“Start packing.” He tells me on the phone. “It’s gonna get crazy here!”
“Really? Just pack up and leave?”
“Yes,” he repeats. “I’ll be home in ten minutes.”
I’m feeding the baby, and my older son is playing outside. I hesitate for a second, then summon him. You can continue playing outside, I explain in a composed voice, but promise me, the minute you hear the siren you come in. OK?
He smiles at me, makes the promise, don’t worry mommy. Calms me down. For a second I wonder if our roles might be reversed.
I start folding the clothing. What should I take? This horrible weather. November and still hot. Need to plan for any type of weather. And my daughter is being toilet trained. Need lots of extra clothes.
“What’s taking you so long? You don’t understand how serious this is, do you?”
Not really. More serious than what it’s been until now? We’ve been living with the missiles for years, even though these last months have been crazy.
We don’t have a proper bomb shelter. We can’t take a four-month-old baby to a public shelter. We can’t stay in rocket range. Then I hear the explosions. Though distant, their impact is felt. So close my husband brings the children in the house. “Stay here,” he commands, “until we finish loading the car. The sirens are going to start soon.”
The house is a mess. The kids are running around, making it messier; they sense the excitement, they too hear the booms. I’m not really focused on the clothes. All I hear is that danger in the distance, getting closer. I can’t believe we are actually striking back. After years of them firing at us, of having to sit through those horrible sirens, praying those missiles don’t fall, don’t harm my babies.
One, two, three, babies I’ve rushed to the protected area over the past four years. Could this be the end?
We load the car. Start driving up north. It gets dark, and each exit sign on the highway indicates our proximity to safety. Don’t look back. Home isn’t safe now. The older kids doze, and listening to the news, I realize how tired I am as well. You don’t really sleep when you live through those missile attacks; you sleep with your ears open, and with your legs stretched forth, prepared to run for shelter.
My son opens his eyes. Notices the darkness, the strange road, the car speeding. “But you said there would be sirens,” he entreats. “Why are there no sirens?”
Reiterating his strange request in my head, it suddenly dawns on me: we are far from the end. His four years of existence have been overshadowed by the missile threat. Not every day, but enough times to become a significant part of his life. You can get a child out of the missiles’ range, but you can’t take the missiles out of him. His childhood games are tainted with it; every hide-and-seek game has been transformed into a strange version of “the missiles are coming—run!” His playground songs are echoes of the siren’s deadly tune.
What are the emotional consequences of such a life? How does a child overcome the sense of impending danger, the cautiousness he’s been taught to take? What kind of life does a child live, if he’s always looking over his shoulder, always prepared to take a run?
A life of learning to feel safe, to trust, to rest. To be free. Even if the missiles end, the real challenge, that of learning to live, is only just beginning.
There are no words …. as a mom my heart breaks every time I hear another report of this senseless violence. This post has me weeping openly. How can it be that nothing is learnt from the past? Why can’t we see past superficial differences and realise that there is so much more that binds us together than what divides us? Do we have to face an attack from Outer Space before we realise WE ARE ALL THE SAME?!
My heart breaks a little more with each story. I pray for your safety and that of all your loved ones. I pray for an end to this madness!
What an amazing article! It truly hit home. I can’t even begin to imagine what that experience must be like. Stay safe. We are all thinking of you and praying for an end to this insanity!
What a powerful and moving post. I lived in Israel about 20 years ago, and I was in the Golan Heights at a time when Israel/Lebanon conflict was in the news. We never had to use the shelters, but the farmer I was working for made a point of ensuring that we knew where it was, and that in itself was surreal.
I pray for your safety and that of your family. I cannot imagine being caught in the middle of something so tragic.
I have much family and many friends who live in Israel, some with open the danger zone, some outside of it. I myself have spent much time and several summers over there, and the one thing that always amazes me is how adjusted and in tune the kids are. They understand how to enjoy life so much more than we do here in the US. From such a young age, they learn how to react in tumultuous times. True they learn loss and fear in a way that young children should never know, but because of it they also learn how to live and love in a way I have not seen over here.
I hope you and your family stay safe, and your son does not have to hear the sirens too soon! Thank you for writing this post Danielle!
Thank you so much for sharing your story, it pained my heart. I so wish that there’s no more war and violence in the world and that children can grow up in a safe environment where they can play freely without fear for their life.
You are living through a heartbreaking reality that is hard to imagine. As a mother I would be desperate to get my babies to safety as well. Thank you for sharing your experiences and helping us to understand a bit of what you are going through. I wish for peace and safety for you, your family, and your country.
This is such a powerful post: words fail me. Thankyou for sharing your story.
Daniel,
My family many years ago was in a similar situation in southern Lebanon. They left their beloved country to find a new, safe life in the US. Regardless what side of the border it is my pleasure to provide a platform for every mother who is living in this type of uncertainty. Your writing is beautiful and so powerful. Thank you for sharing your story with the world!
Jen Burden 🙂