Since I had plenty of time to think of this, I have developed a well thought-out theory of "The Stages of Rocket Shock" which many of us experienced this past week. Just so you all can know what it's like to endure a rocket attack without actually enduring it. :-) You're welcome.
Stage 1: Fear and Terror
This is the first shocking introduction to life in a war zone. Air raid sirens, explosions, and pure adrenaline punctuate this stage. For instance, when I was outside, terror ran through my veins, and only adrenaline kept me moving, otherwise I would have been paralyzed. Which can also be a facet of this stage, if you're lucky enough for this to happen to you. (Ohhhh the cynicism just bleeds through my words.) Which leads us to...
Stage 2: Anger
Once you've caught your breath from running and the initial shock of the situation, anger sets in. I was angry at Hamas, angry at the sirens, and hell, angry at the rockets themselves. If you follow me on Facebook, this is about the time I started posting endlessly about the war. So, my anger manifested itself in the need to promote the reality of the situation in which I was stuck. I was so horrifically angry that I wanted everyone and their grandmother to know about it. I hope my screams were heard from here in Be'er Sheva.
Stage 3: Numbness
Perhaps it's the lack of sleep. Or just becoming habituated to the constant sirens and constant level of alertness that your body takes on from constantly monitoring the deteriorating situation (constantly). I got to a state where I would wake up from my shallow sleep to the sirens, look to see that the bomb shelter door was still closed, send a message to my friends that I was alive, and then turn over to go back to a faux sleep that became so familiar. Eh, this was reality, and I just started moving about these hours like a zombie. I believe I also forgot to eat and shower during this stage.
Stage 4: Panic...because you were numb.
Holy SHIT! You snap out of being numb and panic because you weren't at all phased by the huge string of rocket attacks that you're just now realizing you went through. WHAT WAS I THINKING? was the first of such huge thoughts that came to me when I "came to." I also curled up on my bed, cried, and questioned my good judgement to move to Israel during this stage (which I'm happy to report has subsided because, damn, I love it here). There was some hyperventilating, some sobbing, some constant jabbermouth, if that's even a word, because I talked high-speed and non-stop while processing this panic.
Stage 5: Cynicism, where you're stuck for eternity.
Then, you just throw your hands up in the air (like you just don't care), and you start making jokes about it the whole thing. In Hebrew, they say that you "have a scratch" to say that something has really affected you. Everyone's got their own scratch, and it brings about different things in different people. The ones I love the most are rather cynical about most everything now, and that's also where I am. Sunny, positive outlook? Eh, it's still there but buried pretty deep at this point. Also, if you can't laugh, whether it's dark humor or otherwise, these situations will, indeed, kill you.
Ahhhhhh, you've now passed all the stages of rocket shock and are READY for the next bombardment. Since we all know there will be one...damn cynicism. ;-) Until next time...we're almost done with this war story, can you believe it? Me either.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Part Duex - and so it continues...
Okay, so we last left off with me and Pepper stuck in the mamad (safe room - figure I can teach y'all some Hebrew along the way), barely leaving to eat or go to the bathroom. I was petrified to leave Pepper outside, especially by herself, because if the sirens sounded, I couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't panic and run the opposite direction. Showering was also out because, who wants to get caught sopping wet and naked during a siren? So, we stayed in. And reportedly, the weather was really beautiful those days, beginning of fall kind of lovely. We missed it all, replacing it with the cold concrete walls of my bedroom/bomb shelter.
Thursday during the day was actually kind of quiet. I quickly learned to be glued to my phone, texting back and forth with friends, constantly hitting the refresh on the news website, and calling to check in with everyone I could. I had come out of the mamad and was actually moving about freely in the apartment. I had forgotten for a few hours that war was happening right over my head, and it was a blissful state of numbness, until those damn sirens cut through the air again. I gathered up the dog, the phone, the computer, shut the big metal sheet outside the window, and pulled the door closed. Of course, the handle decided to break at this precise moment, just to add insult to injury. I sat on the bed during this long string of sirens, and I just cried. And screamed. And for the first time, doubted my choice to move to Israel, which if you know me, is huge because I have such a strong connection to this place and have wanted to live here for so long. My panic upset Pepper, and I quickly pulled it together, stuffing the emotions and the fear down into my stomach, where they pretty well stayed until after the war ended.
