Shabbat Anxiety

My first Shabbat dinner back in Jerusalem was an eye-opener.

My hosts were warm and friendly, singing songs of peace when I arrived. A gorgeous dog stood at the back of the living room, and I slowly approached to pat its head. The dog retreated rapidly.

“It’s a rescue dog”, explained my host.

“How long have you had it?”

“Since October 11.” My host saw my inquisitive expression. “It’s from the border town of Sderot. After the 7/10 massacre, when the town was evacuated, volunteers came and rounded up all the pets that had been left behind and were wandering the streets. Those that were identified were put into shelters or fostered out. Others, like this one, had ID chips but without any data. We adopted this one.”

 

The dog was wary of me, and I offered a treat to entice it over. I sat quietly on the floor holding out my hand, but it refused to come. Only after I placed the treat on the floor and moved away did the dog come to sniff it. It peered up at me with long sad eyes. Was that just my imagination?

 

The dog shied from everyone except one of my hosts’ daughters, with whom it cuddled. “I love him to bits," she exclaimed. "And he’s doing so well! You should've seen what he was like when we first got him. He’s doing much better now.”

I shudder to think.

 

Throughout the evening I watched the dog’s behaviour. It had clearly been traumatised. While we sat at dinner, the dog quietly went to its feeding bowl to eat a little before backwards while staring at the bowl. After a few minutes, it returned to the bowl and then repeated its steps backwards. What had this creature witnessed when Hamas perpetrated its bloody attack? My heart ached knowing it would never see its original owners again, but I was also thankful that it had come to this beautiful family.

 

We all stood together, arm in arm, singing songs of peace. It was very moving and one of the guests let out a quiet sob. Since returning to Israel, I have constantly contrasted the reality here with the vitriol I heard expressed abroad at anti-Israel rallies, on the national media, and by members of the Australian government.

 

During dinner, we were all asked to express gratitude for something that had occurred that week. Health, survival, and family were repeated themes. One of my host's sons is a reserve officer serving in Gaza and was on a few days' leave. Everyone looked at him with wet eyes. Even he spoke of a sense of mission, of gratitude for the support of his family, his troops, and of the goal of rescuing Israeli hostages. He shared that his unit had found a Hamas tunnel under a United Nations school in Gaza, and referred to having seen things he wished that he hadn’t. Nonetheless, he was resolved to do what was needed to bring security to our country.

 

When carrying the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, I asked him about his three earrings.

“Do you have to remove them when you are out in the field”? He laughed.

“That’s a good question I guess. I’m a reservist. We’ve all answered the call to service. Afterwards we will go back to our normal lives. If we had to take off our earrings or get crew cuts and the like, some might not make the effort to turn up.”

 

Everyone returned to the table for a hot drink. The reservist’s sister suddenly piped up.

“Did you hear that boom?”

The young woman was shaken. She had received a text from a close Arab friend living in a village nearby. Hamas apparently notifies Palestinians in Israel when they plan to send missiles so that they can come outside and watch with pride. This time, their missile hit the friend's village. The young man texted to say that the missile had blown out his windows and he was petrified. We all looked at each other, incredulous at how ludicrous everything was.

 

We tried holding small talk after that, but the evening ended in hushed tones, everyone sharing their emotions and anxieties.

 

People abroad are oblivious to the current reality of life in Israel. It is not portrayed in the international media.

 

That morning I had called friends whose son was to have been married a few weeks earlier, in November. “The wedding’s been postponed a few months,” said the groom’s father. “He’s been called up, together with our other sons.”

We spoke solemnly about the situation, commiserated together, and promised to be in touch.

 

It’s a similar story with most of my friends. And with my family too.

 

It is what it is. We do what we must. And we remain true to ourselves.