More from Marsh of Kiryat Shmona
July 25, 2006
Dear Friends,
My thanks to the many, many people who have contacted me, on and off-list with words of support, and asked me to keep up sending my e-mails. This one may contain some random bits of this and that, although another side of Kiryat Shmona's strength was revealed today, this time for a happy occasion.
According to today's newspapers, Tsfat [Safed] has actually been struck more than we have (although that seems to be changing). Nevertheless, there seems to be more people on the streets there. I think several things account for the difference. First, we have known this sort of thing before. The accumulated experiences apparently don't make people stronger, but wear them out. Perhaps part of the difference is that here, we have been enveloped by smoke for several days, from the scrub and grass burning on the hills around us. Also, we have the constant noise of outgoing artillery barrages. Always annoying, the noise can be quite disruptive at times. As I write this, in fact, one particular battery is so loud, it feels like it's stationed right outside my window! Outsiders and the many volunteers here (more about them below) can't always distinguish between "incoming" and "outgoing", and jump pretty high from our loud artillery, then don't seem to move when Katyushas start falling, and we have to hustle them to safety.
In fact, and I hope no one gets insulted by this, one incident made me laugh last evening. After a full day of noise, both incoming and outgoing, there was finally a brief period of absolute silence around 8:30 p.m.. Whew, how nice to just hear nothing. That lovely, peaceful calm was shattered by loudspeakers mounted on a car, with a whole bunch of Nah Nah Bratslavians dancing and shouting at the top of their lungs: evidently their way of trying to cheer us up. I know they meant well, but .. I shouted out the window to pipe down, but of course, they couldn't hear me over the racket. Can't describe how nerve-wracking it was. Just as I was actually contemplating going down and trying to stop them, our artillery started to boom again. They evidently thought it was another barrage, or someone told them it was; they stopped in mid-beat and scooted out of here real fast. Ah, 'peace' returned, with only the occasional kettle drum in the background.
They were just one group of many good people who have been here, as individuals and in groups, to help us get through this period. (And many, many others who are organizing packages for us or for soldiers, for which we're very grateful.) Today, for example, the Hof HaCarmel Chavurat Zemer was here all day. They were wonderful, cheerful, friendly, and gave terrific performances in shelters. They themselves were so moved by their reception, some members had tears in their eyes. By the afternoon, having given four 40-minute concerts, their voices were beginning to give out. But they delayed their departure for a very special performance: a birthday party in the shelter for a 13-year-old.
Lidan Takiar was born into Katyushas - during Operation Din ve Heshbone, in 1993. Since then, two other birthdays were spent in the shelter. Last year, on the morning of her Bat Mitzvah, Katyushas fell, and very few friends came to her party. Now, again, she was due to spend another birthday in the shelter. But the soldier-teachers, who have been going into the shelters with activities for children, were determined to make this a real party. They got together several small gifts for her, and another neighborhood center offered us a bag of candies someone had donated. The entire Hof HaCarmel La'aka performed for her. Her family all came, (I discovered I know her grandmother and great-grandmother), some of her friends did show up, and a rousing good time was had. The soldier-teachers, though, weren't allowed to leave the shelter at the school: we'd gotten a warning to expect another barrage, and people were told to go into the shelters. (In those cases, all the young volunteers for whom we're responsible, and the soldier-teachers must stay in the shelters.) Sure enough, just as several people were leaving the party, Katyushas did start falling, although none fell on town.
At one point, one of Lidan's aunts, Pnina, got upset with a neighbor. The neighbor was complaining that no one had brought her anything, and she'd heard rumors that things were being delivered to people's homes for free. (On most mornings, we have something: dairy products, fruit, to give out to people in the shelters at breakfast time. This morning, we didn't receive any deliveries, but we had saved choco and cookies from yesterday, and that was sent out.) Pnina said, rightfully, that the supermarkets and grocery stores were open, and she [the neighbor] could go out and buy anything she needed. Yes, the situation was difficult, but it didn't mean that we were miskenim; it was people like the neighbor who were giving Kiryat Shmona a bad image. Pnina does her own shopping, when a "window" is announced, and it's only the old and disabled people, who really need it, who should have food and other things brought to them. Pnina went on for quite a while, very articulate and righteously angry. Understand that Pnina and her family are not well-off or well educated; I know her mother (Lidan's grandmother) because she was one of the cleaners at the community center. But, as I say, they were all there: 4 generations, on both sides of the family, were making the best of the situation, and ensuring that their daughter/niece/granddaughter would have a memorable 13th birthday party.
In my opinion, Pnina's mostly right. Too many people take advantage of the situation, and of the goodwill of others. Yes, it's very unpleasant, hot, uncomfortable and boring in the shelters or at home all day. But, pardon the expression, no one "dies of boredom". And Pnina's right about another point: it is the old people who need it.
Today, late in the afternoon, after the Russian-speaking volunteers had left, I got a call from a Russian woman, asking that we bring her a hot meal. In broken Hebrew, she was able to tell me that she couldn't go down, and asked someone to bring it to her. Since most of the people who usually make such deliveries were out, I took her the meal. Turns out that she's an old lady, living alone (except for a small dog - the neighbors walk it), who needs a walker to get around. She lives in a building with an elevator, but the brilliant architects who designed these buildings (like the one shown on TV yesterday, near where a shell fell) put the entrance a full flight of stairs up from the street. Thus, she hasn't been able to get out. Yesterday, she ran out of food. I later spoke to the social workers, to ensure that she would get regular deliveries of hot meals at lunchtime. I was also concerned that after the 'events', she'd get help. That's when I found out why things have been so difficult for so many elderly people during this period: many of them have aides, who come in two hours a day, and really make it possible for them to live more or less independently. Most of the aides can't come to work now: either they're obeying orders and staying in their own shelters, or have to take care of their own children. Without day camps and other structured summer activities, no mother can go to work and leave her children alone in the shelter.
Ironically, Pnina herself is one of these aides for the elderly -- I'm not making this up!
However, she works in one of the kibbutzim; she says if the people she worked with were here in town, she'd be glad to go to work everyday, and take care of them. But she can't get to the kibbutzim, nor leave her family in town when she's not here. Topsy turvy world, this.
I'm sorry if this e-mail turned into a long, possibly disjointed one. The experiences are so varied, the day kaleidoscopes into a haze of such short vignettes and incidences.
Also, several people have asked me if they can forward my e-mails to others. By all means! Once it's left my computer, as far as I'm concerned it's in the public domain.
Have a good and quiet night,
Marsh :-)
