I am writing from the fourth floor, where I have lit a candle. A blissful Santa Maria Novella; a treasured gift from Leo for my birthday.
As Bear Grylls always advises, ‘light a fire to boost morale’. So that is exactly what I’ve done.
Normally I would be listening to music too, but I’m fearful I could risk not hearing a potential siren.
My request was not fulfilled and rocket was on today’s menu. Peppery and bitter - a strong after taste for those, like me, who have no experience in such a field.
I had felt calm and cool that I knew the drill and felt the support from everyone around me, but as soon as I heard the siren, for the second time (in my life), my legs let me down. I did take on the stairs in my slippers, but it was purely from hearing the sound of danger that I don’t presume I, or my legs, will ever get used to. Not to mention, the wait to hear the rocket land. Who knows where, but it seems to be getting closer and closer.
I met a sweet neighbor from downstairs who had clearly not received the same briefing as me. She drifted towards the window, until I, who had only received tutoring the day before, insisted that she come and join me on the third floor. Her hand to her mouth, she gasped at how close the sound of the explosion was. We stood together, exchanged invitations for coffees and teas and then parted ways, to call our families to tell them we are fine. I’m not even sure this is necessary since these events barely seem to be featured in the news. But it is as much of a comfort to hear their voices as mine is to them.
I’d planned to go to the super market, the launderette but suddenly didn’t feel like it. Instead I replied to very kindest messages from old friends, new friends, inquiring about my safety, inviting me to their homes, to the north, everybody concerned and compassionate, refueling me for the next adventure. I’d been invited to a special service at the synagogue, and felt more than ever before, that now was the time to go, perhaps pray a little, but most of all be spiritual.
You might have seen profile pictures changed to red squares signifying ‘Code red’ sirens. Well my picture I have not changed, but I did put on a red dress, funnily enough one I have gone to every time I wish to dress up, but each time I’ve ended up dismissing it, until tonight.
I walked down one of my favorite boulevards, glancing into each wide and welcoming apartment as I passed. People playing with their dogs, others preparing feasts for their families, couples cosied up to one another. The air felt so soft and warmer than it’s been in recent days.
I met my friend on the corner by the synagogue, immediately enchanted by the sounds that wafted from ear to ear and then down the road and around the corner. I almost dreaded the service for I knew I was about to be moved. And moved I was. So many faces gathered together, some to read, some to sing, (others for the champagne reception that followed)! Whatever the reason, we were all together, our thoughts, all to the same place.
The service ended with the singing of the Hatikva, the National Anthem of Israel, a song of hope.
Before the first word had even been sung in it’s entirety, everyone stood up, as if the Queen of England had just entered the room.