"Ordinary Life" During a Time of War

It must go on. One's baby, one's child, one's pet still has to be fed--or in Israel, the Arab Middle East, and Ukraine--rescued from beneath the rubble.

In an Israeli bomb shelter, where people have got to be absolutely miserable, nevertheless, adults comfort the children, sing to them. Someone sent me a video of a cellist playing Bach in such a shelter. Only in Israel, only among the Jews, do such marvels happen. Yes, this happened in certain Nazi concentration camps as well.

Even in the midst of Hell, medical appointments, chemotherapy, urgent surgeries must go on. Babies simply insist on being born. Crops still require harvesting. Fruit must be picked no matter how many missiles are landing in the orchard.

Hospitals must remain open--even when they themselves are the targets as was the case in southern Israel when Iran purposely fired upon Soroka Hospital. An Israeli mother wrote to me:

"My youngest child was born in Soroka. My little grandson was born there too. When the kids had emergencies it was Soroka. I taught the doctor's children English back in the day and often babysat for them. Please keep educating others. Keep loving us. And encourage people to support the IDF and programs that help families heal from this trauma."

Oh, I will, I most surely will.

Dr. Qanta Ahmed took us on a video tour of Rambam Hospital in Haifa--an overwhelmingly impressive structure below sea level, one which is, rather miraculously, carrying on. Israel is always prepared for survival. It must be. It is not Israel's fault if other surrounding nations refuse to protect their civilians in the same way.

Even as bombs are falling, even as medics are being murdered or wounded, "ordinary" life must go on.

The normal human response to events that are far from normal but also must be dealt with. Trauma must be handled, one way or the other. Medication for panic attacks, anxiety, suicidal ideation, insomnia, flashbacks--you name it. These symptoms are all normal reactions to terrifying, even unbearable realities. Supportive, daily group discussions led by trauma-trained experts or by peers. Hospitalization.

How does daily life continue when nothing is as it should be?

Here, in the relative safety of New York City, my sleep is disturbed, my mood cranky, my outings are more infrequent into the increasingly dangerous world (the heat is horrific, the violence is too). I am continually rocked by the news of people in hospice, people dying. One after the other. Death comes unbidden. Too many. Too frequently. "Ordinary" Death--but Death is never ordinary--however, it does not stop during war-time.

Just the other day, my Polish translator's husband wrote to tell me that she'd died quite suddenly on June 17th. Her name was Malgorzata Koraszewski, and she was a blessing to me. My mother's family, at least those who were able to survive pogroms and who got out long before the Shoah, came from Przsmylani/Przemyl, Poland. My maternal grandmother would always look upward with reverence when she mentioned the Emperor Franz Yosef. Who knows who "owned" Poland at any given time? She thought that Poland belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Malgorzata's husband is named Andrzej, and he worked with her on their publication Listy Z Naszego Sadu (Letters From Our Orchard). He sent me a very moving letter about their sixty years of life together and about her death. I do not yet have his permission to publish it in full, so I will just say this: Malgorzata didn't feel any pain. You might call this a "beautiful death." In the few hours before she died, they had been talking about "Israel's incredible operation in Iran." I told her that it was "not over yet," and Malgorzata responded: "Let me enjoy the fun of something incredible."

Oh, my darling Malgorzata: Rest in Peace. May your family be comforted among the mourners of Zion. And May Your Memory Be For A Blessing.