Anecdotes from the misery index

There is no better or more eloquent way to say it. The situation is ugly from every
angle you look at it and each time you think it can’t get worse, it goes and does.

People have asked me if I’m ok. For now things are relatively safe and quiet in Tel Aviv, and I am suddenly grateful for Tel Aviv apathy. It keeps me sane I think to feel some sense of people going about their normal business. Is that crazy? I suppose that in times of madness it can be reassuring that human beings carry on and sometimes even coldly so.

But the stories coming in from Gaza are harrowing and we are no longer joking at work about needing therapy for secondary trauma. Each day someone loses it – either with sadness or with anger or a troubling combination of both. The moments that keep us together happen when people in Gaza can still make jokes, or when sudden surprises happen.

Today one of our clients at work made contact with me for the first time since the war started. I was so happy. It only lasted a few minutes but still.

Today a man called to ask if we could help evacuate his family from Gaza to the West Bank, where he was lucky enough to be. He told us his wife and children were in Gaza, and made a special request that we include his cat, Bisu. He said that until November when mail stopped coming in to Gaza, he would send cat food for Bisu via Aramex. He told us she was a part of the family and he didn’t want her to stay behind in Gaza.

In Hebrew, there is a word for hell that sounds like “Gaza”. My mom explained to me that around the time she was a kid, people started substituting “Gaza” for this word hell, when they wanted to tell someone off. It has always been a forgotten place.

Yesterday we were talking to this guy at the electricity company in Gaza. He told us that the IDF had taken over Hamas TV and were trying to send out propaganda. He joked that if they wanted their propaganda to be effective, then they should make sure people have electricity! He laughed, and we laughed.

We told him that we were at this protest the other day and a pro-war demonstrator held up a sign that said "Traitors: Go to Gaza", so my co-worker yelled back at them -I can't go to Gaza, the borders are sealed! The electricity guy laughed and told us we are welcome to come visit anytime they open up.

New Year's Day

It was hard to imagine celebrating New Year's last night. In the days leading up to it, I kept flashing to what the night would be like – walking by bars with people gathering outside to laugh and share cigarettes, standing in the middle of the party surrounded by people chatting and clinking glasses, bits of conversations flying by, at midnight strangers cheering and kissing – it sounded impossible. Last night came quietly and cold. There was suddenly no question whether to go to the party or to stay at home. By eleven-thirty I was already reading a magazine in bed. At midnight church bells started clanging outside. I woke up my love and kissed him, before turning back to my magazine, waiting for sleep. The only image that haunted me once the evening came, was of a family, sleeping together on the living room floor, the windows wide open to prevent them from shattering when the missiles fall, cold and darkness coming in from every direction. If I had any faith left in religion, I imagine this is when I would start praying, but because I don't, I just keep hoping and hoping everything will be ok.