Interfering With Regular Life

By sheer chance, Israel’s 12-day war with Iran fell right in the middle of our 20-day visit to our family in the Boston area.  Sarah and I were engrossed in the news from Israel and especially in the news coming from our children.  As has been the case repeatedly since Oct. 7, our son Elie, a major in the reserves, was called up to command his company; his wife Hadar, along with their three small children, moved in with her parents.  Our daughter Ruthie had a particularly difficult time of it, as she does not have a “safe room” in her apartment; and so every time there was a missile siren (even if in the middle of the night), she and her husband Nofar had to gather their two very small children and go down to the shelter in their building’s basement.  Though kind neighbors made the experience fun for my two-year-old-granddaughter Gili (who says that she likes doing puzzles in the shelter during the “azakot“), Ruthie was pretty much a wreck during this period, especially since all schools were shut, and so after a day with her children Ruthie had to work several hours at night.   

Thankfully on June 24, Israel and Iran agreed to a ceasefire. Beginning at 8:00 that night, Israel emerged from its war-time lockdowns: synagogues, community centers, workplaces, and schools would now all be open as normal. To my bewilderment, though, when I woke up the next morning and looked at our family’s WhatsApp chat, I read the following:

“What a crappy day!” (Ezra, my son)

“Totally” (Nofar, my son-in-law)

“For a second there I had thought that life had returned to normal. Children went onto their school busses this morning as if everything was okay.” (Ezra)

“We returned to not living.” (Rebecca, my daughter)

“I’m shattered. It’s impossible to process.” (Ruthie, my daughter)

What was going on?  Hadn’t the ceasefire gone into effect?  A glance at the day’s headlines clued me in soon enough: “Seven Israeli soldiers were killed in Gaza in a single attack involving an explosive device near Khan Younis.”  For my family and I suspect for just about all Israelis, June 25 was not the first day in almost two weeks that Israelis could congregate, but a day marred by tragedy.

I couldn’t help but contrast my family’s reaction on June 25 to what I had been privy to only a few days before. It was Sunday afternoon June 22, and I was with Sarah and my in-laws at the Rockport (Massachusetts) Chamber Music Festival for a concert by the Galvin Cello Quartet.  As is his custom, Barry Shiffman, the Festival’s artistic director, introduced the musicians.  In a humorous note, he told us that he had tried to convince his daughter to attend but she refused to come in from the beach.  He assured us that we had made a much better decision by being where we were, and without further ado the concert began (the four young cellists did indeed play wonderfully well).  I sat there in shock.  Only the night before, the president of the United States had made an exceptional address to the American people in which he had informed them of the bombings of Iran’s nuclear facilities, and just that morning — a Sunday! — the American Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff held a follow-up press conference. Was there really to be no mention of this exceptional military action? Forget what people might feel about President Trump or Secretary Hegseth: how about some acknowledgement for the pilots and other servicemen who had carried out their missions and who had returned safely?   

After the concert, when I mentioned these thoughts to a few concertgoers, they were surprised by my surprise; more than this, they said it would have been inappropriate had Mr. Shiffman said anything about the bombings — that would have been to mix music with politics.  Really? Should no exception have been made? The sheer normalcy of that concert coming within a day of exceptional political and military activity was extremely disturbing to me. 

In many siddurim there is a “Prayer for the Safety of the American Military,” and this was recited at the Shabbat service on June 26 that I attended at Shaarei Tefillah in Newton, where my sister-and-brother-in-law are members. The prayer asks God to “bless the soldiers of the American military forces who risk their lives for the sake of peace on earth.” While you need to be religious to call upon God to bless soldiers, there is nothing religious or political in understanding that soldiers risk their lives.  With the United States being so strong militarily, in ordinary times it is understandable and even appropriate for the American way of life to proceed without acknowledging the forces that safeguard it. There are days, however, when military news is so exceptional that life cannot proceed as normal.  There are rare moments when to not take time out from ordinary life and show gratitude seems ungracious.

Teddy Weinberger made aliyah with his family in 1997 from Miami, where he was an assistant professor of religious studies. Teddy and his wife, Sarah Jane Ross, have five children.