Bruce Brown

Life amid 12-Day War

Several Iranian missile barrages targeted residential areas in Ramat Gan and other areas of Israel. (photo by Yoram Sorek / Wikimedia Commons)

A missile alert blared! Early Friday morning, like 2 a.m. early, we ran into our saferoom, seemingly to seek safety from yet another Houthi missile from Yemen. As usual, I was the last to get there. Not because I heroically brought up the rear, but because I lagged behind, looking for my glasses and Ventolin puffer – in the heat of battle, I can’t seem to remember where I put them.

As I entered our sanctuary and slammed the heavy steel door shut, my wife exclaimed in disbelief, “We’re attacking Iran!”

Dumbstruck at first, thoughts then flew through my mind at hypersonic ballistic missile speed, including the prayer for the army, “He who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, may He bless the fighters of the Israel Defence Forces, who stand guard over our land….”

The purpose of the siren that morning? Get Israelis in front of the TV, announce this remarkable development and prepare us for the days ahead. To advise us we were under emergency lockdown and we should remain close to safe areas until further notice, in anticipation of Iran’s retaliation.

So there we stayed for the rest of the night, watching history unfold. In shock. In awe. In fear.

* * *

Much later that morning, I noticed we were out of Manischewitz wine, needed for that evening’s Shabbat dinner. Now, I am not a religious person, but we are living in existential times. I needed to say the blessings.

“I’m going to the grocery store to buy some Manischewitz,” I told my wife.

“No!” she said. “We can be attacked any moment. We can do without the wine.”

“OK. I’ll go to the corner store,” I said by way of compromise. “We need the wine for the blessings tonight. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I guess everyone was looking for Manischewitz that day, as our corner store was sold out. I made my way to the store a bit further down the road, running, hoping not to be caught in a missile barrage. But that store also had sold out. Guess a lot of people wanted to say the blessings that Shabbat.

I tried one more store, a bit farther away, running faster, still hoping not to be caught in a missile barrage. Sold out there as well.

Determined to buy my Manischewitz, I ventured even further away, towards the main street, hoping even harder to not be caught during a missile alert, so much farther from home than expected. Found it! That night, we said the prayer for the IDF.

* * *

Speaking of blessings, I talked with a friend who has become very religious. As we discussed the situation, he asked what people who don’t believe in prayer are doing now. “Praying,” I deadpanned.

* * *

A few days later, my city was hit by two Iranian intercontinental missiles in the middle of the night. The impact was tremendously loud and tremendously scary. Our building shook. The destruction was immense, several blocks wide. With all the confusion and damage, there was no looting. Not here and not in other areas of the country suffering the same outrageous fortune from the mullahs’ missiles.

In the morning, my wife and I walked along the main street – where I bought the Manischewitz – surveying the damage. You could still smell the dynamite. The huge front window of the bookstore was blown out. Now, if I were a looter … forget the TVs and stereos from the store next door or the perfume from the nearby pharmacy. As a bibliophile, I would probably loot the bookstore, grab a few bestsellers – not.

The scene was very humbling. Very depressing.

* * *

My wife and daughter are sleeping in the saferoom. I remain in our bedroom across the hall, sprinting to join them several times a night as missile alerts blare. I’ve put an extra pair of glasses and my inhaler on a shelf to avoid delays.

Our saferoom is a messy fortress stocked with mineral water, canned goods, medications and passports. We each have packed an overnight bag, should our place be hit by a missile. How helpful are an extra pair of pants and underwear should we lose everything? We also put some shoes near the fortified steel door – we can’t imagine walking over rubble and shards of glass in our bare feet. Of course, we packed some personal keepsakes: photographs, favourite books, my plastic superhero figurines.

* * *

There was another missile alert the following Friday morning. As we made our way to the saferoom, I again brought up the rear. Again, not because of heroism but, this time, to grab the pots of food simmering on our stove. Dinner was my wife’s specialty. I wasn’t going to risk it to a ballistic missile fired by angry mullahs. This time, the Manischewitz was chilling in the fridge.

* * *

Anxious speculation comes to an end. Another Machiavellian Trump triumph. Doing the right thing, the moral thing. Several B-2 stealth bombers flew over 35 hours under the guise of a two-week bluff. To defeat tyranny, or at least to destroy those dang nuclear sites, “By wise counsel thou shalt make thy war.” (Proverbs 24:6)

* * *

The ceasefire is holding. We unpacked our overnight bags and put the keepsakes back in place. Batman, the Green Arrow and the Flash are safely back on the library shelf.

* * *

The financial cost to Israel of the 12-Day War, as it’s now referred, is huge, some billions of dollars. A war brought by surprise to the enemy – not against the Persian people but against the myopic, maniacal mullahs of the Islamic Republic of Iran. So please continue donating to your favourite Israeli charity or buy Israel Bonds or come visit and spend your tourist dollars here.

Israel lost 28 people during the war. According to Jewish mysticism, one soul is like an entire universe. But, while 28 universes were destroyed – and I don’t say this lightly – it was only 28, which is testament to Israel’s great preparedness and adherence to Home Front Command instructions. At every opportunity – billboards, newspapers, public service announcements, movie trailers – instructions were given. And again. And again.

* * *

Bring them home now.

Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah more than 25 years ago. He works in high-tech by day and, in spurts, is a writer by night. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.

Love is… being together

There is something somewhat intimate about being woken up in the middle of the night by rocket sirens. Feet and arms lightly intertwined with my wife’s, feeling a slight tug of the cover to her side in the never-ending battle-of-the-blankets, I am startled by the sound. I am slow to make sense of the sirens, which are coming both from outside and my cellphone, the latter also providing a strobe-light effect. I look to my wife, nudge her and say in a most loving but rushed tone, “Let’s go! Missiles!”

Remember those Love is… comic strips of the 1970s by New Zealand cartoonist and love culturalist Kim Casall? Well, how about Love Is… waking up snuggled together to a missile alert? Not the free love and innocence of the hippie generation, but for sure love!

