A Nation with an Eternal Memory Traumatized Again

Today is Monday. Like Israel being stuck in October, I find myself now stuck in Saturday night. We woke up to quiet on Sunday after a night of hell. And now, every bang makes me check my phone, motorcycles flying by make me think I hear a siren.

Today is Monday...about 48 hours since we heard the "Iran has just confirmed that it released a wave of drones" to attack Israel"...perhaps 45 hours since we heard ballistic missiles were on the way. And the wait until suddenly we heard explosions and streaking lights in the skies.

Perhaps 40 hours since I sat in the bomb shelter cuddling trembling granddaughters and wishing the Iranians to hell and beyond.

Last night and tonight, I wonder if they will do it again. Everyone went to work today. Schools open again tomorrow. I begged my two youngest to come home...they came home just as sirens and booms started here. Today, they return. They both have finals tomorrow - their study time stolen by the Iranians.

They have already been traumatized enough, and still there is more trauma. She knew several who were murdered, one we know who was kidnapped. He fought in Gaza and what he saw remains inside of him.

And on Saturday night, we all sat huddling in the bomb shelter. Once we were in, there was little fear but there was anger for the little ones. The next day, I asked the littlest one what she remembered. Already her memory has been sanitized. She remembers my holding her "smushing" her. She remembers falling asleep in my arms and her mother carrying her downstairs. Never mind the facts, what is important is her memory.

I haven't asked the middle one what she remembers. She is 6 and I could feel her whole body shaking until she went into her mother's arms and the little one came to me. We all held them close. They were surrounded by love in a shelter built by a people who value life.

We are a traumatized nation, traumatized again. We are a nation with an eternal memory. Soon, we will sit at the Seder table and remember leaving Egypt, crossing into the desert. We remember the flames of the crematoria, the sound of the pogroms.

And we remember October 7, like it was yesterday. We relive the trauma in conversations...what did you hear, when did you hear?

It's so quiet here now...I go outside and look at the sky. I don't see the stars moving, I don't hear distant booms. And yet, I'm waiting for them...