It is a week since I set up my blog, and nearly a week since I last wrote.
There is still no name to this war.
Since Sunday, July 16, I have spent 60 hours at CNN. I have interpreted military and political figures. I have interpreted the defence minister, the foreign minister, and the prime minister.
I have bought a laptop computer and it now works at home on our wireless network as well as here at CNN.
I have been introduced to the wonderful world of the disk-on-key.
And when I am not interpreting, thanks to the Internet I can follow what the media are reporting even without emerging from my little office.
Foreign nationals are fleeing Lebanon in their thousands.
It is estimated that some 20% of the Lebanese population has been displaced.
And that 30%-50% of the residents of Israel's north have left their homes.
When I am home, David and I discuss the war. We both feel that the goals are unachievable - to disarm and dismantle Hizbollah. When did the use of force by a regular army ever manage to disarm and dismantle a guerrilla movement?
This morning, radio commentators pointed out that the mere fact that Hizbollah possesses (possessed...) vast numbers of weapons was no justification for launching this operation. Do you know how many weapons the Egyptians have? one of them asked the other. And for what purpose?
Oh Mr. Olmert and Mr. Peretz, it is all very well to say that this time things will be different from 1982, but the Lebanese quaqmire may well engulf you.
I have contributed 10 bags of dog/cat food to the canine/feline population of Safed which has been largely left to fend for itself as the missiles come down and the population leaves. As I said to Zohar, the pet shop owner, I hope the war finishes before the food runs out.
But if by ill chance it does not, please call me again.
In the meanwhile, in an uncharacteristic article, Yossi Sarid has spoken to my heart (see below).
I would so like to think that by the time I next put finger to blog page, the ill wind will have blown over.
But I fear it will not.
In the meanwhile, the fruit rots up in the north and "the Middle East" again denotes our part of it, and not Iraq. The fact that on average more people are killed on a daily basis in Iraq than in our backyard is no consolation.
The wind that is blowing is a very ill one...
I know Israelis desperately want to be shot of Hizbollah (together with Hamas, and at least in the case of the rabid right-wing Jerusalemites in whose midst we live, of Arabs altogether), but I fear that they will find themselves sorely disappointed.
Yossi Sarid, the left-wing politician/journalist/commentator, had an article in Haaretz this morning. When I decided to include it in my blog, it was no longer posted. Thank goodness for temporary Internet files. Who decided to remove the article, I have no way of knowing...
Haaretz, July 21, 2006
An ill wind bloweth here
By Yossi Sarid
Yesterday was the most tense and thunderous day experienced by the frontline communities since the war began. Hezbollah had suddenly remembered its close neighbors was the impression I got. It was even difficult to eat lunch at the home of Rosa Davidi, the mother and grandmother of many in Margaliot. Every time you tried to lift a meatball out of its reddish gravy, artillery boomed from the other side of wall, freezing the spoon halfway from the plate to your mouth. Even the elders of Margaliot have a hard time remembering the last time their mountain village lay in the valley of the shadow of death, and they feared evil. But those who have remained in Margaliot still refuse to leave. How would we ever manage without Rosa and her lunches?
Not far from here, in Moshav Avivim, the worst case scenario acted itself out yesterday. Avivim is too far from Margaliot to hear the exchanges of fire but close enough to hear the quickened heartbeats. Like Margaliot, Avivim is also located on the border, just one step away from Hezbollah land. No place has suffered like Avivim. In 1970, a school bus was heading to the regional school in the area when terrorists fired at it from behind a nearby fence, killing 12 young children from Avivim. Today, those kids could have been 50 and sitting in shelters. Yesterday, I telephoned my friend, Shimon Biton, the head of Avivim's residents' committee, to ask how his village was doing, and suddenly remembered he was one of the children on that bus. He was saved, but the memories keep haunting him, especially these days. The Avivim battle yesterday may not be a turning point in the war, but it will certainly be a milestone in it. The battle took place on Lebanese soil, which had been invaded by our ground forces, and therefore evokes a sinful memory - the sin of the first war in Lebanon. It could awaken and summon the latent nightmares of many people in Israel whose flesh has not yet healed from the burn of Lebanon. They remember what that war in Lebanon did to us, and what we had done. Over the last few days, I have been reporting from here on the state of the chickens and fruit at the moshav. The chickens are well, although they are laying fewer and fewer eggs. Chickens, too, are startled by the thunder of rockets, and they, too, find it difficult to distinguish between the boom of a fired rocket and one that has landed. It is doubtful if Margaliot's future still lies in these eggs. The fruit, however, is beyond redemption. All picking efforts and hopes have been dashed. Yesterday, the Thai Embassy sent buses to collect all the Thai workers around here, and nobody is left to pick the fruit in the peak season. The peaches, pears, apples, plums and nectarines will rot. A entire year's investment and labor gone down the drain. "The nation is strong," there is no doubt about it. Its spirit is holding firm. But what can I say: An ill wind bloweth here.