And what about Love is… ensuring your wife enters the safe room first. How’s that for being a gentleman? As the sirens go off and we rush to our safe room, my wife goes in first, then I rush in after her, slamming shut the heavy iron door behind us. Actually, if our kids are home or we have guests, I will make sure everyone is inside – including our dog – before entering. Just seems like the right thing to do, danger be damned. How’s that for bravado?

***

Speaking of love. Returned from Tel Aviv with my wife the other day. Incoming missiles and a known routine. Pull over. Exit car. Move away from the vehicle. Crouch down on roadside. Cover your head with your hands (though I don’t know how that helps if a missile strikes you). So, there was my wife, huddled next to me, while the Iron Dome chased and intercepted its overhead target. In a chivalrous act of protection, I hovered over my wife, giving her a second layer of armour. I hugged her. Amazing how adrenalin works. Love is… shielding your wife from incoming missiles.

In a similar spirit. Love is… being alone with your wife in the safe room during missile alerts. It’s not for no reason that births spike during wartime.

***

Then there’s our morning routine. Prewar, it was pillow talk about the chores ahead. Now, the first thing we cross-check is Code Red missile alerts received on our cellphones overnight. Where were the sirens? Where did the missiles land? Or almost land? Other carnage or near-carnage? Other military developments? Not the most romantic of topics but that’s where our minds are these days – from the moment we wake up until we fall asleep. Love is… lying in bed together comparing missile alerts and military actions.

***

The other week, during Iran’s second cruise missile attack on Israel, where more than 180 missiles were fired at our little shtetl with the intent to exact maximum, indiscriminate death and destruction, there was significant news chatter about the attack. Under the fog of war, not fully clear what to expect.

My wife, who works in Tel Aviv, just completed her shift and was taking a bus home. She called to advise me that her bus was late and that her cellphone battery was running low, so I shouldn’t worry if she’s delayed and doesn’t answer. Shortly after our conversation came the news flash about a mega-casualty terrorist attack in nearby Jaffa and another attempted attack in Tel Aviv. I tried calling my wife back. No answer. Wishfully and optimistically, I attributed it to no battery.

Then the news flash that Iran had fired several hundred cruise missiles at Israel. Expected to arrive in our airspace within the next … 12 minutes. Not 10 minutes, not 15, but 12. This was for real! Where was my wife?! There was no way to call her, to learn of her whereabouts.

If she were on the bus during a missile barrage, what would happen? Would the driver follow Homefront commands? Would the bus pull over? Would the passengers get off the bus? Would they crouch down away from the bus with their hands covering their heads? Would someone hover over my wife … protect her?

Time is ticking – three minutes from the expected cruise missile impact. Anxiously pacing the living room, I keep looking to the news for some insight about something. Then, I hear the elevator. I run into the hallway, watching the red digits slowing climbing to my floor. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The door opens. There she is. In all her beauty. Somewhat frazzled-looking. I give her a giant, protective bear hug. Immediately, sirens go off throughout the city and our cellphones buzz and flash with missile alerts. My wife arrived literally in the nick of time.

We quickly make our way to the safe room. My wife enters first. I slam the door shut behind us. With her tension unravelling, my wife begins to cry – from exhaustion, from stress, from survival. Again, we embrace.

Love is… holding your wife near in the safety of your safe room during a missile attack.

***

Please continue donating to the Israeli war and revival efforts, or buy Israel Bonds. Twelve months after the Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas terror attacks, the war is still raging, and on several active fronts. Sderot and Metula – and even Tel Aviv and Haifa – are Israel’s front lines. And Israel is the diaspora’s front line.

Bring them home now.

Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah more than 25 years ago. He works in high-tech and is happily married, with two kids. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.

Living amid continuing war

Band-aids – check. Bottled water – check. Tinned foods – wait. No sooner do I buy canned tuna, pickles, corn and peas and they’re eaten. Need to refresh that one. Flashlight – check. Portable radio – check. Now, this is a cool one. While not available in the groovy colours of the 1970s – bought it in a staid brown – the small, palm-sized handheld radio conjures up fond memories of those catchy songs from Billboard’s Top 10. Although the reason for the checklist is anything but fanciful. With the Islamic Republic of Iran and Lebanon’s Hezbollah threatening a major reprisal attack.

In the Star Trek movie Wrath of Khan, the Klingons said “revenge is a dish best served cold.” I can certainly attest to that. As can my more than 9.5 million fellow Israelis. It feels like an eternity since the ayatollahs promised mighty revenge for Israel’s assassination of Hezbollah’s military chief, Fuad Shukr, and Hamas’s military chief, Mohammed Deif, and the alleged Israeli assassination of Hamas’s politburo chief, Ismail Haniyeh. When Iran’s authoritarian regime said at a place and time of their choosing, they weren’t kidding. We are still waiting…. Actually, I think the Klingons were probably quoting Pierre Ambroise François Choderlos de Laclos, the 18th-century French novelist and army general who is credited with first analogizing revenge as a cold dish.

Speaking of proverbs, I think its origin is Chinese, some claim Yiddish. Regardless, whoever said “may you live in interesting times” was certainly cursing someone. Give me boring. Give me dull. Give me mundane. Give me monotonous. Give me colourless and bland. You can keep the gripping. The riveting. The fascinating. The stimulating. I just want to wake up to another simple day.

This waiting game is immensely stressful. It has the whole world on edge, with an alliance being built between Israel, the United States, Britain, France and Italy to thwart a second potential direct attack on my little shtetl. The first attack – of some 300 drones – was launched against Israel in April. We went to bed facing potential Armageddon and, thankfully, woke up able to just go to work, as Israel, with the help of its allies, knocked each drone out of sky before they reached Tel Aviv and Haifa.

Speaking of work, I am a self-confessed workaholic. And I find myself working even more during this very stressful period, where I fear my fate is out of my control. Will Iran attack? Where? And when? And how? No idea. No authority. No power. Simply unable to influence, in any way. Whereas work, which I am pretty good at, gives me all those things. I am largely in control, able to influence within my environment. Work gives me a calming sense and, if nothing else, allows me to escape into my purchasing processes and contracts. This is my own industrial and organizational psychotherapy. As good an excuse as any for my wife, when she again finds me tapping away at my keyboard at all hours or in another early morning or late evening Teams meeting.