My dear friend and personal savior throughout the conflict, Artur, called to talk and calm my crazy ass down. The sirens sounded again, and he reacted before I even could. He calmly told me to go into the mamad, close the door, sit on the bed with Pepper. And then there was another siren. And a longer siren. And booms that shook the ground. He was telling me a funny story when another alarm went off, and while I sat there counting the explosions (1, 2, 3...13, 14...), he just kept talking because that's what I needed. Someone to keep me grounded in reality on some level. Sleeping, at this point, was becoming harder to do because even if there were no sirens, my body would wake me up to listen for them anyway. Some crazy state of hypervigilance that was exhausting me physically and mentally. After another mostly sleepless night, I decided to get the hell out mainly for our mental well being. This kind of constant bombardment can shake even the strongest soul.
Leaving the house for the first time was terrifying to put it bluntly. It's difficult to find shelter when you're out on the street as it is, but add to that my fat slug of a dog and the scenario just seems impossible. I called a cab to take me to the train station, which is really walking distance from my house, but a twenty minute walk in an open field just didn't sound appetizing. Once on the train, I still didn't feel safe. You're kind of stuck in a metal box if the sirens sound, and all you can do is get on the floor of the train and cover your head as it stops on the tracks. This, thankfully, didn't happen. People's phones did keep going off with the "Red Alert" app, indicating that a siren was going off somewhere around us. Whoever made that stupid application should be slapped up side the head. I'm sure it has its uses, but for me, it just reminded me of the already present fear that had made its home right in the middle of my chest.
I arrived in the center of Israel without incident but then learned that Hamas had somehow gotten rockets to Tel Aviv. And then to Jerusalem. Where I was staying was stuck right in between, but we didn't hear sirens (although that hypervigilance of constantly monitoring for them was still there and on some level is still present today). Just so you know, the whole country felt violated once the rockets went this far because it just doesn't happen (well, not in like 20 years). It's like our security blanket had just been ripped off. My sweet friend, Liran, and his family graciously accepted us Southern refugees, and I was able to rest easier. I was still very connected to what was happening down South, so much so that I wasn't really present with Liran and his family, being a hallow shell of myself who looked tired, ate like a bear, and then retreated off to monitor the situation between fitful bits of sleep. Mental mess? Yes, I was (am).
All this, and we're still not to the end! Ahhhh! I promise we'll get to the fun I'm having soon. Because, really, there's way more of that than all this trauma and stress. You all have become my personal psychologists, so just hear me out until the end. :-) Yet again, to be continued...
Thursday during the day was actually kind of quiet. I quickly learned to be glued to my phone, texting back and forth with friends, constantly hitting the refresh on the news website, and calling to check in with everyone I could. I had come out of the mamad and was actually moving about freely in the apartment. I had forgotten for a few hours that war was happening right over my head, and it was a blissful state of numbness, until those damn sirens cut through the air again. I gathered up the dog, the phone, the computer, shut the big metal sheet outside the window, and pulled the door closed. Of course, the handle decided to break at this precise moment, just to add insult to injury. I sat on the bed during this long string of sirens, and I just cried. And screamed. And for the first time, doubted my choice to move to Israel, which if you know me, is huge because I have such a strong connection to this place and have wanted to live here for so long. My panic upset Pepper, and I quickly pulled it together, stuffing the emotions and the fear down into my stomach, where they pretty well stayed until after the war ended.
My dear friend and personal savior throughout the conflict, Artur, called to talk and calm my crazy ass down. The sirens sounded again, and he reacted before I even could. He calmly told me to go into the mamad, close the door, sit on the bed with Pepper. And then there was another siren. And a longer siren. And booms that shook the ground. He was telling me a funny story when another alarm went off, and while I sat there counting the explosions (1, 2, 3...13, 14...), he just kept talking because that's what I needed. Someone to keep me grounded in reality on some level. Sleeping, at this point, was becoming harder to do because even if there were no sirens, my body would wake me up to listen for them anyway. Some crazy state of hypervigilance that was exhausting me physically and mentally. After another mostly sleepless night, I decided to get the hell out mainly for our mental well being. This kind of constant bombardment can shake even the strongest soul.
