Aug 03 2007
Yerushalayim Shel Zahav
Flashback Friday!
Tonight while packing up some things at my old house, I came across a box full of my Gulf War memories (more about that here)–newspaper clips, some journal entries, a calendar, a gas mask box cover. These little things transport me.
January, 1991.
I’m twelve years old. It’s the middle of the night and I’m sitting in bed, fully dressed, staring out my window towards Jerusalem’s Old City, of which I have a crystal clear, unobstructed view.
It’s always hard to calm down after an air raid. Tonight it seems particularly difficult. When the siren sounded a few hours ago, we’d raced to the bomb shelter, as usual, carrying our gas mask boxes and our shelter bags. Chairs and blankets were already set up, waiting for us in the shelter. The first item of business upon arriving at the shelter was to put our gas masks on–we must always assume that Saddam Hussein is using chemical warfare, because one of these times he might be. We know he has the capabilities.
Some of the little faces in our shelter are too small for gas masks, so for toddlers there are special plastic hood-style masks and for infants there are “tents” which look like incubators. Some of the babies scream. They don’t want to go in there. It breaks their parents’ hearts to shove them in. But because it could mean the difference between life and death, it just has to be done.
Our shelter, deep within our fortress, is full of interesting people. While there aren’t very many employees left at the BYU Jerusalem Center, there are a few, and most of them have, upon invitation, brought their families to live in the Center during the Gulf War. It’s just safer here. So, Arab and Jew alike, security guards and kitchen staff and Professors all camp together in the shelter. Because there are no students and very little staff here, there’s lots of room and all are welcome. Still, there are only thirty or so of us all together. We’re a myriad of colors, faiths, and languages, and most communication is done through pleasant smiles. Whatever might be going on out there, we all get along in here.
Once gas masks were on, we sat for a minute, getting oriented, hearts beating, wondering how soon we’d know if it was a false alarm or whether conventional or chemical missiles had fallen in Israel, or if they were on their way–or what?
The American man who is the Center’s director is trying to finish the Bible before he goes home in a few month, so he opened his big scripture and balanced his glasses over the outside of his mask–a comical but reassuring picture of serenity. Our appearance is difficult to describe–we look like large insects, or maybe aliens. J, my 15 year old brother, and I pulled out blankets and set up a board game instead of trying to sleep–we both knew we wouldn’t get any sleep, even if we’d tried. A game was better. Anything to take our minds off of things unknown.
One of the old women in our shelter who we’ve come to know and adore, suddenly exclaimed to her husband, having just come in contact with her own morning breath in the personal intimacy of her rubber mask, “how have you stood it all these years?” J and I nearly laughed till we cried.
After awhile, one of the Arab guards checked on his children. Recently the Jerusalem Post has reported that an infant and three elderly women suffocated in their masks. He leaned down over his young son wearing the hood-style mask–he touched him–no response. Shouting, he pulled the boy to his feet and ripped the hood off his head. Suddenly, the boy inhaled and started to cry. His mother pulled off her mask and, crying out, grabbed the boy, holding him in horror against her. J and I watched from our corner of the room with terror and relief all at once. Soon everyone calmed down. Everything was okay. But I confess to having shed a tear or two.
Soon the all clear siren sounded, and we were allowed to back to our apartments. Which brings me back to now, as I stare out my window.
This city outside my window seems so vibrant, so alive, so eternal. There’s an aura of peace, even among all the terror. I often find myself looking out the window, just to make sure it’s still there. And sure enough, after 3500 years, it is. It’ll take a lot more than a Desert Storm to shake it.
I jump a little as the phone starts ringing. I hear my father answer it before slamming it down. “What was that?” my mother’s muffled voice asks him. “A man, saying that he’s planted a bomb in our apartment and we’re all going to die.” My father sighs.
I just shake my head. We know it’s a lie. We’ve had similar calls in the past. No one can possibly get into our home here, our fortress. But they attempt to use the power of fear against us. It hurts me in my heart to think of their hatred for me, simply because of the color of my skin and the nationality on my passport. We’ve seen pictures on the news of our Palestinian neighbors, sitting on their rooftops as they watch scud missiles fly overhead, cheering. I’m too logic-driven to understand this. I asked my dad why they would cheer rather than seek shelter for themselves. He smiled sadly and explained that some people don’t care if they die, just as long as we die too. We know that this is just a small handful of people, a vocal minority, and certainly not the feeling among all.
Still, when I wander through the streets of the Old City, dropping coins into beggars’ hands, buying souveniers so that a father can feed his family tonight, and listening to a continuous stream of men offer my dad a certain amount of camels in order to take me as their wife, I can’t help but wonder if these are the people calling my house in the middle of the night with their bomb threats–the people rooting for my death.
It’s time to pull my eyes away from the window and go to sleep. Just before I close my eyes, I catch a glimpse of the pin on my bulletin board above my bed that says, “Free Kuwait”. I laugh a little. Who would have ever thought, when I was given that pin in London six months ago, that those two little words would have such a profound impact on my existence.