As for preparations, I find myself obsessed with buying bottled water, toilet paper and Ajax. The first couple of items, you probably understand. But floor cleaner? I think it’s the Jewish mother in me. I don’t want to leave behind a dirty home. Kind of like Golda from Fiddler on the Roof, who insisted on sweeping their little Anatevka farmhouse before leaving. Although – and I say this loud and clear – we ain’t going nowhere!

Another quirk in dealing with the stress is that I love the music from the hippie generation. For the longest time after that dreadful Oct. 7, I wouldn’t – couldn’t – listen to music. I felt a very deep sadness. Maybe a type of mourning. But now, over the last few days, I find myself blaring my tunes. One of the first songs to pop up in my feed just after Iran’s rulers made their threat of retribution was “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival. How foreboding can you get? “I hear hurricanes a blowin’. I know the end is comin’ soon.… I hear the voice of rage and ruin. Don’t go around tonight. Well, it’s bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright.”

And, I find myself listening again and again – at pretty high volume – to the dark and wonderful song by our own Edan Golan, “October Rain,” otherwise known to the world as “Hurricane”: “Every day, I’m losing my mind…. Dancing in this storm, I’ve got nothing left to hide…. Baby, promise me you’ll hold me again.… I’m still broken from this hurricane….” And then, with hope: “Don’t have words. Just prayers. Even if it’s hard to see, you always leave me one small light.”

On another music note, I find myself chanting, to no one in particular, that snappy little line “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Now, why can’t we come up with something as catchy? With an impressive gene pool of great Jewish songwriters: George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Burt Bacharach, Carole King, Neil Diamond, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Amy Winehouse, Gene Simmons. Come on! And still, gornisht, nothing. No wonder we’re losing the global PR battle.

Please continue donating to the war and revival efforts. You may have given earlier, when hostilities first erupted and the Gaza war was headline news. Almost 10 months later, war continues – on several fronts. Sderot and Metula – and maybe Tel Aviv and Haifa – are Israel’s front line and Israel is the diaspora’s front line. Am Yisrael chai (yeah, that’s the extent of our solidarity anthem). Bring them home now!

Imagination flies free

I was driving home from work the other day. Left the office early to reduce driving time in the evening hours. Hamas likes their 6 p.m. missile barrage and I’m honing my missile-avoidance routine.

I was listening to talk-radio, but have kind of had enough of the news. Too much war talk and it’s getting a bit overwhelming. So, I switched to Spotify and up popped Supertramp, “The Logical Song.” How “wonderful, beautiful, magical” life once felt. Before Oct. 7. Before Hamas.

Then, as if on cue. I gazed towards the sky and saw missiles flying overhead. At first, it didn’t really click. And then, yikes! I quickly switched back to the news where, in a very calming voice, they were announcing areas under missile attack, which is another reason to listen to the radio while driving during war – real-time information. Lesson learned.

Suddenly, my smartphone’s flashlight started flashing, which was pretty darn cool! And there I was, on Star Trek, standing on the bridge. I even recalled the vessel number, NCC-1701. I was with Captain Kirk. No! I was Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy by my side, Sulu and Chekov at the controls. The Klingons were attacking and Mr. Spock, standing to the side, was calmly advising the attack coordinates. No, wait! That was the radio announcer. Seriously, this all took place within a split second in my over-active imagination.

The flashing continued. I realized my cellphone was communicating with me, warning of danger. I have the Home Front Command application, which sounds an amazingly loud alarm during a missile attack in my area, but changing between the radio and Spotify prevented the siren from going off. So, instead, the phone activated my flashlight, sending out an SOS. Now how neat is that?! In a geeky sort of way. Like for someone who imagines himself on Star Trek during a real-life missile attack.

Reality set in. There were Home Front Command instructions to follow.

Momentary panic set in. Where was my wife, to tell me what to do? Like she always does … but that’s another story. This time, I wanted her there, instructing me.

All these thoughts raced through my mind in milliseconds. As I calmly slowed the car and veered to the shoulder, like other cars around me, I put on the blinkers. More flashing lights, but the bridge of the USS Enterprise was now a distant thought. Looking both ways, I left the car and hopped over the road barrier, moving away from the car, although probably not far enough, because there was a steep decline just below. It was getting dark and, suffering from poor night vision, I didn’t want to trip and hurt myself. I heard my son laughing at me. “Nerd!” he called out. But that was just my imagination.

I should have laid flat, prostrating myself for maximum protection. But it had rained earlier that day, the ground was wet and I didn’t want to get muddy. “Nerd!” This time, it was my daughter in my mind’s eye. “OK,” I said to no one in particular, “I’ll squat.” Good enough, but not really.

The family in the car ahead were huddling together but too close to their vehicle. I shouted for them to move further away, but they didn’t react. Maybe they didn’t understand me, given my still heavily accented Canadian Hebrew. This time, I heard both my kids teasing me – 30 years and still talking like an immigrant! “Hey, they just don’t hear me,” I said to the darkness.

It was very moving seeing the father crouching down on top of his brood, in a protective sort of way. “Isn’t that touching,” I said to my wife in my imaginings. “For sure,” she responded, somewhat sarcastically, in the back of my mind. “I know you’d do the same.”

Then it was over. The sky went quiet. People returned to their cars. The nestled family broke apart and entered theirs. We should have stayed in place several more minutes. Ten minutes is the recommended time. But it was dark, getting late, also a bit cold. I just wanted to get home, back to the real chiding of my kids and to my wife, somehow longing for her ordering me about.

A few minutes later, my wife called, to make sure I was safe. And then routine set in. “Don’t forget to pick up some milk and bread from the corner store,” she instructed me.

Am Israel chai.

Bruce Brown, a Canadian-Israeli, made aliyah 25 years ago. He works in high-tech and is happily married, with two kids. He is the winner of a 2019 American Jewish Press Association Simon Rockower Award for excellence in Jewish writing.

