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A
Letter from Jerusalem
by
Naomi Ragen (February 12, 2003)
This is just a catch-up letter to let you know where I am these days. After
Secretary Powell's speech I sort of got a chill. I mean, I knew about all those weapons, but to hear Powell list them
one by one was disturbing.
On Shabbat, our study group met, and it just so happened that we are up to the parting of the Red
Sea. Actually, we are up to the part where the Hebrews are standing by the sea, looking up towards the hordes of
Egyptians bearing down on them with hundreds of chariots and swords. The people scream
-- in prayer, in anger?
The commentators are divided). The first thing they do is blame Moses: Weren't there enough graves
in Egypt? Why did you need to take us to the desert to die? Didn't we tell you that it was better
for us to keep on serving the Egyptians rather than to die in the desert?
At this point, Moses prays to God, and God says: "What are you crying out for. Go!"
Well, we had a lively discussion. What did God mean, go? Go where? Obviously,
into the sea, because only when the people were willing to jump into that sea, was God
willing to part it for them. Imagine, a Shabbat table of women in Jerusalem busy preparing
their bomb shelters, having just heard Saddam's list of possible plagues, having
survived two years of suicide bombers...
Imagine what went through our heads. Well, I'll tell
you what went through mine: That is the extent of faith our God demands of us. We have to walk into the sea
until the water is up to our noses.
Actually, I felt comforted. Because, we too, are between the sea and the desert, and the hordes have
been trying their best to descend for two years. But at this point, the water is only up to our waists. I
trust it is rising so that God might part the seas.
The rising lake Kinneret, on the other hand, has been quite a comfort. It has been raining almost
constantly. How wonderful! After so many years of drought! Each drop that falls, is a blessing. Had we
had one more year of drought, we would have been close to the breaking point. Our groundwater was
getting polluted, our main reservoir, the Kinneret, was down five (!) meters! And now, all this rain and
snow. A blessing.
And every day,
another terrorist plot is foiled. Yesterday it was a 20 kilo bomb set to go off
in Jerusalem, a day or two before, a bomb four times the size. (I'll tell you the truth - who can keep track
of how many and how large?) Rockets landing harmlessly near neighborhoods in Gaza and
Sderot. Our soldiers foil their plots. Again, and again, and again.
I got my booklet from the army on how to prepare my home in case of attack. I cleaned out my bomb
shelter, bought bottled water, talked my daughter into taking this seriously, got my husband to
agree to buy the plastic sheeting and cellophane tape to seal off windows (he says we
still have some left from the last Gulf War, and it did no good then...)
I'm working, finishing a new book that takes place in Israel. It's about a family coping with a terrorist
attack, and the British reporter whose covering the story, and about the grandmother who went through
the Holocaust...So many issues that I am living every day. Life and art are very close.
On television tonight, I was amazed to see that Americans are also asked to stock up on water, and
that life has changed there too. And Heathrow airport in London has tanks! The words of an article I wrote long
ago, when the intifada just began, echoed in my head: "It always starts with the Jews, but it never ends there. If
an Israeli grandmother and her grandchild are not safe in the park, then no grandmother and no grandchild anywhere in the world is safe in the park." I
can't believe how quickly it all came true.
But life goes on. We are already making plans for Purim. We have a custom. Thirty years ago, when we
came to Israel from America, and had no family, we arranged to have our traditional Purim feast with
other new immigrant couples in the same boat. We were so young then, in our early twenties. And this
year, the same couples will be sharing the meal once again, as we have every year for
the past thirty.
We are all grandparents
now. One couple has two sons in the army, my youngest just got his first draft notice... We will decide who's making the turkey (we always have turkey) and
who's bringing the pies. We'll dress up and act silly, and make up funny skits, and remember all the Purims we celebrated
together, the years we had dozens of kids around the table, and how gradually they all got
married, or went off, and now, here we are, couples again.
At least, that's the plan and I'm hopeful it will work out. Because there is a saying:
When the month of Adar begins, great joy follows. We hope and pray this holds true, because according to the Hebrew lunar
calendar, this is the month of Adar. Our feet are already in the water, and it is rising, but we look
forward to the wonderful moment, when God will split the seas and let us all pass safely
through.
Every blessing. Keep safe.
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