At the edge of war

The old uneasiness grows during the days and I run back and forth, to phone friends to reassure myself that they are still there and will be so tomorrow. The old danger crawls upon my back while reading the news, while looking at the pictures, while hearing the news of rockets reaching so many well-known names of streets and places, while scanning the faces on the screen if I know someone among them shown. I don’t ,but the fear remains with me all day long and longer. Rockets are reaching Jerusalem, and from Jerusalem it is not far to the small village where my grandmother and my grandfather arrived in 1947. They arrived not in a safe place, but they survived and this was all what counted. The war started soon enough, not even a year after they came to Israel. The war was won, but the war did not end all wars, the war just returned again and again, my grandparents left for Europe but this is another story, but the war is still there, sometimes is more silent and sometimes, as in the last two days, becomes louder and louder, is transformed in a news-stream where you can see where the air raid is going, where siren sound is to hear, how many rockets Iron Dome intercepts and you can get sad and sadder of all the people, who lose home and are embedded in the same fear, but most of the time with no chance for shelter. The heartbeat follows the news at radio Galgalatz, the army station and won’t calm down, thinking of those who go into the war, en brera,there is no choice and hard and harder it gets not to lose hope after all this years, where the war returns and returns in an endless loop.

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