Contemplating the war

Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin meets in Casablanca with PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat, 1994. (photo from flickr.com/photos/government_press_office/6324960139)

With all the darkness surrounding us since Oct 7, since the shattering of that tranquil Shabbat, have the people of Israel witnessed a miracle?

When Israel’s guard was fully down, when the south was under a vicious blitzkrieg by the monstrous Hamas, why did Hezbollah – with their 150,000 missiles pointed towards Israel – not exploit this excellent opportunity to open a second front? When Israel was existentially exposed, Hezbollah chose not to respond, at least not in any real-time, meaningful way. Complex geopolitical and military and conspiracy theories abound, attempting to explain why and why not. Pundits speculate and postulate and surmise. But maybe, just maybe, at some very esoteric level, the simplest and most logical answer, according to my close friend, a rabbi: it was a modern-day miracle. Pftt, pftt, pftt, as my great-grandmother would add.

***

The lights! Growing up, I was conditioned to shut the lights when leaving a room. I attempted to teach the same to my kids – and to my wife, although sometimes it seems she opens the lights when leaving a room. And then the missile sirens go off. Whoa! Slow it down. We have 90 seconds. Certainly time enough to shut the lights when racing to our shelter. My shouts muted by the screeching of the red alert, “Lights! Lights! Shut the lights!” I yell. To no avail, of course.

***

The day after … too soon to start thinking about it? That is where discussions about the war ultimately end up, each of us with our own theory, our own concerns, our own hopes. Once Israel achieves victory, in whatever form that takes, Gaza must then be rebuilt. But first it must be deradicalized – no more Hamas. Demilitarized – no more bombs hidden in schools, mosques and hospitals. And democratized – according to Winston Churchill, it’s the worst form of government … except for all others.

For this to succeed, Gaza should be divided into three cantons, similar to Germany, post-Second World War, each managed by a strong, Western or westward-looking country with enlightened self-interest for a stable and less radical Middle East. Maybe the United States. Maybe Britain. Maybe Germany. Maybe Egypt or Jordan. Escorted by a massive 21st-century Marshall-like plan. Maybe the Blinken Plan. Channeling the equivalent of $15 billion in 1948 purchasing power, that’s $191,569,917,012.48. OK, not that much, as the Gaza Strip is tiny compared to Germany, but enough funds to restore its economic infrastructure, to rebuild the Strip and rehabilitate its citizens, and make Gaza the Singapore of the Middle East – shipping, tourism, industry, maybe even offshore natural gas – like it could have become in 2005, when Israel fully withdrew. But then, what do I know.

***

Well before the day after, we need to take care of the Israeli hostages, including babies, children and octogenarians, both those still held in unknown condition by Hamas and other terrorists in Gaza, and those who have been returned. Interesting, but not necessarily surprising, is that neither the United Nations General Assembly nor UNICEF nor even the Red Cross demanded their unconditional release. Let alone a humanitarian visit.

As related by Liat Collins of the Jerusalem Post, Guelah Cohen – a 1980s right-wing parliamentarian, 2003 Israel Prize winner and mother of current senior Lukid lawmaker Tzachi Hanegbi – summarized this tragic situation best. Back during the First Lebanon War, when Tzachi was a combat solder, Cohen was asked what she would do if he were taken prisoner. She thoughtfully responded that, as a mother, she would be outside leading the protests to bring her son home, shouting with a megaphone outside the Prime Minister’s Office for the government to do anything and everything in its power to achieve his release. But, as a member of the government, she would be sitting quietly in the Prime Minister’s Office, advising him not to listen to the public.

Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, during the controversial days of the 1993 Oslo Peace Accords process and accompanying Palestinian terror, said, “We must fight terrorism as if there’s no peace process and work for peace as if there’s no terror.” How utterly profound.

So, with the tragic circumstances of the hostages, the government must listen to the cries of the hostages’ families. But they also must lead and not be swayed by public opinion. The government must fight the war on Hamas as if there were no hostages and must, at the same time, bring all the hostages home. Alive.

***

As for economic recovery, I share a very micro, personal anecdote. About 18 months ago, we redid our condo, buying much of our furniture from BaKatzer, a wonderful and unique boutique furniture store located in a moshav (agricultural community) just outside the Gaza periphery, not too far from Ashkelon, which receives the brunt of the rockets from Gaza. While not the easiest of customers – I can be very demanding on price and service – I recently sent the owner a WhatsApp message. “Hey!” I wrote. “Hope all is well during these difficult times and hope to be back soon for more shopping.” Given my unforgiving consumerism, maybe she saw that as another threat. Alas, I can also be a very loyal consumer.

***

And there we were, my wife and I sitting around our Shabbat table with my daughter and her best friends, one with a brother who is a paratrooper and fighting in Gaza, the other an intelligence officer whose service was just extended, and still another, who was on a weekend leave from his Golani unit stationed up north. The conversation quickly moving from the trivial and benign to questioning and

responding to issues and concerns that should be far away from them, that should not trouble the young minds of these 20-somethings, who should not deal with the complexities of miracles and hostages and day-after theories. Alas, there we were, talking of war and survival, looking hopefully to tomorrow. Am Israel chai.

Bruce Brown is a Canadian and an Israeli. He made aliyah … a long time ago. He works in Israel’s high-tech sector by day and, in spurts, is a somewhat inspired writer by night. Brown is the winner of the 2019 AJPA Rockower Award for excellence in writing, and wrote the 1998 satire An Israeli is…. Brown reflects on life in Israel – political, social, economic and personal.

Tidbits about life now

Teenagers are filling in for drafted reservists at Jerusalem’s Machane Yehuda market. (photo by Gil Zohar)

With the horrors of Oct. 7 embedded in our minds, in our hearts and in our souls, Israel has come together in so many ways, including for war. The effects are so broad and deep. Here is a bird’s-eye view from my narrow perch.

