45 Seconds.
Have you ever thought, how many things can one do, in 45 seconds?
Many things.
In 45 seconds, you can heat up a meal in the microwave. Go to the bathroom. Lock the door before leaving for work.
45 seconds.
To make a last phone call before entering an important meeting.
45 seconds.
To make a sandwich for the little one before sanding him off to school.
45 seconds.
That's a lot of time. But also, not so much.
Other things pass through my mind when I think of the "45 seconds".
Let me tell you a little bit about myself.
I live in an old stone house, with a green backyard, it has a small pergola and some figurines near a stone pathway leading to the flower beds.
This house is one of the smallests ones in the area, located in the second oldest street in our town, occult and hidden next to two big houses aside and infront of it.
It fashioned in an old-styled village like way, from the outside, but for my family, thats enough.
My parents moved to this town 18 years ago, after long wandering in the tiny state of Israel.
Each stone was put in its place by two Jewish pioneers who filled the place with love and care.
They searched for the quiet life.
I was two years old back then.
We were a happy family.
Mom, dad, a little girl. A dog and a cat in the backyard. A green lawn.
A regular family.
But that was a long time ago. Mom and dad got older. The little girl grew up. The pets are long gone. the lawn is no longer green. The stone pathway is now dusted, part of the backyard were left deserted.
The view from our yard changed as well. Houses now fill the streets in silence. Looking from the balcony outside, at night, you could see the desert covering the night, from distance you could hear at times the Muazin from the nearby Arab village.
We go to college, to work, or shopping, like any other family.
So much that sometimes, we forget just how fragile is our reutine.
Because of them.
Those 45 seconds.
Just few years ago, we knew some peace and quiet. As much as you can in Israel of the 21st century. The situation is difficult and tiring, But we live. Because we can. Because we must.
But we didn't complain.
Just few years ago, our lives changed completely.
Our small town, in which few thousands of people live, won't appear on a regular Israel map. It is a small, quiet place. Many people don't even know where it's located. Only "On the way to..." you'll probably hear of us. Maybe.
Our town is also located 38 Kilometers from the Gaza strip. Just few years ago, that fact would have had no meaning, besides the understanding that our lives are being managed in the south.
Once upon a time, it didn't matter to anyone.
Until those 45 seconds.
What do 45 seconds mean to you?
For us, it is the time when we're left breathtaken, when understanding that we should get prepared. Because here, here it comes. We should be ready.
In one of thous days life were as usual. a little bit of quiet, college vacation, tasks has been sended, exams passed and the grades, Blessed be God, are satisfying, both to me and my parents. The aunt's calling to ask, where will we be staying in the holiday, friends are calling to ask how am I doing, and "Don't be a stranger, sweetie, we miss you, kisses to everyone there", I'm gonna come back home, little rest, if not to tired will maybe go out at night, just one of those fridays when I want to forget about school and just have fun. It was a long week.
As always, got into my facebook account, to tell my best girl, who's also in college, that I'm home, and "When will I be seeing you"? It's only 5 am, still got time for changing plans, when suddenly I see a message poped up on my comupter, "Targeted killing in Gaza strip". At that point, I immediately understand, I won't go out today. This evening, we're about to stay in. No driving and no going out.
The friend on facebook are instantly online when seeing the message, they're interested, asking questions. speculating.
Finally, fatigue wins me over, and I go take some rest. I wake up later for dinner, we talk, but not to much. my parents then go to bed.
I stay awake.
I read my college books, talking with my friends on facebook, when suddenly messages are poped up.
"Alarm in Ashdod".
45 seconds.
"Alarm in Gedera".
45 seconds.
"Alarm in Gan Yavne".
45 seconds.
Be'er Tuvia, Eshkol, Netivot and Ashquelon as soon added to that list.
I ask my friends how they're doing. They're frightened, "We can hear blasts sounds over here, what's going on?" some of them calling the police and security forces, I can hear an unusual vihicle motion from my window, but forcing myself to stay calm.
The night reaching its small hours, but i'm still awake. By looking at the small clock on the wall, I can tell it's almost 3 o'clock.
I suddenly feel cold, So I go down to the kitchen, to make me some hot cocoa. The winter hit us unprepared this season.
