Red color

 A screenshot of my iPhone. It's three forty-four. At night. All the places where the alarm sounded are colored red.

The Houthis in Yemen are still very determined and this is the second time this week they have fired their missile. The previous one destroyed a school near Tel Aviv. Luckily it was at night. This night a playground in Jaffa was hit.                                                                                                                                      There was no alarm here, but I heard it from all the surrounding towns and also the loud explosion of the interceptor. (I hope that's the right word, that's what Google suggests..), the fear is the same fear even when the alarms aren't actually here.                                                                                                   Red is the name of the app that notifies you of alarms in real time.

Where despair is more comfortable

 There is an Israeli song whose lyrics are like this - Hello, I'm leaving for London, where despair is more comfortable.

It was written many years ago, it was always a bit uncomfortable here, and we always thought it was more comfortable elsewhere.

These words ran through my head this morning, I see how much the Americans are pained by the results of the last election, how much the English are suffering from their new government, and the Dutch, who still don't understand, but they were conquered by violent people.                                                                              This morning I got up like everyone here a little before six o'clock to the sounds of the alarm, with my eyes closed I ran to the shelter where I met the young families of the neighbors with the small children and the dog Bella who was very frightened.

A ballistic missile was fired from Yemen and made its way to us.

Then I came home and made a pot full of zucchini stuffed with meat, white rice, and meatballs in red sauce. I watered the garden and thought thoughts

Meanwhile here

My garden this morning and the new door at the entrance to the house. The Blue Angels are two of many that came from my many trips to Greece years ago.                                                                                      The one closest to the door is from Tinos Islad. One of the legs is a little broken, but  I still love him/ 

be a troll

 The few among you must have noticed the troll's comments here. They don't last long here, thanks to the blogger who allows comments to be deleted, and they really do nothing for me, but I wonder what the unfortunate mental components are of those who choose to be a troll.                                                                       First of all, he must be very cowardly, he has no profile, he has no figure and face, he is anonymous, he has no courage to express his opinion openly. And he doesn't actually have an opinion either, from his comments it is clear that he is very anti-Israel and anti-Semitic, and anti-Semitism is not an opinion. He is very angry that I really like people who support me here, and expresses his anger in a very childish way that indicates some other problematic lines in his personality.                                                     The overt and covert aggression he shows in his comments make me wonder where else this comes out in his life, and I'm sure this is a very unhappy person.                                                                                               Choosing to be a troll is choosing to be a bad and cowardly person, your comments are deleted before I even read them, so I suggest you, instead of investing the energy here, take care of yourself, maybe get the right treatment and restore your miserable personality.

Yom Kippur

 Yom Kippur eve.

I'm not religious, but you can't ignore this holiday. It's always been that way. This is a holiday where you fast, ask for forgiveness and believe (those who believe) that on this day everyone's fate is determined. There are no cars on the roads and there are no radio and television broadcasts. It's always been that way.

But like everything with us, everything is always emotionally charged and complicated,                                            It is no coincidence that 51 years ago the Yom Kippur War broke out in which we were attacked from all sides.

This war left me a very young widow with a baby girl.

And now this war, it still has no end.

Rumors say that even today we may be attacked, there is an incessant noise of planes in the sky, something very unusual on Yom Kippur but has become routine for almost a year now.

The phones are next to us because from there will come the message whether to go to the shelters.

In the north, hundreds of rocket launches all day and evening.                                                                                                   I want my old life back. The days when I wasn't afraid to take a shower because there might just be an alarm, the days when I didn't arrange my shoes so that I would find them in the dark if I had to run to the shelter at night, the days when I could plan for tomorrow without saying at the end of every sentence "if everything will be alright".

And there are also good things, yesterday my granddaughter sent a message "Grandma, I couldn't ask for a better grandmother".                                                             

a new day

 Corresponding with my granddaughter on WhatsApp while staying in the bomb shelter yesterday evening, (outside many alarms and explosive sounds of ballistic missiles from Iran)                                         she;

"grandmother

did you have an alarm

are you ok? how are you?