All the booms in the air, coming from far-off (and not-so-far-off) mid-air missile collisions – bravo Iron Dome! The swoosh of our fighter jets overhead – bravo Israeli Air Force! And all those customized Red Alert apps buzzing away on everyone’s cellphones – bravo Elad Nava, tech entrepreneur extraordinaire! It’s starting to sound like an orchestra out there.
Social media was calling for Israelis to sing, to go out on our patios at 9 p.m. and belt out Hatikvah. We did. And it felt great! So darn cathartic. What a sense of solidarity. As it turns out, on this particular evening, Hamas warned Tel Aviv of a missile barrage at 9 p.m. Guess our singing acted as type of musical Iron Dome, as no barrage arrived. Which is not to say Tel Aviv hasn’t had its share of missiles, just not at this particular time.
Driving to work, traffic slowed down considerably due to some “jackass” up ahead. Turned out to be a convoy of military jeeps carrying weapons and personnel to our north. As I passed them – 12 vehicles – I slowed down (in the left lane), gave a friendly honk and a thumbs up to each. Twelve times. Cars behind me did the same.
With 75 seconds to reach our safe room and with missile attacks being random with no real pattern, the stress and uncertainty prevents me from enjoying my private bathroom time, sitting down with a newspaper or book or my smartphone. But not under current circumstances. Just want to get in and out of there as quickly as I can..
Same for showering. No more basking under a warm spray of fresh water. No more humming a few showtunes while lathering up. Nope. Just a quick soaping and get out of there. For shaving, I’m getting use to a three-day growth cycle.
And, getting really personal … in the bedroom with the wife, I am now suffering reverse performance anxiety. I just get it done and move on. Don’t want to get caught with my pants down when the sirens sound.
Bravo to McDonald’s – giving McHappy meals free of charge to our soldiers. The restaurant stepped up, and many businesses are doing the same. From banks, to other restaurants, to retailers, providing goods or services at discounted prices to relieve some of the burden weighing on the country. Wonderful to see this coming together.
I miss my exercise routine. Was swimming a couple time a week. Now, not. The pool closed due to homeland security restrictions limiting gatherings at places of leisure. Who would categorize exercise as leisure? Anyway, I don’t think I’d hear the missile alert with my head bobbing in and out of the water while doing the breaststroke or front crawl. More so, there’s no running along the poolside, so would not make the saferoom in time.
We are not immune to panic buying. A few nights into the war, based on some rumour or other, I went grocery shopping to stock up on water, canned goods, candles, matches, toilet paper…. Didn’t get out of there until almost 11 p.m. The checkout line snaked all the way to the meat section. It was long, the joke being that, by the time we reach the checkout counter, Netanyahu will have negotiated a hudna (truce in Arabic). Ha.
I keep saying I’ll do it. Need to put more than just a half dozen bottled waters and a few inhalers in our safe room. Should stock it with canned goods, more medicine, flashlight, battery-powered radio and other survival aids. Maybe tomorrow.
If someone forgets their house key and knocks at our now always-locked door, they need to say a password before we’ll open the door. The theory being, if a Hamas terrorist is holding a gun to their head, they won’t say the password. Talk about paranoid. Probably run-of-the-mill war-related stress.
Joe Biden. His Oct. 11 “Don’t” speech was amazing! Talk about geopolitical alliances, commitments, pacts, and the such – I won’t. I’ll simply say I fell in love that evening.
Joe Biden. His Oct. 18 “We’ve got your back” speech was TREMENDOUS! I fell in love with him. Again. With a lightning visit to Israel, he kind of reminded me of Clint Eastwood in his glory days. He had that “make my day” squint in his eyes. Might have been him struggling to read the monitor, but he came across as a Dirty Harry kind of guy.
There are still a handful of Israelis – OK, maybe more than a handful – who just don’t get it. Now is not the time for divisiveness and finger pointing. There was utter failure. But the hard questions and difficult answers will come later. Now is the time for unity!
My wife and daughter volunteered at a high-end event (my wife works in the industry) to help arrange 1,000+ meals for our soldiers. There will be some very satiated soldiers enjoying gourmet meals in cardboard boxes and with disposable utensils.
And the sweet smell of my wife’s chocolate chip cookies and brownies baking in the kitchen. She slaps my hand as I go for a cookie: “Not for you! For our soldiers.” It’s that spirit of coming together.
My daughter left the house early the other morning and returned about an hour later with a huge orange garbage bag full of…. “What’s that?” I inquired. “Laundry. From a family in the south who was evacuated to some hotel. Mom volunteered.” As much as we get preoccupied with the war, with survival, sometimes it’s the mundane that really makes a difference.
Ouch. Our currency at its weakest since 2015. Pretty painful when you are sending US dollar instalments to your son studying in the States.
I know the diaspora is busy raising money for Israel at speeds and amounts like never before. But don’t stop once you give. Give more. This war will cost Israel billions. If you have given, please give again. Sderot is Israel’s front line. Israel is the diaspora’s front line.

Something a bit lighter

This article is a respite from my previous piece, “Living under fire of missiles” (Jewish Independent, May 26), which was about the Islamic Jihad missile that hit a house just around the corner from me during Israel’s most recent flare up with Gaza. It was cathartic writing that article, as it was this one – moving on, as we Israelis do. So, here’s something a bit lighter.

First, a call out to Burton Cummings about Israel’s first flute festival, held at the beginning of June in Tel Aviv. Unfortunately, Burton – who effortlessly played a beautiful sounding flute solo in the Guess Who’s hit song “Undone” – didn’t attend. OK, he was probably unaware of the event. But I suggest that Mattan Klein, founder and artistic director of the festival, reach out to the legendary Canadian singer, songwriter, Guess Who lead and flutist to arrange for his attendance at next year’s festivities. I’ll be first in line for tickets.

***

The definition of irony? Israel, the Jewish state, is facing a critical shortage of doctors. According to a recent OECD report, Israel has 10% fewer doctors per 1,000 people compared to other developed nations. That’s 3.3 doctors versus a 3.7 OECD average. No wonder I must wait so long to see a specialist. Anyway, I guess “my child the doctor” is bragging rights reserved for the diaspora Jewish parent.

