Wow! I just had the most intense feeling overcome my body from head to toe. As I was grilling some broccoli for breakfast (empty fridge, time for a shuk stop perhaps??) I suddenly heard this loud siren, as though it was a stretched out ambulance sound. My stomach instantly dropped and my eyes glazed over in brisk of a tear. I immediately looked outside my living room window and noticed the people on the streets had halted at once, as if time literally stopped. Cars pulled over, and people on foot froze in their tracks, with chins down for the entire duration of the siren. I found myself standing by the window with spatula in hand, stomach to the floor and heart melting. It lasted about a minute or so and as it dropped everyone proceeded with their own lives and continued on their path.
When I was an 8-year-old child I was fortunate to have had the experience of being in Israel for the duration of the Gulf War. I say fortunate in a manner that it was an experience that in some way, shape or form, has left an imprint on my soul, mind and personality. An experience that subconsciously has taught me the appreciation of living a healthy, happy and safe life without the trials and tribulations of war.
For example, in school instead of finger painting our teacher had us decorate our gas mask cartons (they had to be with us at all times, no matter what - for threat of poisonous rockets of gas was in our midst). After all we were only children, and strolling around with a decorative and colored box was much more fun. I vividly recall when a siren went off we would have to quickly evacuate to our designated safe rooms, or “miklatim,” duck tape the rim of our doors and immediately put our gas masks on. I remember my uncle running straight to the radio and we would sit with family, friends and strangers and listen profusely to hear if we were in a safe zone.
Today’s siren was not however for war, but a siren of commemoration. Today is “Yom Hazikaron,” Israel’s national Memorial Day for the fallen and victims of terror. I feel so blessed and strengthened for being one more person in Israel to stand in silence, stillness and honor our soldiers, all from my humble apartment window.
I still remember the smell of my rubber gas mask. And today I have learned, I have not forgotten the sounds of the sirens and the apprehensive feeling embedded in my blood, that they come with.
Such a surreal, yet awakening moment.
When I was an 8-year-old child I was fortunate to have had the experience of being in Israel for the duration of the Gulf War. I say fortunate in a manner that it was an experience that in some way, shape or form, has left an imprint on my soul, mind and personality. An experience that subconsciously has taught me the appreciation of living a healthy, happy and safe life without the trials and tribulations of war.
For example, in school instead of finger painting our teacher had us decorate our gas mask cartons (they had to be with us at all times, no matter what - for threat of poisonous rockets of gas was in our midst). After all we were only children, and strolling around with a decorative and colored box was much more fun. I vividly recall when a siren went off we would have to quickly evacuate to our designated safe rooms, or “miklatim,” duck tape the rim of our doors and immediately put our gas masks on. I remember my uncle running straight to the radio and we would sit with family, friends and strangers and listen profusely to hear if we were in a safe zone.
Today’s siren was not however for war, but a siren of commemoration. Today is “Yom Hazikaron,” Israel’s national Memorial Day for the fallen and victims of terror. I feel so blessed and strengthened for being one more person in Israel to stand in silence, stillness and honor our soldiers, all from my humble apartment window.
I still remember the smell of my rubber gas mask. And today I have learned, I have not forgotten the sounds of the sirens and the apprehensive feeling embedded in my blood, that they come with.
Such a surreal, yet awakening moment.
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