Leaving the house for the first time was terrifying to put it bluntly. It's difficult to find shelter when you're out on the street as it is, but add to that my fat slug of a dog and the scenario just seems impossible. I called a cab to take me to the train station, which is really walking distance from my house, but a twenty minute walk in an open field just didn't sound appetizing. Once on the train, I still didn't feel safe. You're kind of stuck in a metal box if the sirens sound, and all you can do is get on the floor of the train and cover your head as it stops on the tracks. This, thankfully, didn't happen. People's phones did keep going off with the "Red Alert" app, indicating that a siren was going off somewhere around us. Whoever made that stupid application should be slapped up side the head. I'm sure it has its uses, but for me, it just reminded me of the already present fear that had made its home right in the middle of my chest.
I arrived in the center of Israel without incident but then learned that Hamas had somehow gotten rockets to Tel Aviv. And then to Jerusalem. Where I was staying was stuck right in between, but we didn't hear sirens (although that hypervigilance of constantly monitoring for them was still there and on some level is still present today). Just so you know, the whole country felt violated once the rockets went this far because it just doesn't happen (well, not in like 20 years). It's like our security blanket had just been ripped off. My sweet friend, Liran, and his family graciously accepted us Southern refugees, and I was able to rest easier. I was still very connected to what was happening down South, so much so that I wasn't really present with Liran and his family, being a hallow shell of myself who looked tired, ate like a bear, and then retreated off to monitor the situation between fitful bits of sleep. Mental mess? Yes, I was (am).
All this, and we're still not to the end! Ahhhh! I promise we'll get to the fun I'm having soon. Because, really, there's way more of that than all this trauma and stress. You all have become my personal psychologists, so just hear me out until the end. :-) Yet again, to be continued...
Saturday, November 24, 2012
For Your Viewing Pleasure
Here's a video that captured what I got stuck outside for, from a few different views. One outside of Be'er Sheva and a few more inside. The flashes of light and explosions you see are the Iron Dome intercepting rockets and destroying them in the air before they can land and cause damage. It has an 84% success rate and is one of the main reason more people weren't hurt or killed during this mess.
That Just Happened...
Perhaps the thing that is dominating my mind these days is the fact that I, we, all of us just went through a very intense and scary war. This is definitely a first for me, and I feel like I need to write about it so A. I can remember what happened and B. I can get it out because all of these feelings are a lot to keep in my heart.
Part 1
Imagine you're sitting on a beautiful pier over the beach at sunset with one of your favorite people, having a delicious dinner with friends you haven't seen in years, and you get a text message along the lines of "all hell is about to break loose." Friends, I can't tell you the instant feeling of dread that took over my body. So many thoughts started racing through my mind: "We're about to go to war?!" - "I'm an hour and a half from my house, and my dog is sitting there alone." - "Where am I going to stay?" - "What is going to happen?" - "Do I have enough food in my house in case I can't leave?" I went immediately into survival mode and did everything I could to get home, gather up my dog and some clothes, and get out of Be'er Sheva before the shit hit the fan. I called family to let them know what was going on and to tell them I love them. And did everything I could to not panic.
I jumped off the bus from Tel Aviv about 3km from my house, walking quickly to a city bus that would shuttle me home. The digital sign said that the bus was to arrive any second...and it didn't come. And the air got too still. And I was still innocent thinking that I could get out in time...
The absolutely sickening sound of the air raid siren cut through the night air, and I've never felt more naked or vulnerable in my life. I was in the middle of the road, between the hospital and the university, and my gut told me to run. My legs grew a meter, at least, and I was flying. I found the gate into the hospital where a security guard frantically pointed me to an open door. I stood in an interior hallway, heaving from the distance I had covered in such a short amount of time, and watched the other horrified faces who had followed behind me and who had streamed in from various places in the hospital. One siren after another, four or five in total...and then ten booms in a row of rockets being intercepted by the Iron Dome anti-missile system. I could feel the reverberations in the air, and when just barely enough time passed, I bolted out of the hospital because I HAD TO GET HOME.
