Food, art and sirens

Yesterday I woke to find two small mammals snuggling me.
Even with the ventilator I was rather hot and realised I had slept late – no bombing.
I felt a vague possibility form in my brain - maybe it was over? I ignored the thought before it was fully formed in order not to jinx it.
I took a quick look at my email and carried on with the improvements to my blog template that I started the day before.

My father popped in during the morning with something I’d left behind and to say a final ‘Lehitraot’ (see you) before he leaves for Beer Sheva.
He‘d heard from his sister in Beer Sheva that my cousin from Naharia was now living on a kibbutz because her house in Naharia had been destroyed. When I phoned she told me that her husband’s work is paying for the stay at the kibbutz for the meanwhile but afterwards they will have to live with family and friends until their house is rebuilt. It is the house where they brought up all their children and I remember it from my first visit to Israel in 1979.

I also phoned to see what had happened at the municipality. They said no deliveries had been made the day before because of all the sirens. When I inquired the lady confirmed that that there were no more toys or activity kits for children.

Fortuitously just as I finished speaking to her my friend from the Reform Movement’s Keren BeKavod phoned to ask directions to the municipality – they were making another delivery. She also asked for an update on our community’s needs. I replied that apart from the constant need for food staples and canned goods they had run out of toys and games for the children.

I went outside for a little while. The sun burned my skin and heat beat up off the road. There was no refreshing breeze and world seemed nakedly exposed to the unremitting heat. A couple of people were walking around and a group of old people were chatting under the building opposite. Suddenly there is the most tremendously clatter. One of our neighbours with a ground floor garden flat had decided to mow the lawn. He was not rushing and even stopped to have a heated discussion with his wife.

Interruption

10:53am and there goes the first siren of the morning. My son scampers in to the security followed by daughter trying not to spill a bowl of cereal and grumbling that she is missing her TV program, yet again.

The first sirens went off about the same time yesterday. There were several loud bangs so I checked the news and sure enough someone in Shlomi had been injured. It said a man, though later this was corrected, and I phoned Dad to check he was OK.

My father-in-law also phoned. A work colleague lives near me and said one of his neighbours’ houses had played host to a katyusha the previous day. I hadn’t known.
I feel so isolated from reality. Being solely responsible for the children I can’t even leave the house.
My father-in-law reiterated his offered of help and added that his collaegues from Shlomi had also offered to help.
Also one of my husband’s colleagues phoned on his return North to work to remind me he was only a call away if I needed any assistance.

So far I am OK and not in desperate need of anything but it is comforting to know I have so many people on call – just in case.

Early afternoon the sirens calmed down a bit so I was able to give the children a late lunch. I made the Israeli classic - Schnitzel. No, not Viener Schnitzel. I couldn’t afford veal even if I did buy it, which I don’t on principal.

And a quick digression. I have tried to find out how veal is produced in Israel but have had difficulty obtaining any information. Anytime I’ve spoken with animal rights campaigners they just give me the usual dogma about becoming vegetarian. Waste of breath guys, waste of breath!

To digress even further I was pleased that Kashrut authorities have decided that fois gras can’t be kosher because it involves cruelty to animals and now the practice of force-feeding is banned.

But back to Israeli Schnitzel, which is chicken or turkey breast beaten into thin slices then breaded and shallow fried.
I don’t actually do it a lot because although the children like my homemade breading I find it a bit bland no matter how much seasoning I add.

Now I am part of the ‘slow food’ movement not because it is fashionable but as someone descended from a family of cooks it is genetic. I can remember first peering over the edge of the mixing bowl and my joy when at five my grandmother judged me old enough to help with the weekly cake making. I prepared my first roast dinner aged 9 and even helped my parents cater my own wedding.
I don’t quite understand the point so called shortcuts like cake mix – you still have to add most of the ingredients and it takes just as long – and ready made portions are so tiny I can’t regard them as any more than a snack, a very expensive snack. I cook at least one meal a day and save processed foods – like frozen pizza and those dreadful sausages the children love so much – for days when I’m pushed for time.
Naturally I regard prepared schnitzel coating with more than a little suspicion. It took a war for my will to weaken and last week I hurriedly threw a packet into my shopping basket before I could change my mind.
It was a great success. The children snaffled up their schnitzel with glee and I was pleased to have relatively little mess to deal with. I have to admit that I have been convinced but I still don’t see the point of a cake mix.

During the afternoon it was quiet enough for the man from the municipality to drive round and drop off a box of supplies. Of course I am grateful for anything to help eke out the rations I have at home but it is obvious that they are running low on supplies. Apart from the ubiquitous bagele and petite beurre biscuits there were some basic supplies like oil, pasta and drink concentrate and a positively industrial quantity of green tea with mint. But no treats for the children or anything that could provide the basis for a nourishing meal.

It was relatively quiet until the evening when so many sirens went off I lost count and it seemed that every time the children asked if it was safe to come out the siren went off again.
Finally it calmed down and we just heard the boom-boom of artillery in the background.

