Jerusalem — This is the second time in my life that I am preparing a sealed room to protect myself from a possible chemical attack from Iraq in the coming days. The difference this time is that I am also preparing the room for my family.
As I smoothed down the plastic sheeting and stuck duct tape around the window’s edge Wednesday, I began to wonder if anything is really going to happen, or if am I just one of the many Israelis panicked by newspaper headlines such as Yediot Achronot’s today that screamed “From tonight, it could happen any second.”
People here seem to be treating this war and its threat against Israel as a joke. Most wave it off with a laugh, trusting in the IDF chief of staff’s assertions that an attack against Israel is unlikely. Even as I struggled to get the tape to stick, I, too, could see the funny side to life here.
It makes me laugh to think that Saddam Hussein’s missiles could actually hit my little house, of all places, perched neatly on a hillside near Jerusalem. And if by some freak chance the missiles do hit this target, it seems equally comical if not more so that a thin piece of plastic and some cheap duct tape will protect me from chemical or biological weapons.
But what makes me laugh the most is the thought that my son Benji, who is a perfect example of a terrible two-year-old, would ever agree to put on a gas mask. He barely sits still long enough to put on a shirt and pants in the morning, so the idea that he will sit still long enough to let me put his mask on is hilarious.
Still, as one of my work colleagues pointed out, children however young can somehow sense the difference between something they have to do because we want them to or something that has to be done because there is absolutely no choice.
She mentioned children during the Holocaust who were squeezed into uncomfortable hiding places and told to stay quiet. Most of them just knew that they had to obey their parents.
So what makes me laugh the most about the current climate is also what worries me most — that my two-year-old and his nine-month-old sister, despite being so young, may very well know the difference between something that is not essential and something as serious as a war.
Long-term effects
There seems little doubt that at some point over the weekend the eerie sound of a siren will arouse them from their deep sleep. I wonder what fear will go through their little bodies as I hustle them out of bed and carry them into our sealed room. I wonder if they will cry as we sit and wait to find out what has really happened.
Even through all the jokes that surround me, I am deeply saddened by the thought that Benji and Gefen will have this experience etched on their sub-consciousness forever.
Though neither will likely remember what happened, they live in a society in which violence shapes everyone’s lives; and I know that their personalities are no exception to this influence.
Yesterday, as I prepared a box of essentials — diapers, milk, cookies and water — for a potential stay in our sealed room, I wondered if the stress of living in Israel will ever cease, and if my young children will ever know a country that does not face terror.
Terrorist attacks, suicide bombings and now the fear of war again beg me to ask the question of why we live here. Why, when I have the choice to leave, do I keep my children in Israel?
I try to remind myself of Zionism’s place in our history, the assimilation theories relating to life in the diaspora and issues of Jewish identity that originally brought me here. But none of this seems very potent right now, when I worry that all these stresses could have a detrimental effect on my family.
Then I remember life in Israel before the current intifada, before September 11 and its aftermath. I easily recall how much fun the hot summer days were, and I can almost see how perfect life is for children in Israel — being able to be outdoors year-round, hiking in nature, and, of course, the freedom to enjoy Jewish holidays. (There is nothing like Purim in Israel for children.)
So even with the uncertainty of what will happen in the next few days, I want to keep my family here, have my children grow up here, in the hope that the sweetness of life in Israel will one day return and forever erase the memories of sirens, plastic sheeting and duct tape.
Ruth Eglash is former assistant editor of The Chronicle and arts and entertainment editor at The Jerusalem Post. She lives in Mevasseret Zion, a suburb just to the north of Jerusalem.
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