"We are in a shelter" (my answer)   me-                                                                                                                     

she-

very good

how are you feeling (she asks)

I send her a picture of the little children of the neighbors who are with me in the shelter and draw pictures on pages that their parents made sure to prepare in advance in the shelter.

she-

will be fine

Stay in the shelter

I was with a friend and we entered the protected room

we are all fine

And after we got quieter we sent each other hearts and flowers on WhatsApp.                                                       

She is 14 years old, with the spirit of a devoted and caring grandmother.

be brave

When someone writes that they don't take sides, even if they are one of my favorite people in blogland, I ask myself where we failed in mediating our reality here to the world.

Please, even those of you who don't take sides, even if it's hard and scary and can create a crack in your worldview, go learn and read what really happened here on October 7th. You will learn the small details and the terrible stories that happened here, in complete surprise, the brutality is captured on the body cameras of the people from Gaza who arrived here that Saturday morning.

Watch, among other things, the video of the boy from Gaza who tells his mother that he killed several women and now father continues. Without going into the small details he describes, and his mother in response encourages him. This is one of the 7000 Gazans who committed the terrible massacre here. Learn the small details, it's important. Also for your history.

Meanwhile here

As time goes by we get used to fear, it becomes a pale shadow of itself and sometimes it turns into indifference.                                                                                                                                                                              Words like "regional war" that many talk about as a realistic option here wake it up anew, but thank God that nature invented the defense mechanisms and you can move on as if nothing happened.                                                                                                                                                                      I'm sorry I don't comment on your posts, you are my favorite people and you know who you are, I read every day and love you but something has become silent in me, it will come back.                                                                             Our lives that are made of layers are made of the same gems everywhere in the world, the joys, the troubles, the health, the sick, the meals, the birthdays, the togetherness and the loneliness, here there is simply one more layer that is very special to this place and it is called spirits of war, it is definitely a challenge to deal with it and I Hope we succeed.                                                                                                         

I'll be on my way soon

I'll be on my way soon. Like every Wednesday lately. 35 minutes to the destination. In my bag, a thinly sliced ​​chicken breast, seasoned breadcrumbs, pasta, ground meat, tomato paste, a bottle of Cola Zero and chocolate. I will prepare schnitzels and bolognese for the children.

The problem is just the way. If it catches me in the middle of the road it's really dangerous. You have to get out of the vehicle and lie on the ground with your hands covering your head. I can lie on the ground, not sure I'll be able to get up easily.

Life on a volcano

 I've always loved reading descriptions of people's lives in Europe before the Holocaust, how they lived on the edge of a volcano before it erupted, how aware they were of the impending danger, how much they lived in denial, and how they coped with their helplessness, with the fate they had no control over. .                       I have read Victor clampere diaries more than once. (I may be spelling his last name wrong here), this is an accurate and reliable description of a man facing his destiny.

I was also interested in how people who actually live near volcanoes always return to live in those places even after their homes are destroyed by volcanic eruptions.                                                                                          I have never tried to explain to myself this curiosity and attraction to the life stories of the people who walk on the edge of the abyss and still walk.                                                                                                           Now I am this woman walking on the edge of the volcano. Me and with me a few million more here.

Our history and our genes have prepared us for such situations, it's not entirely new, but every time something dramatic happens here, another new element is added that wasn't there before.                                     This time we are promised attacks from the north, from the east, from the south, we are talking about seven different fronts, all the airlines have canceled flights here, many countries are begging their citizens to flee the area and take any possible flight immediately anywhere in the world, just don't stay in this area.                                                                                                                                                                          People are urged to stockpile food, candles, water, generators, etc. and check if they have a protected space. I didn't do any of that and I don't have a protected space.                                                                                             We don't know when it will start, it could happen any minute or some other time soon. Every appointment to the doctor, to the hairdresser, anywhere ends with the words "if nothing happens", nothing is certain.                                                                                                                            

The half-full glass

 I decided to choose the half full glass. All those good people who wrote to me and cared, I will choose them.

