In Tel Aviv, even in times of war, life ominously goes on as usual. We all still go to work, we all still go out to get a beer, boys look at the girls and girls look at the boys. But don't let this guise fool you – every Israeli is chained in a circle of fate to another more involved and affected Israeli. The Tel Avivian's mundane reality is intruded upon once an hour when the radio news reports drearily sounds its siren. A hush cloaks conversation as everyone stares silently into space, praying that the news will not be too bad.
"Three soliders were killed in Lebanon today" the news proclaims. I fill my lungs with air as they prepare to announce the names of the fallen. Israel is so small that it is inconceivable to be disconnected from the war. A family member, a lover, a friend, another Israeli. Everyone knows several people in the fighting.
The first name is announced and I sigh a breth of relief that I do not recognize the name. I then feel guilty the the alleviation of my apprehension is just the first blow upon another. As they continue reciting the names I think of my friends enlisted to reserve duty, my family huddled in bomb shelters in the north. The names of the three war casualties have been read, in a moments glance the lives of many more have been shattered and I can't help but feel that a weight has been lifted of of me. My loved ones have escaped the news broadcast unscathed… until the next hour.
by M. Hermon
translation Werner
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