Jerusalem Diary: The Quiet of War
by Beth Steinberg
Note: One of our advisory board members, Beth Steinberg, shares her diary from earlier in this horrifying week. We send our love and prayers to our many friends across Israel. You can subscribe to Beth’s newsletter here.
12:30am. Pretending to sleep, my heart races as my phone buzzes. Rockets in the South. In Ashkelon and Rishon Le’Zion. I know that it’s unlikely for rockets to get to Jerusalem again as they did on Shabbat, but I wonder - should I stay awake for the household, ready to sound the alarm if we need to race downstairs to our safe room?
I sleep for a few hours. Saturday night into Sunday morning, I was awake checking my phone on and off, desperate for word about the people held hostage in Kibbutz Be’eri, or the numerous young people missing and worse at the music festival on the grounds of Kibbutz Re’em.
Last night, Sunday night into Monday, we know some of the painful truth - hundreds of civilians dead, murdered in their homes and communities, or out in the fields, caught dancing at a rave, as parasailing terrorists arrive, armed to kill. People, young and old, hiding in their once “safe rooms” - some murdered, some now in Gaza, and some lucky ones, released once the army caught its breath and responded. Soldiers caught unprepared on their bases - killed, captured. Army uniforms and machinery used against Israelis. Police officers in Sderot and other communities, killed. And more that will only be revealed in the coming days and months. A clusterfuck of unimaginable proportions.
Yesterday, the evening news had parent after parent describe the agony of hearing from their children - if they were lucky enough - as they were shot, as they ran away, as they lost contact with them, as they were shot out of the grapefruit trees. Weeping, they asked why the government hadn’t yet responded to their need for information. Yesterday, someone was appointed the point person, but as Ira asked me why I was watching. “To bear witness,” I answered, as a parent described realizing their child’s phone was pinging in Gaza.
5:30am. I lie awake. After a quick doomscroll through the Israeli news sites I listen to the hum of the skies. There’s an ebb and flow to the sound of the coming and going of what I imagine are fighter jets, and helicopters ferrying wounded soldiers and civilians to hospitals around the country.
I almost wish for a good old rocket to fall. Life seemed simpler in the safe room.
6:45am. I get up and head down to make a cup of tea, knowing that even that simple act is more than many people in the South can do - many have no running water. I was relieved when Yam, our eldest’s son’s partner’s family was evacuated from their community next to Sderot, which miraculously was not infiltrated on Saturday morning.
8:10am. I walked out of my house and to a friend’s house for some yoga. The irony of the cool Jerusalem morning air, let alone bumping into Jessica Steinberg walking Suki the dog, was hard to wrap my head around. We talk about all of the obvious, each repeating the worst of the stories we need to share - the babies found without their parents, the 11 army bases run through, the 70 terrorists who infiltrated into Be’eri again last night but whom the army repelled and killed, the friend who wasn’t at the kibbutz - on vacation, he returned to discover most of his family dead. It’s a never-ending horror story.
10:00am. Drinking a coffee and playing with our grandson. Trying to shut off the parade of pictures on social media, many of them not officially vetted, I worry. Yesterday, I asked a friend to take down a report of 800 captured soldiers and a lynching of a soldier in the North. She noted that she’d heard it on “Face the Nation.” I recommended that she read The Times of Israel, to watch and read i24news, Ynet and Haaretz in English.
12:00pm. A siren is heard. Not quite in our area but we’re not sure so we all crowd back in the safe room - we’ve got chairs, a fan, and water, after moving out laundry baskets, the granny cart and wash buckets. We struggle to check the news reports but connectivity isn’t good in there. Exiting, we hear of direct hits in Ashkelon and Ashdod, an older man hurt. Of course, when you have to run down stairs to the miklat, the bomb shelter, you might not be able to get there in time. Here in Jerusalem, we have a leisurely 90 seconds. It’s surprising a lot of time, even though we all run in, our hearts pumping - everyone has to pee. Ten minutes later we’re out, and then back in, the siren louder this time - we all listen for the boom.
1:30pm. What about work? We were supposed to have phone call and talk through a bunch of things from writing to our Shutaf friends and donors in order to update them, or sharing inclusive, education ideas suitable for the current situation (from coping with anxious children or challenging behaviors parents might be seeing), but postpone it - everyone feels shaky. I put up a pot of beans. With a full house and friends stopping in, especially anyone who lives alone, we’re eating well. It’s a little like lockdown but we’re all free to walk about, that is, if we feel safe enough.
1:45pm. The breeze blows. Rain is in the air. We love rain but today all I can think about is the soldiers. Will the rain make things harder?
And it’s only Monday. To think that on Friday night, we danced and celebrated the start of Simchat Torah at our egalitarian, Masorti community, Kehillat Mayanot. We were happy. I can’t even begin to think of the trauma and loss being experienced by so many. It is already more than we can bear.
Beth Steinberg is the co-founder and director of Shutaf Inclusion Programs in Jerusalem, and the artistic director of Theater in the Rough, creating engaging, theatrical experiences in Jerusalem.