Having lived in a battleground for most of my life, I remember coming to Israel after
the Six Day War, with throngs of other baby boomers from around the world dazzled
by the David-and-Goliath victory and ready sources of cannabis. It seemed clear then
that there would soon be a withdrawal, like after the ’56 Sinai Campaign, and I ought
to rush about while still possible, to taste of territories temporarily occupied: Sinai
reefs, Gaza dunes, Golan vistas, Hebron glass, Jericho ruins.
I remember the Yom Kippur War, windows blacked out by pre-school poster paper
or wool blankets, streetlights and storefronts unlit, car headlights painted blue, to
confuse enemy planes; driving a friend from Dimona back to his reserve unit
stationed along the forward lines as our forces pushed retreating Egyptians back
across the Suez Canal; going to the airport at all hours to meet volunteer groups from
abroad, here to help out on farms and elsewhere while most of the able-bodied were
drafted for months. A whole society mobilized for war.
I remember the first Gulf War when Iraqi missiles were lobbed across Jordan and fell
helter-skelter. Everyone, adults and children, with gas mask in a cardboard box
personalized to prevent mixing it up with someone else’s, lugged around to work,
school, shop and visit. Every home with a sealed room: windowpanes masking-taped
and covered with thick plastic sheeting, against biological or chemical weapons of
mass destruction none of which was ever found once peacekeepers gained free
access to Iraq. I joined a team reaching out to make sure nobody in the community
was hunkering down in fear alone at home.
I remember years of repeated intifada attacks within cities and across the
countryside; waiting up late for my partying teenagers to come back safely, they
determined to go on with their lives despite dire warnings and real dangers, I too
restless to sleep. Hitchhikers no longer routinely picked up, anxious they might be
terrorists in disguise.
I remember windborne kites and helium balloons with incendiaries attached as well
as rockets sent from Gaza, red alerts in the southern half of the country. My
grandchildren a prime target. Reinforced safe rooms instead of public bomb shelters.
I remember these and other threats to the people in this land defending an ancient
birthright. At our best during wartime, giving a helping hand, pulling together.
But I don’t ever remember being so detached, dispatched and dispensable, like
rubber gloves or surgical masks. In the battle against a novel coronavirus, we are to
stay home, on unpaid leave or unemployed, separating parents and children from grandparents; to respect social distancing guidelines; undertake distance learning
rather than playing in parks with peers; and, wait. Idly. Days. Weeks Maybe months.
In risk-group isolation, trying to be updated and upbeat while filed away, untouchable,
erased, aching to undam my gut yet not daring to share the obvious, I fester in
silence. This lone wolf is a pack animal, howling at a paschal supermoon.
— April 2020
Copyright 2020 by Robert (Bob) Findysz
Bio:
Born in Chicago, raised in the suburbs, Bob finished graduate work at the University of Chicago before leaving for Israel where he married and settled in Jerusalem, relocating to a kibbutz sometime later. A father of 3, grandfather of 9, he spent a lifetime teaching English to Israeli students, retired and is now writing for himself.
Donation Appeal:
Throughout June and July, we will be presenting on this web site work by poets and artists responding to the COVID-19 pandemic. We hope you will find these works relevant, comforting and inspiring as we all cope with the economic and health-related fallout.
As you view the work on this site each day, we would like to encourage you to donate to the Arlington Food Assistance Center (AFAC). Their mission “ is to feed our neighbors in need by providing dignified access to supplemental groceries. AFAC is seeing a record number of families due to the COVID-19 pandemic as families who never thought they would ever be in need are now showing up at our doors for much needed food.” And, in keeping with our hunger-focused efforts, you may also want to visit the Poetry X Hunger website where poems by many poets are posted and are being used by anti-hunger organizations.”
Throughout June and July, we will be presenting on this web site work by poets and artists responding to the COVID-19 pandemic. We hope you will find these works relevant, comforting and inspiring as we all cope with the economic and health-related fallout.
Please consider donating to AFAC. If you do, let us know which poet or artist inspired you so we can send you a personal thank you.
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