I pour down my cup of warm milk, put in some hot water, open the closet in search of the powder.
When I hear it.
It starts out like a soft lullaby, tender music, which rises and rises in volum until the whole house hears it, the whole street, the whole town.
45 Seconds.
Code red.
For us, anyway, the town did kindness with the alarms. Even with the rising volum, its voice is soft and nearly sweet. It's alerting the upcoming of fear, the heart beats faster, but the alarm still feels caressing, "Come on, sweetheart", it whispers in my mother's voice, "You better hurry"...
To that situation, sadly, I'm already used to.
45 seconds.
Have you ever thought, just how many things can one do, in 45 seconds?
44...43...42...41...40...
We're used to it.
First time I heard this noise, was when I wasn't at home, but I understood its meaning.
Since then, we're already used to it.
It's the time when you're suddenly breathless, the heartrate goes from 0 to 100 in a second, and we know exactly what to do.
The glass of hot water remains in it's place, the powder box falls of my hands, the powder suddenly fills the kitchen table, but I pay no attention to that.
Running, I jump towards the hallway, to the stairs, to my sleeping parents' room, and yells-
"Lakum (Get up) !"
"Lakum, Lakum, code red! Alarm! get up, get up NOW!"
My voice is hoarse and shaking, but I try to not lose control.
I run back to the place where I was, hearing my mother already near the stairs, still half asleep, my father finds it difficult to get up, mumbeling to himself in confusion. I move the boxes in my way, we go down to the basement, and then few more stairs down, which separate the kitchen from the storeroom.
We then get into the sealed room, in the basement, underground. We turn on the light, the smell of dust fills out noses, the floor is freezing cold, but all three of us are fine.
I check on mom with my eyes. She, my own private symbol of heroism, leans on the wall, and with a soft sigh, her knees give up and she falls to the floor. she's shaking cold. My heart goes out to her. I sit next to my mother, holding her tight.
She fades away, and the situation's not helping.
She starts caughing, the room is frozen, And even a blanket I didn't have time to bring her.
I know she's fighting as hard as she possibly can. The cancer hit different parts of her body. The feet hurt, the chest feels heavy, and she's cold in the sealed room, I have to protect her.
35...34...33...32...31...30...29...28...
Dad leans on the wall infront of me, still not completely awake. He's having hard time as well. He's also tired of it all. my heart breaks when I see him covering his ears with his hands, eyes shut fiercely.
I know what this alarm reminds him of.
He can still see Arieh in his eyes and mind. Young, brave, beautiful Arieh,all the girls used to chase him back then, he would still be in his green uniform in my dad's memory, he was like a son to him. He can still see the dread, along with acceptance of what's about to come, in Arieh's eyes, when the young man saw the Egyptian missile on his way toward their post. The acceptence of death written on his face, seconds before the blast.
Young Arieh died, My father lost a son he never had, along with a dear friend and a favourite soldier.
My father found himself flying backwards from the explosion, saved only by few meters. He remember the emergency alarms and the sirens which were sounded all over. Each time he heard the Code Red southern alarm, the face of Arieh will suddenly appear in his mind.
His injured leg reminded him of it, all the time.
25...24...23...22...21...20...19...18...17...16...
I'm shivering but staying strong. For my parents. I came from the northern city home, in the north the memory of alarms is fading, some of my friends never heard any real time alarm, the homecoming from Tel Aviv to the south is like passing different countries.
A country which hold a reutine of a peaceful spring morning to a night of clubs and parties, compared to the heatwave of the southern desert, which will end in a freezing cold night of a hushing wind and an echoing siren.
12...11...10...9...8...7...6...
I look into my dad's eyes, telling them both to keep quiet and listen. Sometime the rocket likes to make its entrance earlier or later than usual. To show it can fool us.
3... 2... 1...
This is the most intense moment. My father moves his hand from his ears, listening. mom's not caughing anymore, looking around her in curiousity.
Then it comes, B O O M ! ! the house shakes off, the wondow as well, I can feel the falling on the floor, beneath my legs, but we're all fine.
We stay put, though, because we know that its not yet...
BOOM! BOOM BOOM!
3 more fallings are heard. One right nearby, the second and third in the distance.
