It’s always interesting to see how various family members deal with the same event.
Privileged to spend Passover at home with 11 of us in tow allowed me to observe how my family responds to the process of alerts, sirens, and mamad (safe room) time.
Given that the closest outing was to our balcony for the little ones, a quick game of soccer for the “in betweens” and a short grocery store trip for adults only, we stayed close to home.
My husband and had I exchanged our 43-step sprint to safety with a one-floor apartment complete with a safe room. Last year, trying to close the mamad door during a siren, my husband went flying backwards with the handle in hand. After two repairmen, the door is still not airtight, but the handle only wiggles a bit as I pray it doesn’t fall off!
If we do get the extreme alert, it propels anyone fortunate enough to have entered a deep sleep out of bed. The approximately 10-minute warning suggests a missile is coming from Iran. We have all become experts in location and timing.
My routine since February has been a consistent one. Upon an alert, I often think, “Not again,” and go into preparation mode. Trying to embrace this as “my relaxation time,” I take a deep breath in and out, fill my mug with hot water or tea, turn off any burners, gather my reading material, head to my safe space, and gently close the door. I am ready. This is my gift of time for myself.
The day before Seder night arrives, as do a zillion sirens that morning. Thankfully, my family was late, so not yet on the road. Towards noon, in come 10 family members, one baby carriage, one wheelchair, many suitcases, and lots of food. And a few more pre-Seder sirens just to set the mood.
Now I may do a quick bathroom stop on the way, but I don’t dilly-dally in the time between alert and siren. This younger generation literally goes into the mamad once they hear the siren. They are definitely laid back. What I say about this is, “Why are they in the mamad literally seconds before the booms? Are these the children whom I tried to teach not to procrastinate?”
My five-month-old granddaughter, happy to go wherever her food source took her, was completely oblivious.
The two three-year-old boys made the most commotion. One needs assistance, so upon an alert, he looked at an adult for reassurance he would be taken to safety. The other delicious three-year-old mischief-maker saw the mamad as a place for action. If not asleep on his dad’s shoulder, he was happy to try to wake up all the others.
The two six-year-olds often kept themselves busy or slept through it, and the nine-year-old sleeping beauty threw down a mattress and sprawled out; once hearing the all-clear sign, she walked silently back to her room.
Some adults wanted the opportunity for reflective time, some announced every hint of shrapnel location, and others pretended to sleep. In no time, it all ended, and everyone returned to their beds.
One set of kids went home right after Shabbat and got caught on the highway with a siren. The only place to go was a gas station, so crowded they couldn’t close the door. The other set of children got caught outside, but close to a shelter. They had already experienced enough when a house three doors down caught fire from a hit.
I’m sure every family has their own stories about running to shelter and has had meaningful moments. For us, Friday night singing in the mamad was a great distraction. This column was, in fact, partially written at 3:30 a.m. after a siren when I found myself wide awake.
Passover seemed to go by quickly, perhaps because we seemed to go from siren to siren. Suddenly, though, the last days of chag arrived, and with it, double sirens at 2:51 a.m. and then… a ceasefire. What? As I put the finishing touches on this column, I wonder now how out of date this all may feel, given the news is constantly changing.
We went from one minute being at war in a state of high alert, staying close to shelters, to everything supposedly being back to “normal” with school and work. Seriously? A WhatsApp message read, “Don’t forget to pack a sandwich for your child’s lunch tomorrow as you pack away your Passover dishes.” Who has bread?
The kids need to get up, and so do we.
How do we begin to process this all?
Suddenly, everything has changed and may change again with little warning. First, we must recognize these are highly abnormal times and that our reactions, while often unpleasant, are normal.
We will likely need to process more slowly than time allows before we are on to the next “situation.” That said, we have been off track since COVID and definitely Oct. 7. As I write, I hear constant red alerts in the North.
We have gone from the screech of an alert to getting our sleep-deprived bodies and anxious selves down flights of steps, to safe places with or without shoes, keys, or phone reception. We have given up our beds to sleep on the sofa to be close to our children or near our safe places, and we may sleep in our clothes. Our children have been home from school, and we cannot work. Our elderly and sick have been afraid to leave their homes or must travel while risking their own personal safety. Our phenomenal soldiers and their partners and families are trying to hold everything together yet again.
The struggle is huge, and we have endured simply because we have to. For some, moments of family time have been wonderful, but for others, horrific. We might remind ourselves we are safe now, but we still hear imaginary sirens and worry we will be caught in the shower.
We are incredibly resilient. We have been amazing. It has been a very long marathon, and we have been fighting for all that is important for us. We need to give ourselves a pat on the back; we must acknowledge we have managed.
It is at a cost, and now, as we attempt to process it all and acknowledge the deep losses, we must do it slowly, with kindness and compassion. Many of us barely know what day, month, or year it is.
Nonetheless, our physical and emotional well-being have taken a beating, and we may feel unwell with uncharacteristic symptoms – feeling upset or angry, difficulty focusing, not wanting to socialize, experiencing pain or somatic symptoms.
Pay attention, slow things down, breathe, and have that quiet cup of tea as you reflect and process. Give yourself time and recognize your loved ones are going through things as well.
Please remember if the burden is too heavy for you, you can and should reach out to professionals. We are one family, and you are not in this alone. We must stand united to live safely and peacefully in our beloved land. These are historic times, and by working together, we see how much we have accomplished.
I am an eternal optimist. After all we have been through, I know that things will be better.
The writer is a licensed clinical psychologist in private practice in Ra’anana and co-author of the recently released The Jewish Journey through Loss: From Death to Healing (Koren Publishers). She has written about psychology in The Jerusalem Post since 2000. batyaludman@gmail.com; drbatyaludman.com