I could still smell the explosions in the air. I hugged the security guard as I ran past, because, well, we had shared a moment when I was at the most terrifying point in my life, and I considered him like family now. "Welcome to Israel, huh?" I shouted as I ran from him to a taxi. No way I was walking home after that. Of course, my key fell to the bottom of my purse as I frantically tried to get inside, only enough time to hug Pepper before the next siren sounded. And then another. And all night, we had sirens and booms and terror. The next morning, I couldn't even make a cup of coffee without being interrupted three times with sirens, and I threw my hands over my head and screamed at the ceiling, "OH COME ON!" My mind was numb, my body was tired, and I didn't know up from down at this point.
And that was only the beginning. The first 12 hours of the madness! Until next time...to be continued...
Part 1
Imagine you're sitting on a beautiful pier over the beach at sunset with one of your favorite people, having a delicious dinner with friends you haven't seen in years, and you get a text message along the lines of "all hell is about to break loose." Friends, I can't tell you the instant feeling of dread that took over my body. So many thoughts started racing through my mind: "We're about to go to war?!" - "I'm an hour and a half from my house, and my dog is sitting there alone." - "Where am I going to stay?" - "What is going to happen?" - "Do I have enough food in my house in case I can't leave?" I went immediately into survival mode and did everything I could to get home, gather up my dog and some clothes, and get out of Be'er Sheva before the shit hit the fan. I called family to let them know what was going on and to tell them I love them. And did everything I could to not panic.
I jumped off the bus from Tel Aviv about 3km from my house, walking quickly to a city bus that would shuttle me home. The digital sign said that the bus was to arrive any second...and it didn't come. And the air got too still. And I was still innocent thinking that I could get out in time...
The absolutely sickening sound of the air raid siren cut through the night air, and I've never felt more naked or vulnerable in my life. I was in the middle of the road, between the hospital and the university, and my gut told me to run. My legs grew a meter, at least, and I was flying. I found the gate into the hospital where a security guard frantically pointed me to an open door. I stood in an interior hallway, heaving from the distance I had covered in such a short amount of time, and watched the other horrified faces who had followed behind me and who had streamed in from various places in the hospital. One siren after another, four or five in total...and then ten booms in a row of rockets being intercepted by the Iron Dome anti-missile system. I could feel the reverberations in the air, and when just barely enough time passed, I bolted out of the hospital because I HAD TO GET HOME.
I could still smell the explosions in the air. I hugged the security guard as I ran past, because, well, we had shared a moment when I was at the most terrifying point in my life, and I considered him like family now. "Welcome to Israel, huh?" I shouted as I ran from him to a taxi. No way I was walking home after that. Of course, my key fell to the bottom of my purse as I frantically tried to get inside, only enough time to hug Pepper before the next siren sounded. And then another. And all night, we had sirens and booms and terror. The next morning, I couldn't even make a cup of coffee without being interrupted three times with sirens, and I threw my hands over my head and screamed at the ceiling, "OH COME ON!" My mind was numb, my body was tired, and I didn't know up from down at this point.
And that was only the beginning. The first 12 hours of the madness! Until next time...to be continued...
An Introduction
Hey friends! So, I've had some other blogs which have cropped up and fizzled, but I decided that I wanted to start fresh with a blog focused on my life as an American Israeli. Or an Arkansan Israeli, because I'm finding that there are differences. :)
A brief history. I moved to Israel from Arkansas in mid October 2012 with my Chinese Pug, Pepper. We live in Be'er Sheva now where I am taking intensive Hebrew classes in preparation for starting my masters degree next year. I have a degree in Psychology and have a long history of working with kids, and it is safe to say that this is my ultimate passion.
Life in Israel has been a whirlwind of emotions and experiences already, so over the next few blog posts, I'm going to try to catch you all up on what craziness has ensued. Thanks for coming along on the journey with me - it's always more fun to share...
Yours,
Megan (and Pepper)
A brief history. I moved to Israel from Arkansas in mid October 2012 with my Chinese Pug, Pepper. We live in Be'er Sheva now where I am taking intensive Hebrew classes in preparation for starting my masters degree next year. I have a degree in Psychology and have a long history of working with kids, and it is safe to say that this is my ultimate passion.
Life in Israel has been a whirlwind of emotions and experiences already, so over the next few blog posts, I'm going to try to catch you all up on what craziness has ensued. Thanks for coming along on the journey with me - it's always more fun to share...
Yours,
Megan (and Pepper)
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