Few minutes afterwards, we exit the shelter to move up, the light is turned off, the dust smell leaves our noses in favour of a soft jasmine blooming outside, combined with the fresh air of the southern wind. Our village like home, built with our own hands, is still intact, complete and standing.
Mom and dad whisper "Good night" and move back to their bedroom. Dad falls asleep, mom as well, at some point.
I won't sleep that night. Keep myself updated online.
Rocktes fell nearby Be'er Sheva, they say. No injuries this time, thank God.
That's how it is.
I know that we won't really sleep. Because it will happen again. At 7 am. and at 7:30. And at 8:30 and 9.
And that's the painful thing.
And what do we ask for? what did we want?
We're simple people. We're no generals or Prime ministers, to wars we were not sended because we wanted, we went there because someone decided that we should manage a country, while not being able to manage our own lives.
Because dad almost lost a leg.
Because mom's fighting cancer.
Because the girl is in college, studying in order to be able to feed future children and family.
And I came back home. Talked with friends online, encouraging them that it will take a few rough days, but will survive it. We will be strong and suck it up.
We are all heros of "After". Or heros because we have no other choice BUT be.
But we didn't ask for it. None of us did.
We didn't ask to be heros, just live normal lives.
Wish someone will understand it.
At the end of it, I fall asleep finally, only to be awakened to the same sweet-terrifying sound at 7 am. Again, the whole process, getting up, running, counting, and falling.
After 9 am there is a hiatus, a sweet time when the alarm is not sounded.
So I go outside, to the sun.
The southern sun is hitting me, I look up, to the sky which right now are clean from missiles, and smile to myself.
I feel warm, I can hear the birds on the trees. The new cat we took in is stretching on the lawn, notices me, and comes to rub herself against my leg, purring.
She's probably hungry, I'll feed her soon.
A pastoral image of an American movie at its start.
A quiet tiny village. A place dreams are made of. One and a half hour driving from Tel Aviv, the dream city. But a whole different world, all at once.
That's anyway, how things used to be. Once.
Right now, not so much.
What will happen in the future?
I don't know.
Depends on the next time I will count 45 seconds...
Have you ever thought, how many things can one do, in 45 seconds?
Many things.
In 45 seconds, you can heat up a meal in the microwave. Go to the bathroom. Lock the door before leaving for work.
45 seconds.
To make a last phone call before entering an important meeting.
45 seconds.
To make a sandwich for the little one before sanding him off to school.
45 seconds.
That's a lot of time. But also, not so much.
Other things pass through my mind when I think of the "45 seconds".
Let me tell you a little bit about myself.
I live in an old stone house, with a green backyard, it has a small pergola and some figurines near a stone pathway leading to the flower beds.
This house is one of the smallests ones in the area, located in the second oldest street in our town, occult and hidden next to two big houses aside and infront of it.
It fashioned in an old-styled village like way, from the outside, but for my family, thats enough.
My parents moved to this town 18 years ago, after long wandering in the tiny state of Israel.
Each stone was put in its place by two Jewish pioneers who filled the place with love and care.
They searched for the quiet life.
I was two years old back then.
We were a happy family.
Mom, dad, a little girl. A dog and a cat in the backyard. A green lawn.
A regular family.
But that was a long time ago. Mom and dad got older. The little girl grew up. The pets are long gone. the lawn is no longer green. The stone pathway is now dusted, part of the backyard were left deserted.
The view from our yard changed as well. Houses now fill the streets in silence. Looking from the balcony outside, at night, you could see the desert covering the night, from distance you could hear at times the Muazin from the nearby Arab village.
We go to college, to work, or shopping, like any other family.
So much that sometimes, we forget just how fragile is our reutine.
Because of them.
Those 45 seconds.
Just few years ago, we knew some peace and quiet. As much as you can in Israel of the 21st century. The situation is difficult and tiring, But we live. Because we can. Because we must.
But we didn't complain.
Just few years ago, our lives changed completely.
Our small town, in which few thousands of people live, won't appear on a regular Israel map. It is a small, quiet place. Many people don't even know where it's located. Only "On the way to..." you'll probably hear of us. Maybe.
Our town is also located 38 Kilometers from the Gaza strip. Just few years ago, that fact would have had no meaning, besides the understanding that our lives are being managed in the south.