I started writing this blog because I wanted to improve my English, over the years I discovered wonderful people , it was never really easy here and always in difficult times a few kind words were so much to get through these times

I've always felt like I'm living a double life, on the one hand the everyday life of the grandchildren, the garden, the food, like everywhere else in the world, and on the other hand, the everyday that there's always a danger hovering over our heads, a danger that we're aware of for part of the time and for the other part we live in denial, because it's impossible otherwise

On the seventh of October our lives changed. Something terrible happened. I felt that I was not able to mediate it to the blogland world. At first we were the victim that was easy to sympathize with, but I immediately knew that when we started fighting for our lives here it would change, and indeed it did. The media loves the pornography of disasters. People are affected by this and form opinions. It's hard to argue with opinions, no one has yet changed their mind because of an argument, and I decided to give up. The forces should be kept for survival here                                                                                                                         This country is small, the number of inhabitants here is almost the same as that of London, a little more, there is no one who does not know at least one prisoner in Gaza, people who were murdered on the seventh of October, children who were left orphans, children and women who returned from captivity, soldiers who were killed, and those who are refugees in their own country here because Rockets are still fired at their houses every day.                                                                                           

          Life here is unlike anything you know, even the dramatic things that used to be told about in the news have become routine. I think if I go back to writing, it will be to tell about these things. And maybe not. I do not know yet.                                                                             

My weird Facebook groups

 As soon as the grandparents entered Facebook en masse the young people abandoned it. I know this from my grandchildren who told me more than once that Facebook is for old people, and that is the reality.                                I don't write anything on Facebook but I am a member of several groups, some of them are strange and interesting.

At the time of Covid, when the whole world was in lockdown and with the feeling of the end of the world, I was busy connecting all the descendants of my grandmother and her ten sisters who were scattered all over the world, it was a wonderful adventure.                                                                                                                                      And so I came to a group in Poland, a group of residents of a small Polish village from where my great-grandfather came to Leipzig in Germany in 1898.         My grandmother would be born two years later in Germany. I have no idea how he arrived with his nine daughters, his son and his wife who would die nine years later, from that small village to Germany. But it happened.                                                       And so in order to know more I joined the Facebook group of this small village that still exists. Thanks to Google Translate I corresponded in Polish with some women in the village. I don't know how ridiculous Google made my Polish but they understood me and I understood them.                                                    One of the women with whom I corresponded the most told me that there were Jews in her family, but it was a secret that was kept all these years, they were afraid to reveal it, anti-Semitism existed then and still exists in many, she said. She searched in the district archives and found some documents that were discovered in the attic of one of the houses, which contained lists of Jews, residents of the village, all of whom were killed in concentration camps.                                                                                                                  There were no Jews left in the village, they were all murdered there or sent to concentration camps during the war. The Jewish cemetery was destroyed , but later someone else sent me pictures of a group of people who decided to restore what was left of the tombstones.                                                                Every time I tried to post in the group a picture of the beautiful and old synagogue that was burned in the war, someone deleted the picture. Some things still exist. I am still a member of the group.                                                           The second group is also in Poland, my father's hometown. There are seven small towns with the same name, my father was not the person of the small details, and he also left this town when he was one year old so he didn't know much. I managed to find out that the town he thought he was born in was actually a different town and so I joined her Facebook group to understand more.                            The third group is the archive group of the city of Leipzig, where I pursued documents such as the birth certificates of my grandmother and my mother, my mother's library card when she was in first grade, and more.                                                                                                                                                      About the rest of my strange groups in another post.

                                                                                                                                  

thoughts

 I wake up at night from the sounds of an alarm somewhere far away, not here, but I hear it, the app on the phone knows where exactly it's happening. Thanks to Iron Dome that knows how to warn the exact direction of the missiles, on the screen I read the names of towns where the alarm is now sounding, if it is in a big city, Iron Dome identifies which neighborhoods it is aimed at, if it wasn't for Iron Dome we would have died here a long time ago.                                                                                                                                                       I can't fall asleep. I don't know if it will progress and reach here as well, I'm waiting. In the meantime, I'm writing beginnings for posts, later I'll forget them and they'll never be written.

