When the war started, with the October 7 massacre, I was staying with my daughter at my parents. She is nine. They live in Jerusalem. I woke her up and told her what my father told me. A war broke out.
"Are there any dead?" she asked. I said "one. One dead." I was wrong. I couldn’t know because at that point, at 8:30 am, they were still dying. They were being murdered; they were slaughtered during the next 24 hours. It took almost two weeks to realize the actual horrible number. 1,200 dead.
"Are we safe?" she asked. I said yes. At that point I felt safe, we are accustomed to getting shot at. This is my daughter’s third war. Her first one was in my womb. I hid under a bridge on the highway, my loving aunt shielded me and my unborn child with her body when we saw the rockets in the sky above us. I said we were safe, not knowing it was more a prayer than the truth.
We stayed in Jerusalem for a while. My wife joined us. We all needed to protect each other against the fear. Six days after our world shattered, we were getting ready for the weekend. We cooked together; we cleaned the house. We armed all the rooms with knives in case there would be an attack in Jerusalem like there was in the south. We stocked the house with mineral water in case we needed to barricade ourselves like our people needed to do just a week before. We boarded up all the mirrors in case rockets hit.
Tales of tumult: Israeli authors decode war
- Writing the untold when you can't find the words/ Tamar Merin
- If you speak the language of life, you must look reality in the eye/ Ofir Touche Gafla
- October 7, 2023, a day that will live in infamy/ Noa Menhaim
- A call: Help release the Israeli captives/ Yishai Sarid
During the first two weeks, we didn’t watch the news when my daughter was around. We did not share with her all the reasons we ached; we did not tell her that we were not sure this won’t get worse. We did not tell her that once again our people are slaughtered just because of our nationality, and religion. We did not tell her that all around the world, we are hated for who we are. Just like our grandparents in the Holocaust.
But when she picked up on some conversation bits, she asked what we mean when we say that there are hostages in Gaza. "Will they keep them alive?" she asked. I said yes. Once again it was a prayer. She did not believe me. Clever girl.
I had the explain the unbearable, horrid truth; there is nothing we can give them or do to make them stop. Those are not the Palestinian people we are fighting against; it is Hamas, a terrorist group. They are holding the Palestinian people captive as well. They don't want money, food or freedom. They wish us dead. That is all. They won't stop. We have no choice but to fight them so there will be a future. For us and the Palestinian people.
"Why do they want us dead?" my clever girl asked. "Because we are Israelis and Jewish," I said. It was the truth.
Then we got accustomed to the alarms and rockets. One month into this war, a small piece of our ceiling fell because of Hamas rockets.
We are hated all around the world. We strive for life. We are fighting to live. We are afraid. But we tell our children there is a future. That we are safe in our homes. That this will not happen again. And it’s a prayer, and it’s our promise.
I am trying to teach my daughter that there is hope. That there is love and happiness. I try to hide the number of dead, and more than that, the horrible, unbearable, inhumane way they were slaughtered. I try to shield her from the hatred, from the violence, from the realization that if we do not fight, history will repeat itself. I try to hide from her the need to arm the house. I try to teach her to keep being a child, and play, and sing, while around us our country is fighting to survive. I try not to lie. I try to shield her from the truth. And I fail.
No one told me this is what being a mother would be like. No one told me I would age 80 years in six months.
Tales of tumult: Israeli authors decode war
- The danger in how the world sees Hamas/ Edna Shemesh
- Your prisoner is only a baby: a letter to the jailer/ Sagit Emmet
- I feel like the person in 'The Scream' painting/ Ricki Cohen
- War and pogroms: From 2023 to 1903 in just one day/ Dorit Silverman
- Almost six months ago/ Lee Maman