***

Speaking of bragging rights. According to the Naturist Society, Israel’s Metsoke Dragot Beach is considered one of the 20 best nudist beaches – in the world! Along with Wreck Beach in Vancouver. Metsoke Dragot is located somewhat off the beaten track, along the western shore of the Dead Sea. A black mud rubdown anybody? And, speaking of irony, it’s only a half hour drive from Jerusalem, the world’s holiest city.

***

Speaking of clothes. Or lack thereof. First off, kudos to Noa Kirel, who came third in this year’s Eurovision song contest. Her performance was simply spectacular as she sang her new hit song, “Unicorn.” Is the song’s meaning related to Israel’s standout status as a “unicorn” nation? Unicorns being high-tech startups worth more than a billion dollars!

Or, does it relate to how much of the world may perceive us? To wit, Kirel sings: “Hey, you don’t like the way I’m talking / Hey, so you stand there keep on callin’ me names / No, I’m not your enemy…. Hey, do you wanna check my DNA? / Older stories, time to go away / And believe in fairytales…. I’m gonna stand here like a unicorn / Out here on my own / I got the power of a unicorn / Don’t you even learn?” The song goes on to say that we don’t have to be caught in a loop, that we “can write a new book / Don’t you wanna change it now?”

But back to Noa’s attire. The day after her stunning performance in Liverpool, England, esteemed United Torah Judaism lawmaker Member of the Knesset Moshe Gafni, had the chutzpah to comment on her wardrobe. Telling – no, lecturing – the Knesset that he is considering donating her some clothes, clearly insinuating she was not modestly enough attired during her performance. Give me a break, Gafni!

***

Speaking of modesty…. While every community has the right to define its own standards, I think the pharmacy in the ultra-Orthodox city of Bnei Brak went too far by covering the faces of women models on boxes of hair dye with purple stickers. They could have at least used stickers reflecting the colour of the dye. But no. That was not the purpose. It was to comply with extreme definitions of modesty. And, in a modern, high-tech country with more unicorns than most other nations – if not ironic, then just down right inappropriate. Fortunately, the pharmacy changed tack and removed the stickers a week later.

***

Back again to clothes. Welcome, Lululemon, the Vancouver sports apparel retailer that just opened its first Israeli branch in the high-end Ramat Aviv Mall, north of Tel Aviv. If all goes to plan, Lululemon will open seven more stores across Israel over the next three years. Can’t wait to see those shapely joggers in high-quality, skin-tight Lululemon outfits highlighting their muscular legs … and other parts of the anatomy. Unless, of course, the joggers are running along a path in Bnei Brak or have the benefit of being given alternative attire by Moshe Gafni.

***

Finally, looping back to a much earlier piece I wrote (JI, March 24). Remember that Hebrew Bible, the one dating back 1,000 years, which, according to Sotheby’s, was the most important document ever auctioned. This leather-bound, handwritten parchment on 792 sheepskin pages – known as the Codex Sassoon – sold for $38,100,000 US. The buyer was former U.S. ambassador Alfed H. Moses, who will graciously house the scrolls at the ANU Museum of the Jewish People in Tel Aviv. Well, I have my next museum outing planned.

Living under fire of missiles

Working from home, it was after 6 p.m. and my global Teams meeting had just started. Comfortably settled and talking about suppliers, delivery times and prices, my smartphone beeped incessantly – the Code Red missile warning app. More than 350 missiles fired at Israel over the last couple of days.

Rehovot has managed to dodge almost all the missiles. We could see them soaring overhead and hear the guided collision with our Iron Dome anti-missiles. And the nonstop news cycles informed us in real time where rockets were being intercepted.

Since terrorist Khader Adnan died from his hunger strike at an Israeli prison, Israel had been bracing for reaction from the Islamic Jihad in Gaza. In the same way my Canadian cousins warn their loved ones about a pending blizzard – Did you hear the weather report? It’s going to be a cold one. Potential white out. Bundle up. Hurry home. We do the same here but for different reasons – Did you hear the news? Adnan died. Might be terrorist attacks or missiles from Gaza. Be aware of your surroundings. Hurry home.

Sure enough, we felt the reprisals, with about 100 missiles fired from Gaza. Israel waited, preferring to respond at a time and place of its choosing. Our reaction came about eight days later, with the targeted assassination of three Islamic Jihad leaders; their names of no consequence, each responsible for reprehensible terrorist crimes over the years. And, with that, Operation Shield and Arrow began.

Back to Teams. Another siren went off. This one not only coming from my app, but also from outside. “Bruce!” my wife yelled. “Missiles!” “Hurry!” Not sure my European and U.S. coworkers understood when I shouted into my headset, “Missile siren! Gotta go!” Abruptly exiting my meeting, I darted to our TV room … er … reinforced safe room, which doubles as a den in quieter times.

We have about 75 seconds to reach our shelter before a missile hits or, preferably, gets knocked out of the sky – as apposed to the 15 seconds for those living closer to Gaza. Can’t imagine their stress during these times.

We just managed to close the heavy steel door and fortified iron window shutter when “BOOM!” The loudest boom we ever heard. My wife and I almost hit the ceiling, knowing this was more than the reassuring and softer crash of an Iron Dome antimissile intercepting an Islamic Jihad rocket high in the sky. No. This was something much closer, much more ominous.

Numerous calls from friends and family followed. Were we OK? Amazing how quickly news travels. My son texted from the safety of his dorm in the United States – a missile had landed next to his best friend Amit’s home. Then my daughter texted from the relative safety of her work north of Tel Aviv – a missile hit near the home of her best friend (and Amit’s sister) Shira. And on it went. With more chilling calls from neighbours.

I tried rejoining my Teams meeting, to create some normalcy. But I was too hyper, too distracted. Couldn’t focus on discussions about price variances and purchasing systems. I excused myself again, advising them the precariousness of the situation.

Rehovot had suffered a direct hit, due to the malfunction of our Iron Dome system. It was just around the corner, not far from Amit and Shira’s home. Curiosity being a strange animal, I walked the two blocks into what was literally a war zone. A chill engulfed my entire body as my skin crawled.