I think about my grandmothers, maybe I'll write about them, when I was a child I was almost the only one who had grandmothers, my friends' parents were Holocaust survivors and they didn't have grandmothers, so I didn't notice it, I didn't think about it.

One of my grandmothers came from Germany in 1933, left her home in Berlin with her husband and my mother who was 6 years old at the time, she had no choice. The second grandmother arrived here with her husband and my father who was one year old at the time, in 1924, she was the first Jewish woman to study dentistry at the university in Warsaw, I have already written about them here before, and there is still much to tell.                                                                                                                                                                           Since the seventh of October I have been sleeping with socks because from the stories of the people who were kidnapped and returned, especially the old women, I understood that it was very difficult for them to walk in the tunnels of Gaza barefoot, yes, I have fears that may not be logical, and maybe they are.                                                                                                                                                                                 Later I start reproducing recipes in my head, maybe it will tire me, meatballs, schnitzels, the magician's rice I made yesterday, that doesn't help either. I go through a list of the families and houses on the small street where I lived in the small northern city, I count in my head my friends in Blogland and those who are no longer, and somehow in the end I fall asleep until the next sound in the "Color Red" app which is the alarm app.

Things I haven't done in a long time

Things I miss and haven't done in a long time,

Go with the girl to the hairdresser, to the shops, marvel at how well she knows exactly what she wants, go with both of them to the small cafe in the mountains where there is no place to sit because of the dozens of motorcyclists who come there on Saturdays.

I  still see them at least twice a week, they are still happy to see me and love the food I cook for them, according to their request, and that is also a great joy.

 

The garden was painted red

 

Screams Before Silence(YouTube)

I think I failed to copy the video. It is on YouTube. Look for it. It's hard to watch but it's important. Especially to some anti-Semitic women around here. And that still doesn't tell the whole story.

Far from Denmark.

 It is one of the most beautiful and magical things in nature, the little yellow flower and the pink and white flower, both very small growing in the garden, almost invisible but suddenly you notice their beauty, and in contrast to them the hollyhock, which is hard not to see right away, tall and towering, it came to the garden uninvited, but immediately took over Everyone. It's the first one to notice.

I started with my garden a few years ago when I saw pictures of a garden in Denmark, only green plants in all kinds of shades, also some red and silver, I thought it was lovely and I wanted a garden like that too. I don't know anything about gardening but I tried, I bought all kinds of plants and made the attempt, it was partially successful because this is not Denmark.                                                                          Because of the partial success I also started adding flowers, also because I love flowers, and also because in the end it doesn't look like that garden in Denmark.                                                                              This is not the first nor the last case where I did things with the belief that something different could be created here, I make many analogies in this regard to my journey in blogland, but about that another time.

In the meantime, my garden is beautiful in a way that suits it, far from Denmark, suffering from hot days, (40c yesterday), dust storms and more, but I take care of it.

Saturday morning

 I take pictures with my iPhone with one click, sometimes it turns out well and sometimes it's less like these pictures.

The bougainvillea that takes over the olive tree at the entrance to the house. The cats who love the garden. The irises that started to bloom and this strange plant that I don't know the name of.

It's almost midnight

 For several days now I have been trying to forget the night between Saturday and Sunday. People talk about this night like women talk about the birth of their child, repeating the story over and over again, what a great miracle happened to us, how great the fear was.

 cruise missiles and hundreds of unmanned aerial vehicles with tons of explosives, passed over our heads with a noise   of which we had never heard, it was unlike any previous sounds of war, and the fear, such as we had never known before,

And then the feeling that a miracle really happened to us, here we are still here intact.

I'm so sorry that I just read the blog of someone who I was trying to find a common language with in the last few days and I didn't succeed because she really hates Israel.

