The 44th Epistle from Israel

9th Day of Rising Lion

Dear Family and Friends and Friends of Friends,

Thank you to all those newcomers with good taste who have, during the past few days and weeks, subscribed to “Epistles from Israel.” Now we know for sure that Rising Lion will not be a 6-8-day war. This raises the question: How many days does it take for a lion to rise? And this is a she-lion, so she’s probably a lot slower, more graceful and careful not to stretch the wrong muscles. She’s probably super conscious of her breathing from all her yoga lessons and she thinks long and hard how to plant all four feet on the ground in a way that she will not lose her balance, not even for a nano-second.

And after she has risen, do we have to count the days until she returns to rest position? Does she need a shower? A meal?

Pundits are wondering if Bibi has a realistic plan for ending this war-within-a-war. The unending fighting in Gaza offers neither a sense of security, nor hope. The man does not know how to finish. If he’s waiting for two weeks for Trump to finish, we’re in serious trouble.

Let’s go back to the shelter at Einstein 5. Yesterday at 5 in the afternoon we had a festival. Not only did A. return home from his miluim on the Jordanian border in the Arava, but he came into the shelter with his partner the OT, and two other women. We had a full house for the afternoon bombing of Haifa.

The OT came with a book, scissors, a bowl and a basket of herbs, a full-time occupational therapist. She showed us her Healing Herbs for Women and then started cutting the dried St. John’s Wort into little pieces in order to make some concoction that heals nerves. Not to be outdone, I shared with her some factoid I remembered from my days as a tour guide at Neot Kedumim, The Biblical Landscape Reserve in Israel. “Jesus used it during the crucifixion,” I said, with the self-assurance of a spectator at the event. She already knew this crumb of history and reminded me that the plant is called John’s because it’s named after John the Baptist.

We welcomed the two strange women with lots of questions.

“Who are you?”

“I’m his mother.”

“And you?”

BOOM

“I’m his sister.”

“What?

“I’m his sister. I live in

BOOM

“Where?”

“Travelling in New

BOOM

“Where?”

“Zealand.”

“Iceland?”

“No. New Zealand.”

“You look familiar. Did you study at the Reali?”

“Yes.”

“BOOM

“What year? I’m from the class of

BOOM

“When?”

“‘67.”

“Wow. Me too.”

What’s your

BOOM

name?”

A few moments of silence, scattered with swearing in English, traversing the vocal range from Ooo, Owww, Shit, Fuck, What the Fuck!.

“We were in the same class, I think.”

“I don’t remember anything from high school.”

“Did you know

BOOM

“Trudy?”

“Who?

“Trudy Stern.”

“No, but I knew her sister Fanny.”

“Who?”

Fanny Stern.”

“Oh, she was my sister’s

BOOM

“friend.”

Giggling from the choir

“Who?”

“Fanny Stern.”

that turned to outright laughter.

I apologized for our not being able to welcome our guests with cake and tea and explained that we work on a pre-registration basis for visitors from out of town.

At my daughter’s shelter in Tel Aviv, their door is always open to neighbors in need. One day a family of strangers entered their shelter and the people in my daughter’s building welcomed them warmly, even though they had never seen them before and didn’t know their name. During all the boomim, the strangers’ children played together with the tenants’ children on the floor of the shelter, while all the parents checked their phones for information where the missile landed.

The next day, when my daughter and her family entered the shelter, they found this:

A note thanking all the neighbors for their help and patience, flowers and cake for Shabbat.

If this does not warm your heart for at least the Sabbath, what will?

Yours, in war mode,

Judy