Confused Lioness

By Friday afternoon I was ready for the war to be over, for both of them actually, but specifically for the very recent one that broke before the previous one had ended. We had reached another unprecedented peak, or sank lower in the pit – depending on your perspective.

 As a person, and certainly as a parent, I was just fed up with everything. I aged one year within a week and my body was sore and rundown, disintegrated. I realize that exhaustion is a very privileged collateral of 622 days of war, but it was infused with a lot of doomsday anxiety, disorientation and anxiety vibes of COVID mixed with ballistic missiles blowing up all over the place. Everyone around me, staring at screens like zombies, trying to find distractions, and most of the time, waiting. For something. For a reassurance siren, telling us to take it easy, it’s over.

Everything was extreme and LOUD.

A heart attack-inducing horrible screeching noise – like the devil's alarm clock, sounding off our cell phones. Although it's “a good sound, one which keeps us safe" as we learned in the past year to tell children about the siren but every single time, it makes the heart skip a beat, not in a romantic way. Even though we've gotten used to it, it throws you into chaos. It takes a few minutes to recover from it, and then you await the blast sound to guess how close or far the rocket fell. It's disturbing when it's in the middle of a meal, at a moment of staring at the TV, on the way from here to there, in the shower, and especially when you just fell asleep and you are startled, disoriented and realize you have 90 seconds to get to safety. 

At this point, any noise becomes a trigger, the good alert, the siren, a new message on your phone, a motorcycle outside, a microwave beep.

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In a Zoom meeting one morning this week, when it was Mila's turn to speak, she chose Figure number 7. "I'm lioness number 7, “confused lioness”... She shared with the teacher and the few classmates who woke up to join the 9 a.m. virtual lesson. "Because of all the noises and the sirens, I feel really confused," she explained.

The second graders, each in their turn, had to choose from 12 illustrations of different lions and lionesses to identify with: sad lion, “in-touch” lion, fearful, concerned, strong, proud, worried, happy, stressed-out, full of hope, and confused. Sad appeared twice.

The illustrated lion on the screen was very similar to the "Friends of the Care Bears" brand, such a lovely cub, with a lush mane and a round belly with a heart drawn on its belly.

I would suggest adding a few more animals and more diverse emotions: frustrated fox, nervous mouse, anxious fish, broken-down cat, but could settle for a disoriented lioness, like Mila. 

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And it was precisely then, at the holiest hour for the Jews, the hour of the afternoon naptime, schlafstunde, the sacred “Shnatz”, that the damn sound was heard, an alarm – like an amber alert or a flood warning, but for the millionth time. We approached the safe room as requested, because "soon an alarm will be sounded in your area." And we waited. Went to the bathroom, collected all electronics, children, and waited in silence for every moment to be sewn up again.

And suddenly, a different tune sounded, a cheerful melody, one that did not belong to this moment but fitted more than anything else to this particular day and hour, the magic hour of the ice cream truck. It was, indeed, Friday afternoon and normally it meant children gathering on the other side of the road, running to catch up with the truck to purchase an extremely overpriced popsicle. Outside, the light was perfect, the air was fresh as if it were October and not the beginning of summer, but not a single girl ran outside and no mother stood in line for a cold treat.  Everyone gathered indoors, in proximity to the protected spaces, and despite the light, the air, and the truck laden with ice cream, the shutters were closed and the windows were closed shut. The ice cream truck carried on, the tune faded, and a few seconds later the siren accompanied by the screams of the phone announced that missile fire was expected in our area. We closed the heavy door of the safe room with a loud slam. Silence.