She bases herself on false information and spreads it on her blog and there will always be others who join her,

It's almost midnight and tomorrow will be another day.                                                                                                       I'm so tired and hurt by these lies, tomorrow I might write a more coherent post.

waiting

Waiting for the Iranians. I bought a few bottles of water, I didn't buy a home generator, radio batteries, canned food or toilet paper. There are many people who have done this. I'll deal with whatever happens, I hope so. It might be the worst or it might be nothing.

For a week everything around was green and blooming, a week of 30 degrees Celsius dries everything and awakens us from the illusion that we are in another country. Everything starts to turn yellow.

And this is my garden which also has a bloom that is starting to disappear.

 

A bit about trolling

 The phenomenon of blog trolls is known to some of us, those of us who represent controversial issues get their frequent visits and offensive comments. I, being who I am, have had the many visits of the trolls, I make sure to delete them but the sharp-eyed see them right away.                                                                              During times of war here, when the anxiety is great, the attacks of the trolls always increase and in a way that is difficult for me to explain, because these are just words, it always increases my anxiety. In times like this I feel that I have very little energy left for arguments and certainly not for threats.                                   The trolls are always anonymous, I already know their style, they always say that they have some Jewish side and this seems to give them the right to use the harshest and most extreme criticism there is. Sometimes they insult in a very personal way. Some of my good friends in blogland avoid my blog comments during times like this because the trolls get to them too.

Recently I was wrong, because of an extreme and even very bad comment, by an anonymous writer with a name that trolls really like to use, and from about the same location, I thought she was a troll and I understand that I offended her. I am of course very sorry for that, but I don't have much to do with it other than try to suggest to the commenters to open a real profile and thus not fall into such unfortunate mistakes.

thoughts

 What to write about now? Should I write at all or stop and stay with the thoughts in my head?

These are such complicated days and probably some kind of historical event that we will only be able to understand in a long time, if at all.

There is the day-to-day life, which is for the most part the normal life of each of you, the house, the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the family, the garden, the cats. and more. In the background of everything there are always still the sharp senses that must be alert to every different sound in an application on the iPhone or an alert on the television, still have to be careful.                                                           There are the people that each of us knows one or more of them and they are still in the tunnels of Hamas, some of them are dead, old men, young women who are abused there and very young people, they are the children or grandchildren of someone many of us know because we are a very small country.                      I also think about my Facebook friend who I recently discovered that we both went to the same kindergarten in the small neighborhood where I lived until the age of four and our fathers studied in the same grade in the same neighborhood. Mira was sitting with her son and her husband for lunch in their small moshav in the north of the country and a Hezbollah missile hit the house killing her and her son. I learned about it from the Facebook group of that old neighborhood. My father wrote three books for teenagers about the same neighborhood, they became best sellers. One of the books is called "Shooting on the Neighborhood", because there were always wars and shootings here. Even when he was a child, and this year he should have been a hundred years old...                                                                                                       

Spring came in the middle of winter

 It's all blooming in my garden now. They come every year and I'm always as excited as meeting old friends.

after fifty years

 Last week I had a strange visit. After fifty years someone in the army decided to open old files of soldiers who were killed in the Yom Kippur War and that's how some of my husband's belongings who was killed in that war came to me. Not much left, three photos, a military driver's license and a reserve order.                                  I often thought to myself how things would be if there were social networks, the Internet, and everything else. There was no television then and telephones were also rare. A landline phone of course. Who thought of an iPhone.

Rumors passed between people and it was very difficult to get real information. When he did not return from the war, I was very, very young with a baby girl, I started looking. Most of the soldiers who were with him in the Suez Canal were killed and the rest were taken prisoner.                                                                    The newspapers published pictures of groups of prisoners that were in Egypt, the pictures were in black and white and blurry and I tried to identify him. I did not make it.

When the captives began to return from Egypt after a few months, they returned in groups in small planes. I was able to get information on each group that returned and so I stood there by the planes when wounded and very sad people got off, he was not among them. On the way back home I listened to the radio where they read the names of the people who returned that day. I hoped that maybe I didn't see well and he returned anyway.

