The afternoon of Passover

 I really liked the previous post. Writing about food and holiday atmosphere felt normal again. When I write about missiles and alarms I feel a bit like a victim, and I don't like it, but it's the reality I can't ignore. Still, I felt really good when it seemed like I could pretend everything was okay again.                                               Even the troll who a few days ago wished me that my grandchildren would die in war and threatened me that they would come back to eliminate me too, also wrote one comment, something about the government, I don't really read everything he or she writes, before I delete, but he or she was quieter than ever.

I decided that I would only write about good, positive things, I sat down and read John Gray's blog and almost had time to write a comment and then the following thing happened-                                                                  My son, who is a subscriber to some Telegram group that announces the launch of missiles from Yemen before the alarms, came and said that we should go to the shelter because a missile had launched from Yemen. It was about five minutes before and saved us the running. I left John's blog and walked with him more or less leisurely to the shelter. We went down the twenty steps underground, and sat on the white plastic chairs. In the meantime, he called some neighbors and informed them that an alarm had been set off. The elderly neighbors had no way to get to the shelter quickly and there were no protected rooms in the house, but it's always good to know in advance.                                                                                                     And indeed the alarm came after five minutes. First came to the shelter the dog Bella, who always makes sure to run first, crying and scared and just wants to be petted and that's what we do. Then the family of young athletes with their small children.

We are supposed to wait ten minutes in the shelter after the alarm because that's when the fragments of the interceptor missiles fall in our area. Since these are ballistic missiles, their fragments are the size of a regular missile, and that's definitely unpleasant.                                                                                                            We did wait the ten minutes, and then I went back to writing the comment on John's blog.

Our Passover

 This was our table yesterday. We decided to celebrate Passover a day early, because we still count our steps at night. Today is the real day of the holiday and we know who likes to interrupt us, so we decided to be clever and it was excellent.

The table was simple, but everything was delicious. The wonderful roast was prepared by the 13-year-old grandson, and it felt like an experienced grandmother had cooked it.                                                                           The "gefilte fish" which is actually traditional fish patties in a sweet sauce, a favorite dish only for me and my daughter, was bought in advance in jars, because we no longer have grandmothers to make it, but it tasted as if they had made it.                                                                                                           There was also chopped liver that my daughter made, excellent and delicious as we remembered from previous years, and of course matzot, which is the "bread" of Passover, thin, crispy and dry. Some love it and some really suffer from the idea that you have to eat it on Passover. We eat everything and therefore love it too. It was pleasant and happy and delicious.

New morning

 I really love the writer Natalia Ginzburg, born in Palermo in 1916, died in 1991. I have read every book of hers that has been translated into Hebrew.

Yesterday when I ran to the shelter at one o'clock in the afternoon I remembered a line from her book "The Little Traits", she writes about "the sirens that wounded the sky in the middle of the night and we woke the children up and went with them", something like that, that was their reality in Italy during World War II, and those are exactly my thoughts, sometimes when I sit in those minutes in the shelter, twenty steps underground, I think to myself this is an experience of other times,

Then we come out and our lives seem to be similar to the lives of everyone else in the world, but there is one part of the soul that anxiously awaits the next time.

Our nights

These are the chocolate eggs I bought today at the little store here that has everything. I'll put every two eggs in a bag, and I hope I don't forget the bags at night when I run to the shelter.

Usually the alarms are in the wee hours of the night and I'm always amazed by the three little children, ages three, four, and five, who come running with their pyjamas and barefoot to the shelter.

My heart goes out to them, and I want to give them something sweet.

They run about five hundred meters from their house to the shelter, and sit there with us until they hear the sounds of explosions, wait another ten minutes, and everyone goes home.

The other night I wasn't ready at three in the morning, I put my shoes on the wrong way around, and even when I noticed it, there was no time to fix it, so I ran with them to the shelter. No one noticed.

 

More of the same (2,3)

 Last night at 3:30 tonight at 2:11. And again the run to the shelter and the meeting with the neighbors, the children and the dog Bella.

Like the previous times, for some reason I wake up five minutes before the alarm, I know it will come and wait. Now I also know what the scary sounds of the American interceptor missiles sound like, called ahaad or something like that, they sound terrible but are very helpful against the Houthi ballistic missiles.                                                                                                                                                                  Ten minutes in the shelter until you hear the sounds of explosions, and then two hours in bed until I fall asleep again, if at all.                                                                                                                                         

More of the same

 And again the alarm sounded at 4.21 in the morning. It was a good thing I had my shoes and phone ready so I could quickly take them on the way to the shelter. We passed through the neighbors' yard and with trembling legs, while the alarm was still audible, we opened the iron door and went down the stairs to the shelter.

After that, two young families arrived with their small children, one of whom brought the blanket with him that he sleeps in bed with, and the dog Bella who is very frightened as always by the alarms.

We waited ten minutes until we heard the explosions and still with trembling legs, I returned home.

Merry Christmas to all of you, wherever you are.

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.