My favourite bakery nearby became a gathering place for the shocked. I considered buying cookies and cakes for our first responders, then thought better of it – didn’t want the action to be confused with the celebrating Palestinian street, which hands out sweets after such attacks.

The smell of sulfur, carbon and potassium nitrate dominated. A flash back to younger days of playing with cap guns … my mind looking for a safer place.

Time seemed to halt. Somewhat apocalyptic. Traffic snarled and jammed. Red-and-blue flashing lights from police vans, fire trucks and ambulances. Army sappers and Israel’s 669 search-and-rescue unit moving about in their yellow vests. Local and international news crews mustering about. ZAKA – the Orthodox volunteers who collect the remains of the wounded and dead after terror or missile attacks – were scouring the area. There were five wounded, one dead.

Alas, Israelis have learned to move on quickly. Within hours, the streets were reopened, the destroyed building draped with Israeli flags. And I joined another work meeting later that evening, this time much calmer. Again, in search of normalcy and routine. Echoing Herb Keinon from the Jerusalem Post, specific memories of these military operations – whether they last weeks, days or a weekend – quickly fade into the background. It’s difficult to differentiate one from the other: Rains, Summer Rains, Autumn Clouds, Black Belt, Breaking Dawn, Cast Lead, Pillar of Defence and, now, Shield and Arrow. The list goes on, unfortunately.

Israel takes maximum precautions to avoid collateral damage. We are known for our warning methods. Sometimes a “knock on the door,” unarmed missiles skimming the roofs as a warning of incoming rockets. Sometimes dropping leaflets advising of a pending attack. Missions are even aborted when civilians are spotted nearby. But our enemies indiscriminately shoot missiles – hundreds of them – towards Israel, hoping for maximum death, maximum damage. Fortunately, our missile defence system renders much of this arsenal ineffective. Until one gets through. As it did in Rehovot. My little shtetl. Paraphrasing from the Torah – may we be blessed with peace.

Bruce Brown is a Canadian and an Israeli. He made aliyah … a long time ago. He works in Israel’s high-tech sector by day and, in spurts, is a somewhat inspired writer by night. Brown is the winner of the 2019 AJPA Rockower Award for excellence in writing, and wrote the 1998 satire An Israeli is…. Brown reflects on life in Israel – political, social, economic and personal.

Risk … game vs. reality

I’ve always thought of the Nordic region as peaceful. Admittedly, my knowledge of the area is largely limited to Risk, the board game, where Greenland, Iceland and the Scandinavian countries are considered a haven, free of imminent attack from the throw of a dice.

Well, Finland just purchased Israel’s David’s Sling defensive system. For $345 million US. It was one of Finland’s first moves after recently being accepted into the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. And it was the first sale abroad for David’s Sling, an integrated part of Israel’s multi-tier missile defence system. Israel now carries the title of major supplier to NATO.

I guess the world’s a bit more complicated than Risk.

***

So long, Noa Tishby, the Israeli performer appointed by our previous prime minister, Yari Lapid, to advocate for Israel through her strong social media presence. With the formal and former title of special envoy for combating antisemitism and delegitimization of Israel – fit that onto a business card! – she was known for sparring with BDS advocate Bella Hadid and others. Tishby was also a vocal supporter of Israel’s anti-judicial reform movement. Giving voice to the many thousands protesting the current government and its extreme shift rightward and into sometimes theocratic territory, Tishby says this was the reason for her dismissal. Well, ya. As the hawkish Jerusalem Post editorialist Ruthi Blum noted, “Tisbhy is free to share [her opinion]. But she shouldn’t have expected the government she’s been bashing to keep her as a representative.” Well, no. But keep on truckin’ Noa Tishby.

BTW, Tishby will be a guest at the JNF Negev event in Vancouver on June 29.

***

Israel’s Tel Aviv Museum of Art is again among the world’s 100 most visited museums. This according to international art magazine The Art Newspaper. TAMA was ranked 49th in 2022, a jump from its 56th place the year prior. I am fortunate to be one of those visitors, on multiple occasions, over the past many years, often dragging my two children there when they were younger – how fun was that!

Paris’s Louvre and the Vatican Museum took first and second place, respectively. Canada was represented with a 60th place win by Toronto’s Royal Ontario Museum.

***

Congratulations Milk & Honey, Israel’s preeminent whisky distiller, awarded the 2023 world’s best single malt whisky by the World Drink’s Awards for its Elements, Sherry Cask drink. Described as “[f]ruity aromas of citrus zest and white peach with a dash of wood varnish. Sweet to the taste … with flavours of golden syrup, vanilla, tropical fruit and iced tea.…” Sounds like a palate pleaser to me. But, if I had to choose, my favourite would be Seagram’s Five Star rye whisky. Not so much for its taste but for fond memories of fighting with my siblings for the silver sheriff’s star glued to the bottles.

***

Jerusalem was selected by Time magazine as one of the world’s 2023 top 50 destinations, holding the 48th spot. It’s one of my favourite places to visit on a bustling Friday, starting with a walk through the overcrowded neighbourhood of Mea She’arim and enjoying a freshly baked challah. Then, bargaining my way through the Old City’s Arab Market, its tastes, smells and sights, and eventually making my way to the Western Wall, with the golden Dome of the Rock overhead. Ending with lunch at Machane Yehuda, the popular central Jerusalem food market, which has the freshest of meats and vegetables, and many colourful stalls.

Not to be outdone, Canada held two spots. Churchill was third – can’t beat those Northern Light spectaculars. Vancouver was 38th, for its eclectic cuisine and the beautiful Stanley Park.

***

For sure, difficult days in Israel. Sociopolitical cultures are clashing internally. External enemies are looking on with glee, and testing us. But we’re not sinking into despair. Israel has experienced difficult times before and emerged stronger and wiser. So it will be this time.

Arguably, we are being governed by the worst government in our short history – for many reasons, including recent security challenges. I mean, come on, with someone as inexperienced and reactionary as Itamar Ben-Gvir as national internal security minister. Or Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich spouting off on things about which he should know better and doesn’t. But let’s not blame the victims for the terror and rockets. Hezbollah, Hamas, Iran, an inept Palestinian leadership with a hateful street – they are to blame, not the government.

