I was talking to someone that I am very close to, when an email came in from a friend in Jerusalem. Among other things, my friend wrote:
we are still hysterical about last night…my roey who is five called so upset…they live up the street from sharey zedek and the ambulances were screaming by…and that is his world…yeshivahs etc
Eight dead and eleven injured.
In Israel, even little boys know what the sirens mean.
You count them.
If you get too many, it’s a terrorist attack. And, if you live near a major hospital, like little Roey, you grow up hearing ambulances and counting sirens.
I’ve had my own share of times when I’ve counted sirensÂ and come up with too many. I’ve heard them in the distance. I’ve seen the ambulancesÂ rush by. I’ve prayed for each and every one of them. Always.
The sirens sit like a dreadful lump in the pit of your stomach. Your heart wants to stop beating. An act of supreme hatred has been perpetrated, and you ache.
Of course, now that I am in the US, I don’t count the sirens, and I don’t jump as much when fireworks go off. The political tension has lessoned its grip on me.
But, little boys in Israel are still counting.