It is almost as if I have two tracks running simultaneously in my head. Track number one is playing my regular routine. I’m trying to coax Yedidya into having his diaper changed and stop Tzion as he sits on the floor pulling all the wipes out of the package. I’m cutting up bread and making salad, and feeding Tzion solid foods for the first time. Yedidya is busy with his favorite activity: washing dishes. Yesterday we went shopping in the shuk for fruits and vegetables, and to the Misrad Hapnim to get our Israeli passports. Today we went to the mall. Everything is normal.
Track number two is not normal at all. In track number two my heart skips a beat when I hear the roar of a truck passing on the busy street outside. That sound, just for a split second, sounds like the first moment of an Azaka. On track number two, when we were out in town getting pictures taken for our Israeli passports, I was going to put the baby in the baby carrier on my back, but then quickly decided it would better to keep him on my front in case I had to shield him with my body. On track number two I don’t strap Yedidya into the stroller so if I have to pull him out and run, I can save precious seconds. On track number two, I skipped my shower last night because I just did not have the head space to deal with that situation!
Ever since the first siren two nights ago, I’ve been in this sort of limbo. Waiting, trying to live life normally, yet continuously and subconsciously assessing situations in terms of how easy it would be to run to the shelter if the siren were to sound right now. On a bus, at the train stop and walking to the makolet. How would I carry two kids, one two-and-a-half and the other six months, down the stairs from my apartment and into the shelter if Yoni isn’t home. It’s not like I’ve never picked both of them at the same time before, I have. Many times a tired toddler and a cranky baby both need to be picked up. But gosh, they are heavy. Would I be able to talk calmly to Yedidya during the siren, explaining to him that just as we have spoken about, when the special ‘fire engine sound’ goes off in the whole neighborhood, it means all the kids, and all the Mommys and Abbas in the building, get to go downstairs to a special room TOGETHER. How exciting!
Then it happened. Yedidaya was helping me scramble eggs for dinner, Tzion was on the rug banging on some toy and Yoni wasn’t home. Suddenly, the Azaka sounded. Faster than I could believe, I scooped Yedidya up onto one hip, and then grabbed Tzion and set him on the other. In that moment, they were weightless. I opened the door, and calmly and quickly glided down the stairs, the rising and falling cry of the Azaka echoing through me. The neighbors came streaming out of their apartments, the kids running and bumbling, all calmly, into the shelter. I went as far in as I could to make room for everyone else. More and more neighbors kids, everyone calling out to each other. At one point Yedidya started to get sad and shake his head “no”. Its ok, I told him, look at all your friends here.
We heard two booms, waited a bit longer, and went back upstairs. Back to cooking eggs, changing diapers, and putting babies to sleep.
Soon it will be Shabbos, and again, I have two tracks running in my head today. The siren and war track, and the majestic Erev Shabbos track. Here in Israel, in Jeruslaem. In the home I love.
