Wednesday
Elliot, my military mentor, once told me, that momentous events are remembered by their dates... unless you lived them. Then they are remembered by the day of the week.
For me, this is true about my kids' day of birth which comes to me with more ease than their date of birth. This is true for me about Rabin's assassination.
My days this week have been a blur. I hear the date, October 7th mentioned often. For me it rings hollow. I will always live it, and remember it, as the Black Shabbat.
In the afternoon, I go to the police station to talk with Udi. I was under the impression that it was a one-on-one meeting, but there are about 25 people there. Unbeknownst to me, there was some kind of call from the police requesting volunteers. I think I must have been the only one to ask about this initiative before they turned to the public. I look around at the people… it filled me with pride and with fear. Some of the people, but their looks, ages and physique, are likely people you could count on. After all, we weren’t talking about recruiting police volunteers to deal with juvenile delinquents… I was signing up to deal with a mass incursion from neighboring Azaria... a repetition of Shabbat morning. But at least half the people seemed like they would be more of a danger to themselves and others as opposed to repelling any hostile force…. Hence the mixture of pride and apprehension.
In the evening, Shlomi and I go on errands in Jerusalem. We pick up the key to Yonatan’s apartment from his friend and gather his stuff as he needs to vacate his place. Once again the special service person comes over to ask what we're doing there, and once again she is full of empathy and tells us to park on the sidewalk. No problem. And of course, she wishes victory to my son and his friends.
I also make a stop at my “Jewish Diagon Alley” in order to pick up supplies for my next Megillah. I anticipate I’ll have a lot of free time coming up, and I feel like I want to write a Megillah for my newest son: Akiva L.
I always enjoy my interactions with my Professor Dumbledor-like maven who runs the sofer stam shop. I ask him how he is doing. He gives me his standard answer: "Mitzapim L'Yeshu'a" - "Waiting for His salvation." I reflect on how his routine answer is more poignant now than ever.
There are at least 200 missing people
Thursday
I think was a similar day to Tuesday. The lack of sense of time, and the unknowing from minute to minute is very reminiscent of Corona days… the main difference is that Corona kept us as people, families and communities in bidud (separation), whereas this situation demands all of us coming together…
I speak with a new contact: Daniel L.
It seems like I found my calling.
A kind of "civilian reserve duty." The idea is to have a person like myself, a Zionist who knows the country and has connections, to drive journalists around the country. In this way we can add value and have influence to the media war.
This media war is just as important as the war fought with tanks. It may involve less grease than tanks, but it too is crucial for the war effort in order for us to reach our objectives. And... it is one front that Israel historically has not been great at...
A regular cab driver is only a service provider. An Arab driver, statistically, will be anti-Israel and have a negative influence. (Sadly, the majority of Israel's Arabs support the Palestinian side, even it is Hamas, even if Hamas also killed quite a few Israeli Arabs in their massacre... and even their Knesset representatives walked out of the room when a moment of reverent silence was observed...)