the deli on the other side of our ground floor. Standing in line, I see that the display case is pretty bare. I set my eye on the one salmon sandwich that remains.
As I reach the front of the line, a family pushes ahead of me and insists on ordering first. They also want sandwiches from the case. Fortunately, the three young girls start squabbling over who should get what. As they bicker, the cashier gestures to me. I get my salmon sandwich and an iced Americano. The barista recognizes me and asks if I want it without milk as usual. I had forgotten to specify that. Yes, I do.
At the end of the afternoon prayers, the insurance agent recites one of the psalms, or perhaps a collection of verses that begins with that psalm's opening line. In English, it would be "Out of the depths I call to you"; in Latin, "De Profundis." He speaks the verses one at a time, followed by the rest of the group. I can't find the text in the prayer book quickly enough or understand his rapid-fire accent, so I mumble along as if I know what I'm doing.
I stop by the boss's office as I leave for the evening and wish him a good Sabbath and weekend. He solemnly and verbosely wishes me peace, good health, and all that. Another worker hollers, "And drink lots of water!" I laugh and wave my signature blue water bottle at him as I wander off.