When the last group arrived and he was not among them I understood.

How different things are today.

Anna's story

 I don't know why exactly the story of Anna, one of my grandmother's ten sisters, has been asking to be written for several days. It's been going on in my head for a few days since my granddaughter played the song about Alabama when I was driving her to school. I found myself telling her about the fact that we have family in Alabama, something I discovered during the days of the Covid closures when I found and united all the descendants of the sisters and the brother in the whole wide world, where they were scattered.                                                                                                                                                                           One of the sisters, Ida, lived in Oslo with her husband Jacob where they ran a Jewish orphanage, apparently, Jacob had a brother who lived in Mississippi and 

had a farm of some kind, he sent Anna a picture of his brother and a picture of Anna's brother. They liked each other and it was decided that Anna would travel from Leipzig in Germany to marry Jacob's brother in Mississippi. In 1922. The brother sent Anna first class ship tickets but she changed it to something simpler and gave the remaining money to the sisters.                                                                                                                                                                          They got married there and had two children, Simon who was killed in World War II and Esther who was a well-known folk singer there.

From the letters found by her grandchildren, it becomes clear that she was very unhappy there and wanted to return to Germany shortly after arriving in Mississippi, but the brother in Oslo wrote to her and convinced her to stay.                                                                                                                                                                At some point they moved to Alabama where the family has remained until today. The granddaughter Diedra, with whom I am in contact after I found her, says that one day she was walking with her mother in the small town where they lived and her mother complained that she felt very lonely with such a small family. Deiadre suggested that they enter a small restaurant that they used to go to in the past, where she suddenly saw a group of people and said to her mother, "They look like us", a short inquiry showed them that it was a family gathering of family members that they also had relate to  and they didn't know about. And so her mother suddenly felt less lonely.                                                This is the story. Maybe I've been thinking about it a lot lately because I wonder about the choices we make and how they determine our destiny. What would have happened if my grandmothers had chosen to immigrate to Australia, South Africa, America or anywhere else in the world like some of their sisters did. Of course, underneath all this lies the anxiety, what will happen to us here.

And there is also the romantic story of a girl traveling with a picture of her future husband, for several weeks, into the unknown, to the Alabama of 1922, another world.                                                                                 Jacob the brother who sent the photos was taken from his home in Oslo along with fifty other Jewish residents of the house in Oslo, they were taken on the ship "Gotland" whose terrible story can be found on Google, and died in a concentration camp. The woman Ida, my grandmother's sister, was left behind because she was disabled. Of course I didn't tell my granddaughter that. Only the romantic part of the journey to the husband.                                                                                                                                                                                         

This also happens here

 I went to pick up my granddaughter from school because my daughter thought she was crying on the phone. It was a mistake but the girl was happy to see me and we decided to take advantage of these late morning hours for some shopping that we haven't done together in a while. She already went shopping with her mom this year in Barcelona and twice in London and I thought the days are gone when she was so happy to spend time with me in the small shops of our small places. I was wrong.                                                   The picture here is from other days, she will be 14 next week and we went to buy a ukulele because that's what she wants for her birthday. She got into the car and immediately connected via Bluetooth to her phone and the whole way we listened to music from the sixties, I praised her for her technological ability and good taste in songs, I knew all of them. I think the Tiktok girls today are going back to the old songs for some reason.                                                                                                                         The pleasant young seller in the store said that in two hours a ukulele delivery would arrive, we said we would come back and went to other stores, today's girls buy things that I and others bought in our twenties, if anything, mostly beauty and makeup, and so we moved from store to store when I pay but she operates the cash registers For self-service that I don't dare to use them normally.                               The ukulele did arrive when we returned to the store and it was happily bought. The day before I didn't know what a ukulele was, when my daughter told me it was what the girl wanted for her birthday I thought it was something like the Australian didgeridoo and I was amazed.

