אלינור
24/11/12
You try holding
your breath for 24 hours—and then have a thunder storm so severe that bombing
and sirens couldn’t possibly be heard. The cease fire seems to be
holding; quiet nights have passed. The children in the south went
back to school—albeit heavily accompanied by parents.
The communications
network during war is amazing. Two seconds after the cease fire,
everyone knew. But then, every time there was a strike, someone
would ring someone and strangers would stop each other on the street to pass
along the information. And yet, when my grandson was on a field
trip in Jerusalem and there was a code red, the entire grocery store we were in
knew nothing. Someone didn’t ring someone. Instead,
he rang and said I’m OK, don’t worry. About what?
Who ever expected Jerusalem to be a target?
25/11/12
Breath is being
held. This might become a permanent activity.
They said and we
said and since nothing was written or signed, who knows what will tip the
balance back into war? Not us. So we go back to
whatever we were doing before war broke out and hope for the best.
Problems post
bellum: Are the trains and planes back to their normal
schedule? We’re not hearing the planes overhead any more.
Do the old men with the antiquated grocery store—and lower prices—carry
walnuts, or will it be necessary to buy them at the big expensive store we don’t
like? Ordinariness feels so good.
26/11/12
Day 3 of the cease
fire. War is painful and expensive and I refuse to believe that
anyone actually wants it, Pat Condell notwithstanding.
Breath is still
being held.
Elinor
cross posted Israel Thrives
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