Pigua K'rova

It's one thing to hear over and over again how impressive Israeli's resilience is after terror attacks. That they can go on living their lives and continue to be who they are in spite of tremendous adversity in this chaotic land. You hear it from abroad, you witness it on the news and in public venues, and you learn from a distance that this is the Israeli way of living life.

It is quite another thing to physically experience this resilience after a terror attack three blocks from your school that occurs at the same time you are let out of class at an intersection you frequent several times a week and that several of your classmates live adjacent to.

Less than three hours after the second bulldozer pigua since my arrival on July 2, our community and our neighborhood were completely back to normal. People bought food from the market, boarded their buses, drove themselves home, and went about their lives. That evening, in the lovely upscale neighborhood of Emek Refaim, locals (and tourists) were window-shopping and eating dinner in outdoor cafes. There was even a small festival-market gathering and live jazz concert at the Adam School. It felt like everything was back to normal. As if nothing ever really happened.

Except, you know, something did.

Later that night, my friend Rachel and I walked from Emek back to our neighborhood. Earlier that day we purposely avoided the Keren Hayesod/King David intersection and took a taxi together to our back-to-back voice lessons. But we chose to walk home back the way we usually do to see the area with our own eyes.

As we approached the intersection, my body went into uncontrollable chills. It felt like I was getting the flu. It wasn't anxiety or panic or even discomfort; just ridiculous waves of chills. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I wanted to get the hell out of that intersection at that very moment.

The strange thing is, absolutely nothing had changed. Not even a lamppost had been dented. Minus a tiny bit of caution tape left dangling from a pole, there was not a single remnant or reminder that earlier that day some crazy guy went on a rampage for reasons we will never understand, injured a bunch of people, crushed some cars, screwed up a bus, and then got himself killed.

This is the way it is here. Israelis refuse to let those who hate them win. They keep pushing forward, keep celebrating, keep eating and drinking and loving and learning. So there was a pigua? So what. Clean it up, let's move on. It's unnerving, and yet somewhat comforting, that they can be so strong and so used to these events that scare the shit out of us.

Yesterday was both incredibly scary and tremendously clarifying. First, I realized (with Adam's help) that remaining calm is quite literally the only thing you should do in these situations. I saw how this seemingly endless war of hatred hits so close to home. And, my respect for Israelis and their ability to keep moving forward grew exponentially yesterday, as did my appreciation for the soldiers and police officers trained to keep civilians alive.

I am happy to report that no victims were killed and that everyone from HUC is okay. Shaken up, but okay. We're still here, and we'll continue to be here, cultivating our understanding of this crazy strip of land in the middle of so many different wars.

Love,
Jaclyn