It is indeed a cute musical instrument and pleasant to the ear.

The story of the garden gnomes

 The garden gnomes arrived here from Germany at the end of the seventies or maybe the beginning of the eighties. When we went with the children to visit their German grandmother, a world that I did not know opened up before me. Here everything was still young, simple and modest and Europe was a world of wonderful things.

Ikea, who even thought such a wonderful place existed, there was a ball pool where you could leave the children and I was exposed for the first time to beautiful and simple Scandinavian design. and meatballs.                                                                                                                                                                       That's where I discovered the garden gnomes. I had never seen these before and they immediately captured my heart. Maybe it was my genetic memory from previous generations who lived there and also knew them. They looked lovely to me. I brought a few of them with me, I think I bought one on every visit, it's been more than forty years and I don't remember anymore.                                                    They moved with me from house to house and even lived for several years in the lowest place in the world, near the Dead Sea. For many years I neglected them and was busy with other things, only recently someone who understands some things told me that they are numbered and have some value, but they already look too tired.Although they keep smiling.                                                                                                        They have seen a lot in their lives. The cats fought near them, dogs stole them sometimes and I had to look for them in the neighbors' gardens, they heard alarms and saw missiles flying right in front of their eyes but always kept smiling.                                                                                    When I read about the movement to free the garden gnomes in Europe, I was afraid that here too there would be someone who would adopt the idea, but happily it didn't happen.                                              For the purpose of the photo, I put them on an ancient stone that has been here for hundreds of years, among fragrant moss plants and next to plaster mushrooms and some artificial flowers that testify to the terrible taste I have recently developed. Yes, sometimes I plant fake flowers in pots just for the color. The garden gnomes don't care.

They keep coming

 This morning I found another feather. I know that in a rural area like mine the chance of birds simply losing their feathers is very high, but there is always a chance that some angel has also passed by.                               When I couldn't find the picture of the feather, I remembered another superstition about black cats, (in the meantime I found the picture), when I was a child we were afraid to pass by black cats, some said it was dangerous to cross their path and some said you shouldn't pass by them, as a little anxious girl I chose Either way, when I grew up and learned to love black cats I discovered that the Japanese believe they bring good luck. Here in the picture is Philip the cat in a lookout position at home.                                                                                                                                                                       

I found a feather

 I found a feather. I remembered that some say it's a sign from angels and I love signs. I also love angels. I decided to see if Google also knows anything about it and indeed - the best is a white feather, mine is small and gray, I was a little disappointed at first but cheered up when I found this explanation - "The angels know that this is a difficult time for you, but they are telling you that a calmer period is about to enter your life , hold on."                                                                                                                                    In these times I am ready to believe anything that will bring good news.                                                                                                                                           

The small details on the side of the road

 I always envy people's amazing ability to find the small details along the way. And here today I also found such a thing. A soft pink fish that probably belonged to some baby and found its way into my driveway.

And what now?

 What to write about?

Chapter heads for posts-

The good deeds - the women who cook for the soldiers and bring them the food, the women who do their laundry and send them their laundry with children's drawings and sweets, the people who advertise on Facebook about a reservist's private business and immediately dozens of people come to shop there, the people who stand with flags along the roads at the soldiers' funerals, And many more good deeds because of which I am so happy that these are the people I live with.                                                                                                  

the animals at war-

The dogs that already know the sound in the app that announces an alarm that will come shortly and immediately run to the protected room, my daughter has a dog like that, the cat that stands in the small hallway during the alarm and after the explosion of the iron dome is heard it runs under the couch, I have a cat like that.

The neighbors' dogs howling during the alarms, I heard them on 31.12 at midnight when 30 rockets were fired here instead of fireworks.                                                                                                                                                       

my neighbors-

Women aged eighty and over, one of them a Holocaust survivor, ask me when is the best time to shower, still afraid of being caught by the alarm while showering. None of them have a safe room at home.                                                                                                                                                                           

All these and more are the heads of the chapters I am writing in my head, maybe soon I will expand.