I made toasted cheese sandwiches which are popular with the children and so easy.

Later on my Dad phoned to say he’d reached Beer Sheva safely and was having a pleasant time with his sister and her family.

I decided to take a rest from the computer and watched a film about Modigliani. I hadn’t realised he was Jewish. I loved hearing all the Italian though I was surprised at how much I understood.
Just a question to anyone who speaks Italian – What is all this Mo DIG liani? Has Italian pronunciation changed since I learnt the language in the 1980s?
Mind you, my ears were too numb from all the bombing for the pronunciation to really annoy me especially as I was so swept along by Andy Garcia’s passionate portrayal of the painter.

I went to sleep dreaming of fine art.

ES

Life between the booms

Yesterday... what can I say about yesterday?

We are still stuck in the house with the Internet, phone and TV as our connection to the outside world.

My daughter managed to speak to one of her friends on the phone. She had been trying to contact them since the weekend but it seems most of her friends have already ‘gone south’. I expected her to ask if we were leaving too but neither her or my son complain much about staying indoors. Everyday my son looks at the summer camp schedule bemoaning what they have missed doing and my daughter is a little upset that she can'’t go to the pool. Other than that they are doing well.

In the evening I phoned my South Lebanese friend. When the IDF withdrew from Lebanon in 2000 she and her family had to flee for their lives. Hizbollah and other Muslim militia declared a death sentence on all members of the Christian South Lebanese Army because they had supported Israel.

Her children are quite nervous remembering the bombardments in Lebanon when Hizbollah fired katuyshas on Christian civilians as well as on Israel. When I asked about shelters in Lebanon she said that the underground crypt of every church had been converted to a shelter.

She assured me that her friends and family were safe in an area of Beirut far away from Nasrallah and his cohorts. She hopes the IDF will finish the job and rid her country of Hizbollah so she will have some chance of returning home.

The shelter near her house wasn’'t in a great state and when she called the town hall to get it fixed she laughed with our Mayor that Hizbollah hadn'’t managed to kill her in Lebanon so she hoped they wouldn’'t get her here!

Yesterday my husband work a full shift and wasn'’t home until 8pm, just in time for the news –- an Israeli ritual.

My father prefers Channel 1. It is what he is used to, before he came to England in 1980 it was the only channel in Israel, just getting colour and closed on Shabbat.

Now there are three terrestrial channels and hundreds more on cable.

We are devotees of Yaacov and Miki on Channel 10 (or the ‘'Babes in Journalism Channel’' being the channel with the best and the best-looking journalists).

These days Miki looks both worried and angry, gone are the girlish giggles from the World Cup. Yaacov is solemn and serious but otherwise calm as usual.

Nitzan gives a round up of the international media. He is so cute and enthusiastic but urgh! the international news media have me pulling my hair out - – ‘'Israel Attacks Lebanon','‘Israeli Agression'?

I hate to get all schoolyard but they started it. Are we the only country in the world forbidden from defending ourselves? In the eyes of the international Media is an Israeli life - my life - worth so much less than anybody else'’s?

I take a deep breath, calm down and back to the news.

The reporters on location have been very obviously suffering from a lack of sleep this week but last night Alon seemed to have napped for a few hours. Poor Ynon had not been so lucky. Wrapped in a Kevlar vest he was positively grey around the gills.

Zvi from the Arab desk, who is able to explain it all so clearly, also seemed to have had time for a rest and a haircut too. He looked so sombre maybe because he understands the enemy better than the rest of us.

Despite the comfort of these familiar faces the news was still distressing. The most shocking report was that despite the warnings and leaflets from the IDF most South Lebanese civilians cannot leave: Hizbollah won'’t let them evacuate or even wave a white flag -– they want a human shield and a maximum of civilian casualties.

ES

Routine on the border

By Monday we had already settled into a routine: get up, check the news, make coffee, check the news, do housework, check the news, breathe, check the news... Do you notice a pattern emerging?

We hear the noise overhead of aircraft –outgoing, and missiles – incoming. But for the most part Shlomi seems to have been off Hizbollah’'s radar and the residents of Naharia, Haifa and Zefat (Safed) are bearing the brunt of this attack.

My husband was still at home and I dealt with housework, news and email in turn.

I gave the children more worksheets to do but there was little else to keep them occupied apart from TV and videos. My daughter created clothes from her dolls out of paper and sellotape while my son played with marbles. I considered bringing out the paints but they did’'t seem interested. It is not just being stuck inside that affects us there is also the heat: it just sucks all the creativity out of you.

Our coordinator was again doing a sterling effort arranging another bus to take people South. I sent a message to the English speakers.

In desperate boredom my husband started flicking through sport’s' channels and realised we had missed the German Moto GP (Motorbike racing), our favourite sport. Luckily the race was repeated in its entirety and for an hour we gave ourselves over to nervous excitement of a much pleasanter kind.

A little frontline humour from the news:

A reporter in Zefat said a man had come up to him complaining that all the dealers and left town: "“I can'’t even find anything decent to smoke."

”

ES