Sep 12 2007
Lightning Striking
If you’re here for Wordless Wednesday, it’s below this post.
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(Yes, I know some of you have read this. Sorry.)
When I was 15, I found myself back in Jerusalem. I knew I’d be going back. I’d prepared myself. Jerusalem held a huge chunk of my heart, but it also held my worst memories—the stuff that nightmares are made of. Real nightmares, not just dreams.
But I was strong. I could be okay. I could smell the spices and hear the prayers and see the towers out my window. I was strong. Everyone had already decided that I was, so I must have been.
One night, as I slept in my bed, an explosion went off nearby. I leapt out of the soft realm of sleep into the harsh world. One explosion. Then another. And then the sounds of shattering glass.
I knew these sounds already. But these were close, much too close.
But where were the alarms? Where was the air raid siren? And why was I the only one who seemed to be aware that we were under attack?
My heart was racing, my ears were throbbing to the point that I could no longer hear anything but my own pulse. It was all up to me. It was all on my frail shoulders. This building housed nearly 200 people but no one seemed to be hearing what I was hearing. That realization was terrifyingly lonely and too overwhelming. But they had to be saved, and apparently they had to be saved by me.
I ran to the living room but from there the fear or the responsibility or both paralized me. I just stood there shaking and gasping for air, for time, for clarity.
And then another explosion.
Except that there was lightning with it.
And with a wave of relief, as though someone were pouring warm water over me, I suddenly understood that there was no bomb, no fire, no shattered glass. Just thunder and lightning and hail hitting the windows. I giggled, I guess, because maybe it was funny. But the giggles quickly turned into sobs of despair as I collapsed into a pathetic heap on the floor. I had just learned something about myself, something too unbearable:
I wasn’t over it yet.
For all my preparation, all my rationalization, all my suppression, I just simply wasn’t over it yet!
How could I not be over it? It had been years by now. And I was so strong! I cried and cried and prayed for forgiveness for my weakness. I was so sorry—so incredibly sorry. I was letting everyone down. It was unacceptable to act like this. I wasn’t allowed to feel fear or despair, and here I was breaking all the rules. And I was so ashamed.
And I knew that I could never tell them that I wasn’t over it. It was hard enough admitting it to myself, and then to God. And besides, to them, there wasn’t ever really anything to get over. And it would be terribly, terribly inconvenient to them for me to suddenly let them know. They were all counting on me to be okay. And if I wasn’t, then they’d have to deal with me, and what did they know about that?
So I resolved never to let them know. They would never know about the fool I’d made of myself that night in the living room. I would go on acting as though it had all just been an interesting history lesson. Emotionless, for emotion was weakness. And by now, I was so good at the role I had cast myself in and I had the whole script memorized. It wasn’t going to be so hard.
And so I willed my pulse to stop racing and the tears to stop falling. I pulled myself up off the floor and walked slowly and deliberately back to my bed, back to being strong.
I had been awakened to my own frailty that night. But when daylight arrived, they would never know the difference.
How terrifying. How can you ever be expected to be that strong?
As was before, an excellent, well-written account of your amazing life.
You were (and still are) a strong and valiant women
You think we ever get sick of reading you? Nah. Never gonna happen.
Amazing. I don’t think I could ever be so strong.
You’re certainly not weak for feeling fear. There are certain feelings and emotions that simply can not be forgotten, and the painful reminders will fade a bit over time.
I can’t imagine what it must be like to be you. I sometimes wish I had the life experience that you have had.
I don’t know if I could be that strong though.
my thoughts when i read this then are the same as today:
acting strong for the sake of others IS STRENGTH.
I heart you. Thanks for re-posting.
We are never weak for feeling emotions. In fact, I would say that to the extent we feel emotions–and are responsible for them—is the extent to which we display our humanity.
I have goosebumps. Such a powerful writer, you. Such an amazing life.
That is an amazing story.
Fear is just something we have, and thank god for that. Without fear we couldn’t have hope and we couldn’t get stronger.
You are an amazing lady dear brillig.
I’m so glad you’re there.
I’m not sure how you ever get over something like that.
Wow. What an amazing story. Thank you for sharing it with us.
I love your blog.
holy cow…all I can say is omg.
you write so well…I was there with you , shaking and imagining how afraid you must have been.
You are amazing!!!
You should never get over something so horrific. I think it bullied its way inside of your cell memories, and changed you. But look at the depth you now possess, and the empathy you now feel, and the power that you now share with others. Don’t be hard on yourself for carrying a burden that makes you a gift. You are incredible. I wish you could come over to my house and tell me your whole life story. I would make you incredible cookies.
Brillig, That was so beautiful and I wish I could give you a hug. You’re strong in more ways than you know.
Thanks for sharing your experiences and life with us, and for doing it in a way that helps us feel a bit as if we were there.
I have done things like this but I have no where near your excuse. I am just a big fraidy-cat.
Thanks, everyone. Just to clarify, I’m not plagued with shame and guilt anymore about fear and emotion. This was written from my 15 year old eyes… eyes that felt shame and guilt over pretty much everything. Thanks for the wonderful comments.
You know, it’s interesting - so many people have commented on my “bravery” through the Soviet and KGB stuff, but I think what you went through in Jerusalem is in a whole different realm. I’m just glad you’re safe now.
Oh, wow! I can TOTALLY relate to this post. I had a similar post-traumatic-stress kind of flashback after the Los Angeles riots.
So beautiful the way you lead us through the thought-process of your 15-year-old mind! And I love your honesty, and the conclusions you form (which seem almost tragic, that bucking-up, that silence.)
Thank you.
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