Once upon a time, it didn't matter to anyone.
Until those 45 seconds.
What do 45 seconds mean to you?
For us, it is the time when we're left breathtaken, when understanding that we should get prepared. Because here, here it comes. We should be ready.
In one of thous days life were as usual. a little bit of quiet, college vacation, tasks has been sended, exams passed and the grades, Blessed be God, are satisfying, both to me and my parents. The aunt's calling to ask, where will we be staying in the holiday, friends are calling to ask how am I doing, and "Don't be a stranger, sweetie, we miss you, kisses to everyone there", I'm gonna come back home, little rest, if not to tired will maybe go out at night, just one of those fridays when I want to forget about school and just have fun. It was a long week.
As always, got into my facebook account, to tell my best girl, who's also in college, that I'm home, and "When will I be seeing you"? It's only 5 am, still got time for changing plans, when suddenly I see a message poped up on my comupter, "Targeted killing in Gaza strip". At that point, I immediately understand, I won't go out today. This evening, we're about to stay in. No driving and no going out.
The friend on facebook are instantly online when seeing the message, they're interested, asking questions. speculating.
Finally, fatigue wins me over, and I go take some rest. I wake up later for dinner, we talk, but not to much. my parents then go to bed.
I stay awake.
I read my college books, talking with my friends on facebook, when suddenly messages are poped up.
"Alarm in Ashdod".
45 seconds.
"Alarm in Gedera".
45 seconds.
"Alarm in Gan Yavne".
45 seconds.
Be'er Tuvia, Eshkol, Netivot and Ashquelon as soon added to that list.
I ask my friends how they're doing. They're frightened, "We can hear blasts sounds over here, what's going on?" some of them calling the police and security forces, I can hear an unusual vihicle motion from my window, but forcing myself to stay calm.
The night reaching its small hours, but i'm still awake. By looking at the small clock on the wall, I can tell it's almost 3 o'clock.
I suddenly feel cold, So I go down to the kitchen, to make me some hot cocoa. The winter hit us unprepared this season.
I pour down my cup of warm milk, put in some hot water, open the closet in search of the powder.
When I hear it.
It starts out like a soft lullaby, tender music, which rises and rises in volum until the whole house hears it, the whole street, the whole town.
45 Seconds.
Code red.
For us, anyway, the town did kindness with the alarms. Even with the rising volum, its voice is soft and nearly sweet. It's alerting the upcoming of fear, the heart beats faster, but the alarm still feels caressing, "Come on, sweetheart", it whispers in my mother's voice, "You better hurry"...
To that situation, sadly, I'm already used to.
45 seconds.
Have you ever thought, just how many things can one do, in 45 seconds?
44...43...42...41...40...
We're used to it.
First time I heard this noise, was when I wasn't at home, but I understood its meaning.
Since then, we're already used to it.
It's the time when you're suddenly breathless, the heartrate goes from 0 to 100 in a second, and we know exactly what to do.
The glass of hot water remains in it's place, the powder box falls of my hands, the powder suddenly fills the kitchen table, but I pay no attention to that.
Running, I jump towards the hallway, to the stairs, to my sleeping parents' room, and yells-
"Lakum (Get up) !"
"Lakum, Lakum, code red! Alarm! get up, get up NOW!"
My voice is hoarse and shaking, but I try to not lose control.
I run back to the place where I was, hearing my mother already near the stairs, still half asleep, my father finds it difficult to get up, mumbeling to himself in confusion. I move the boxes in my way, we go down to the basement, and then few more stairs down, which separate the kitchen from the storeroom.
We then get into the sealed room, in the basement, underground. We turn on the light, the smell of dust fills out noses, the floor is freezing cold, but all three of us are fine.
I check on mom with my eyes. She, my own private symbol of heroism, leans on the wall, and with a soft sigh, her knees give up and she falls to the floor. she's shaking cold. My heart goes out to her. I sit next to my mother, holding her tight.
She fades away, and the situation's not helping.
She starts caughing, the room is frozen, And even a blanket I didn't have time to bring her.
I know she's fighting as hard as she possibly can. The cancer hit different parts of her body. The feet hurt, the chest feels heavy, and she's cold in the sealed room, I have to protect her.
