Thinking of
I’m thinking of how to love a place when it breaks your heart. When all you know of it mixes with the horrible acts of war.
I’m thinking of the chaotic order of the Machane Yehuda shuk, the fish mongers with their tables of ice, the piles of carrots and onions threatening to roll onto the ground, the expensive cheese shop next to the halva vendor, piles of the gritty sweet candy swirled with chocolate or tahini as crowds vie for a free sample on a toothpick. I’m thinking of the mountains of aromatic spices, trained to a perfect point, of the bags of beans and lentils and rice, for Ashkenazi and Sephardic and Ethiopian and Brazilian and Lebanese cuisine. I’m thinking of the housewares stall where I met my first running friend, who I ran with nearly every weekend for two years. I’m thinking of the rattle of the pushcart against the cobblestone as it fills up, the Russian grocery across the street that sold “white meat” as code for pork.
I’m thinking of the Arab lab technician and street vendors, the line of people trying to cross the border from the West Bank to Jerusalem and the smell of fried dough and cheese and hookah and hummus. The burger restaurant that stayed open during Pesach. I’m thinking of the hourly news reports on the radio and the monthly announcements of the price of gas.
I’m thinking of hostages and children dying and mass graves. I’m thinking of shots of vodka after Shabbat dinner, going to the symphony to see Itzhak Perlman ascend to the stage on his crutches and conduct and play that violin sitting down, the most powerful person in the room.
I’m thinking of orchids and calaniote blooming in the spring, of the smell of eucalyptus in the park in Tel Aviv where I put in so many miles of marathon training, the crowds on the boardwalk on Saturdays, the signs prohibiting smoking on the beach. The chorus of matkot balls against wooden paddles and the sting of jellyfish, which are called “medusa” in Hebrew. The orthodox beach with separate days for men and women, imagining not being able to go to the beach because it’s not the right day.
I’m thinking of bombed out hospitals and razed cities. I’m thinking of the roads in the Golan Heights still marked with warnings about mine fields with a view of the ski resort on Mount Hermon. I’m thinking of weapons and flowers, my toes in the Kinneret, the fields of banana trees and date palms.
I’m thinking of the protests and the strikes, the walls and tunnels, the killing and the horror and the orchard in the backyard and the grape vines behind the winery at the bottom of the hill.
I’m thinking of my friends, displaced and disenchanted, their hearts breaking more than mine is.
Written with the prompt, “I’m thinking of,” from the poem “Home” by Natalie Goldberg, during a Wild Writing session with Laurie Wagner.
Hi Erin, on 7.10 we were attacked by monsters who murdered, raped, burned and cut off the organs of babies, children, women, men and old people. Those who did not die were abducted to Gaza both by Hamas and by many civilians who crossed the border and participated in the murder party. 1400 murdered and over 200 kidnapped. We didn't start this war. We are fighting for our lives and for this kind of event to never happen. War is a terrible thing, but we did not start this war. The IDF tries with all its might to avoid harming the innocent, and indeed the ratio of civilian casualties compared to Hamas terrorists is 2:1. In modern wars the average ratio is 9:1. This is an unprecedented ratio that shows how much the IDF tries not to harm the innocent and that given that Hamas fights from within the civilian population, from hospitals and schools and from its underground tunnel city that is located under the entire Gaza strip. What would you expect the United States to do if one day tens of thousands of terrorists came out of Mexico and murdered, raped and kidnapped women, children, men and old people in entire cities along the border? Would you call for ceasefire before the threat was eliminated? Would you leave it possible for it to happen again when the threat is just across the border?