But I must rest now. Tomorrow this day will all start over again. I need to be ready for it.
Goodnight.
Photos courtesy of Jerusalem Shots.
That experience must have been truly terrifying. I can’t even imagine. I try very hard to think what it must be like to live in a war zone, like you did, and like so many do today, but I cannot. So thank you for sharing this. Just WOW.
GREAT post Brill!!!
Just….absolutely great!!
interesting Brillig. when I was in university, fellow students would talk about their experiences with war and it’s something I really think that no one who lives in north america (or who lived in a time without war) can every truly understand, at least i can’t even begin to imagine how people in these situations feel. thanks for sharing.
Your posts are always so great. I am still amazed at how much life you have lived - and you are still so young! I am glad that we are close, you have experienced such amazing experiences and I honestly shake my head when I read posts like these. When I was 12 I don’t think I knew what a gas mask was. I remember the war, but it seemed so far away and it was right at your door. You are incredible!
I have added you to the Calling All LDS Women Blog Roll
Did you write this when you were 12??? Or is this just a flash back to the time? Oh my, you are a fantastic writer!! I can’t even imagine. Thanks for your great writing. I really love it!
Wow, your life has been so interesting. I hope to travel a ton someday, but right now it seems a bit overwhelming with 3 kids and all. How did your parents do it? Very cool.
Thanks for sharing!
I love hearing these Jerusalem stories, as horrible and awful as they might have been. You write beautifully and you have so many amazing stories to share.
This is somehow unworldly, poinent, horrible and beautiful all in one.
Wow, that is amazing. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have neighbors wishing for your death.
Powerful post, Brillig. It means more to me now than it would have, since my dad was the director of the Center until about a year ago, and I got to visit them last summer. I can picture so much of what you described because I’ve been there. One of the things that struck me is not only the beauty of the Old City and the Jerusalem Center itself, but what would happen if the Center were a target for a bomb–there’s so much glass along the front, it would be a nightmare.
Wow that’s a heck of an experience. Sorta puts it in perspective thinking what the soldiers are going through every day.
Glad your back here safe and can share with all of us.
Very powerful indeed. Thank you for sharing that.
What a life you’ve led so far, Brillig. Very vivid post. Thanks!
I envy you a little, I have to admit. I love reading your blog for the different world and experiences that you have had. I feel like I led such a sheltered life when I read your blog, and I begin to wonder if I can give my children some of those same experiences (Well, maybe not the war thing, but living other places and experiencing so much more of the world than Happy Valley USA!).
Of course, there is part of me that wonders how you feelfelt about all of your experiences. Were there times when you just wanted to be the stay at home, live in one place for a long time kind of person?
You are awesome.
You’ve had some amazing life experiences, some very scary, some very intense and through all that you seemed to not let it impact you negatively. Rather it seems to have made you a well rounded , culturally sensitive, very special individual!
Thanks for sharing!
Powerful post, Brillig. Powerful post.
That was a wonderful post. Two of my kids came in so I read it to them and they were fascinated. We have read a lot of history books for home schooling but it is much more real when you read it from someone who was there and lived it. Your post is so well written. Thanks for sharing your experience.
Wow. You have some amazing stories, Brillig…
I am always surprised when I see children in movies or on the news acting so calm during and after a bombing. Being the huge fraidy cat that I am I would have been on a plane back to the US. When I was younger I thought it was only bad like that in Ireland. As I grew older the world around me became larger and I found out this is a “normal” way of life for so many. As I see women and children running in the streets away from such an enormous violence (tanks, missiles, etc.) I want to find out who is putting this all together and smack them upside the head! Give them a piece of my mind then put them in time out big time!
I cannot imagine what it was like for you. So glad you and everyone else had a safe shelter.
I think you were lucky to have grown up seeing beyond your own nose, your own neighborhood, your own nation. It’s made you who you are today.
I keep wondering how your parents could have taken you kids into that danger knowingly….I could never do that, so they must have been very committed to their mission. I have to admire that because I am too weak and fearful to do such a thing
Well stated….and sadly, hearing those stories make me so ‘home’sick for Jerusalem. I miss that city like nothing else. I wasn’t there the same time, BUT I did have some similar experiences while over there- some that I’ll have to post on a coming Flashback Friday. Love you for all you are, and all you’ve done….Rhonda
I loved that image of the man, in his gas mask, calmly reading the bible. It is, as you say, deeply calming. A lovely read. Thank you.
What an amazing yet harrowing experience. Thanks for sharing this. It is a wonderfully written post.
What a wonderful perspective! As I sit here in my comfortable home, it reminds me of just how good I’ve got it. Brilliant!
What a wonderful and powerful story…a very interesting life. This is honestly the first time I have ever cried at a blog. Thank you for sharing.
That is terrifying! It reminds me of my Father’s WWII memories when they had to hide from the nazzis… Like you, he was just a child.
Big {{{HUGS}}}
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