35...34...33...32...31...30...29...28...
Dad leans on the wall infront of me, still not completely awake. He's having hard time as well. He's also tired of it all. my heart breaks when I see him covering his ears with his hands, eyes shut fiercely.
I know what this alarm reminds him of.
He can still see Arieh in his eyes and mind. Young, brave, beautiful Arieh,all the girls used to chase him back then, he would still be in his green uniform in my dad's memory, he was like a son to him. He can still see the dread, along with acceptance of what's about to come, in Arieh's eyes, when the young man saw the Egyptian missile on his way toward their post. The acceptence of death written on his face, seconds before the blast.
Young Arieh died, My father lost a son he never had, along with a dear friend and a favourite soldier.
My father found himself flying backwards from the explosion, saved only by few meters. He remember the emergency alarms and the sirens which were sounded all over. Each time he heard the Code Red southern alarm, the face of Arieh will suddenly appear in his mind.
His injured leg reminded him of it, all the time.
25...24...23...22...21...20...19...18...17...16...
I'm shivering but staying strong. For my parents. I came from the northern city home, in the north the memory of alarms is fading, some of my friends never heard any real time alarm, the homecoming from Tel Aviv to the south is like passing different countries.
A country which hold a reutine of a peaceful spring morning to a night of clubs and parties, compared to the heatwave of the southern desert, which will end in a freezing cold night of a hushing wind and an echoing siren.
12...11...10...9...8...7...6...
I look into my dad's eyes, telling them both to keep quiet and listen. Sometime the rocket likes to make its entrance earlier or later than usual. To show it can fool us.
3... 2... 1...
This is the most intense moment. My father moves his hand from his ears, listening. mom's not caughing anymore, looking around her in curiousity.
Then it comes, B O O M ! ! the house shakes off, the wondow as well, I can feel the falling on the floor, beneath my legs, but we're all fine.
We stay put, though, because we know that its not yet...
BOOM! BOOM BOOM!
3 more fallings are heard. One right nearby, the second and third in the distance.
Few minutes afterwards, we exit the shelter to move up, the light is turned off, the dust smell leaves our noses in favour of a soft jasmine blooming outside, combined with the fresh air of the southern wind. Our village like home, built with our own hands, is still intact, complete and standing.
Mom and dad whisper "Good night" and move back to their bedroom. Dad falls asleep, mom as well, at some point.
I won't sleep that night. Keep myself updated online.
Rocktes fell nearby Be'er Sheva, they say. No injuries this time, thank God.
That's how it is.
I know that we won't really sleep. Because it will happen again. At 7 am. and at 7:30. And at 8:30 and 9.
And that's the painful thing.
And what do we ask for? what did we want?
We're simple people. We're no generals or Prime ministers, to wars we were not sended because we wanted, we went there because someone decided that we should manage a country, while not being able to manage our own lives.
Because dad almost lost a leg.
Because mom's fighting cancer.
Because the girl is in college, studying in order to be able to feed future children and family.
And I came back home. Talked with friends online, encouraging them that it will take a few rough days, but will survive it. We will be strong and suck it up.
We are all heros of "After". Or heros because we have no other choice BUT be.
But we didn't ask for it. None of us did.
We didn't ask to be heros, just live normal lives.
Wish someone will understand it.
At the end of it, I fall asleep finally, only to be awakened to the same sweet-terrifying sound at 7 am. Again, the whole process, getting up, running, counting, and falling.
After 9 am there is a hiatus, a sweet time when the alarm is not sounded.
So I go outside, to the sun.
The southern sun is hitting me, I look up, to the sky which right now are clean from missiles, and smile to myself.
I feel warm, I can hear the birds on the trees. The new cat we took in is stretching on the lawn, notices me, and comes to rub herself against my leg, purring.
She's probably hungry, I'll feed her soon.
A pastoral image of an American movie at its start.
A quiet tiny village. A place dreams are made of. One and a half hour driving from Tel Aviv, the dream city. But a whole different world, all at once.
That's anyway, how things used to be. Once.
Right now, not so much.
What will happen in the future?
I don't know.
Depends on the next time I will count 45 seconds...
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