Usually, it’s the right-wing governments that muster support for the very difficult realpolitik choices, from Menachem Begin’s 1982 Sinai exit to Ariel Sharon’s 2005 Gaza disengagement. Even Binyamin Netanyahu’s 2021 peace deals with several Arab countries under the Abraham Accords. Unfortunately, Netanyahu’s current government may be too inexperienced and messianic to enable reasonable, democratic, liberal change – read judicial reform – at such a scale. But who knows.

We cannot despair. At a very esoteric level, Israelis have hope. In fact, hope is the theme of our national anthem, Hatikvah, The Hope.

***

According to the World Happiness Report, published by the Sustainable Development Solutions Network, Israel remains one of the happiest countries in the world. (See jewishindependent.ca/measuring-happiness.) Rising to fourth place in 2023, just behind Finland, Denmark and Iceland, Israel’s showing likely reflected its reputation as a “villa in the jungle,” as dubbed by former prime minister Ehud Barak – despite being in the Middle East, one of the most contentious spots … on the Risk board.

Beauty amid turbulent times

Israeli journalist Yair Cherki (photo from Facebook)

Bravo Yair Cherki, the popular, ultra-Orthodox TV news reporter. He recently came out as gay in a wonderful social media post. In part, he said: “I write these words shaking, postponing to tomorrow. For next week. For after the holidays. Maybe it’s been 10 years since I’ve been writing and erasing…. And I write not because I have the strength to write but because I have no power to stay silent. I love men. I love G-d. It is not contradictory….”

His confession continues, “I live the conflict between my secular preference and my faith all the time. Some have solved the conflict for themselves by saying that there is no G-d, while others explain that there is no homosexuality. I know both exist. And I try to reconcile this contradiction within myself in various ways. These are things between G-d and me…. This is neither a fashion nor a trend nor a political statement. It is simply me….”

An intimate and intelligent statement.

* * *

Now, if this doesn’t take “blaming the Jews” to new extremes. In my previous article in the JI (jewishindependent.ca/land-of-milk-honey) I praised the historic maritime natural gas agreement between Israel and Lebanon, enabling both countries to drill for natural gas within their own territory. I truly wished Lebanon much success in hitting a gusher and creating their own Sovereign Wealth Fund.

Hezbollah’s leader Hassan Nasrallah sees it a bit differently, warning that any delay in Lebanon’s extracting gas from its own waters will be met by a punishing attack on Israel’s adjacent gas fields. Maybe Robert Frost’s poem “Mending Wall” will assuage Nasrallah: “I let my neighbour know beyond the hill…. And set the wall between us once again…. To each the boulders that have fallen to each…. He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbours.’”

Nasrallah went on to threaten that if the United States continues spreading chaos within Lebanon – some conspiracy theory or other – that Israel will pay. Reminiscent of the Three Stooges slapstick routine when Curly slaps Larry for Moe slapping him.

Peace and prosperity for all, on both sides of the Fatima Gate. Otherwise known as the Good Fence!

* * *

Going once. Going twice. Do I hear $50 million? According to its website, “Sotheby’s is proud to offer … the earliest, most complete Hebrew Bible during this year’s marquee New York sales auction.”

The Codex Sassoon is more than 1,000 years old. According to Sharon Mintz, Sotheby’s senior Judaica specialist, in an interview with CNN, “this is the most important document to come to auction ever.” It’s expected to generate huge interest across the world from the wealthiest of bidders, with offers expected to reach as high as $50 million.

Other treasured documents fetching such modest amounts at auction include the Codex Leicester by Leonardo da Vinci (ostensibly his science diary) sold to Bill Gates in 1994 for about $31 million. And the first printing of the U.S. Constitution, bought by American hedge fund manager Kenneth Griffin in 2021 for about $43 million.

May 16 … save the date. And your shekels!

* * *

A few weekends ago, my wife and I drove south for the day to enjoy the year’s winter festival, Darom Adom, when the bright red poppies – a protected flower in Israel – come out in full bloom along the Gaza periphery. It’s another reason to celebrate with local handicrafts, seasonal fruit, local cheeses and wine, homemade Israeli cuisine.

Taking place not too far from Sderot, within the opened gates of local kibbutzim and moshavim (agricultural communities) and less than a kilometre from another good fence delineating the border between Israel and Gaza, the festival a testament to Israeli’s resilience – and longing for a peaceful coexistence.

Somewhat poetically, we purchased a beautifully handcrafted hamsa made by a young, local artist. This hand-shaped amulet is used for protection by both Jews and Muslims. In the Jewish faith, the five fingers of the hamsa represent the Five Books of Moses, or the Torah. The Muslim faith sees a hamsa as representing the Five Pillars of Islam (declaration of faith, prayer, alms, fasting, pilgrimage). In popular culture, the charm represents the five senses (sight, sound, smell, touch, taste).

* * *

Judicial reform. Judicial reform. Judicial reform. Sounds like Jan Brady whining about her sister getting all the attention, “Marcia. Marcia. Marcia,” from the 1970s sitcom The Brady Bunch. Judicial reform certainly has been getting all the attention lately.

Issues aside, we’ve had 10 weeks and counting of protests, with several hundred thousand Israelis protesting around the country every Saturday night against judicial reform. The protests are also aimed at the extreme, right-wing – even theocratic – makeup of the current coalition that is driving headstrong into judicial reform. And yet, the primarily secular, centre-left who comprise these thousands, waving Israeli flags and ending every protest with the singing of Hatikvah, respectfully wait until after Shabbat to begin their protests. How’s that for deep-bred regard for this Jewish tradition that crosses sociopolitical lines?

* * *

Bravo again to Yair Cherki. To come out in these turbulent, sociopolitical times for the Israeli LGBTQ+ community. With our far-right, xenophobic, theocratic and anti-LGBTQ+ government, Cherki’s post and testament to himself is nothing short of brave, beautiful and brilliant.