Saturday, November 17, 2012

November Rain

Friday, November 16, 2012

On the surface, Snow in August may not seem too apt as a name for my ramblings about life in Israel- this hot, dry, Mad-Max-esque desert country I call home. But like the phenomenon in Hamill's book, (which was assigned as reading the summer before my Sophmore year in highschool and which I admittedly didnt really like), so much of what goes on here is like the metaphorical August snowfall: it is either so miraculous or so ridiculously crazy that it defies belief.

Snow in Israel, at any time of the year, is a miraculous event in and of itself. This past winter, on a cold Friday, Jerusalem mustered up all its strength and managed one inch.

In a previous lifetime in New York, this would have meant waking up in the predawn hours to peer hopefully through the fogged up window next to my bed, praying that maybe somehow, (please please pleaseeee!) 4-6 inches of cold, beautiful, white goodness would somehow have managed to accumulate overnight. One inch would find me bemoaning the lack of justice in the world, reconsidering my belief in a benevolent God,  and rolling over in bed to try to catch a couple more hours of sleep before the big yellow bus arrived to schlep me off to another day of school.

But in Israel, snow, even just a paltry one inch,  is a whole other mischak kadur regel. Work cancelled for the day, my husband and I jumped out of bed to bundle up, buy a couple of hot coffees to go at the neighborhood kiosk, take pictures, go for a walk in the nearby park, build a snowman, and have a snowball fight; and we managed to get it all in before the snow turned to grey slush and melted away before 10 AM. 

That is, to date, the only snow day I have so far experienced in Israel in the four years (this past Sunday!) that I have lived here.

Until today. Snow in November. Well not so much snow exactly....



I am currently working on my MBA at the College for Management in Rishon LeZion, a city to where two rockets from Gaza managed to find their way yesterday afternoon. Yesterday, with the sirens blaring, a large part of the 12,000 students who study there found themselves in the bomb shelters. 

Last night, I found myself compulsively checking the school's website for updates about closing today, as  obsessively as I once might have called my highschool's hotline for news of a snow-day. And when the news came through last night at 10 PM that my finance classes were cancelled today, I'll admit it, I was happy. I could tell you that I was relieved, that I felt safer knowing that I wouldn't have to travel to an area that had, only hours before, been attacked. But if we're being honest here, I really just hate calculating mortgage rates. And my first thought was: Snow Day! 

Sick? Maybe. But this is the reality here. And this is my reality as an American living here. These are the associations I make because I know no other way of life. Because I have never lived through a war. Because the only way I know how to account for unexpected day off from school, involves pure white snowflakes falling from the sky, instead of Kassam rockets and Grad missiles.

For those who have lived here all their lives, the associations are different. My sister-in-law was in her car when the sirens went off in Tel Aviv and had to jump out and run for shelter in the nearest building. When she called to let  us that she was OK, she joked that she was going to start taking a mattress around with her, to cover herself with during sirens, as her parents used to cover herself and my husband in their bathroom-cum-bomb shelter when they were children during the Gulf War. (As if that would have added an extra layer of safety against Scud missiles)

But I have not lived here my whole life. And yes it is possible that when I think about my life in the USA it is never without strapping on those rose-colored goggles. So yes, I am worried, I am confused, and although it is difficult to write this knowing that I'm supposed to be a tough experienced Israeli by now, I'm scared. The Israelis I know seem to be taking everything in stride, and so I try to keep my cool as my husband explains to me that if the siren sounds while I'm at home, to run to the stairwell, if I'm at work to the bathroom, and if I'm on the road to pull over and crouch between my car and the barrier.

Sure honey, check out this poker-face, it's all good.




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