penmage | (no subject)

Today was Purim. I went to shul (synagogue) early in the morning to hear Megilat Esther (the scroll/book of Esther) read, and then went around delivering the customary food gifts to a few friends and family. I ran home, showered and dried my shoes off (it's pouring here!) and was off again.

The mission regrouped at the Plaza Hotel, where we boarded busses to what we thought was a hotel at the Dead Sea, but in actuality was a Bedouin tent in Be'er Sheva. :laughs: I don't know who got their facts mixed up, but it didn't really matter.

We went to a Purim carnival and festive meal with an organization called One Family, an organization that works with terror victims and thier families. Today, they had around 900 families of terror victims together, and we were joining them to show our solidarity and support.

We spent the first hour or so wearing funny clothes, playing with children, blowing up balloons, taking kids on camel rides, and the like. It was fun, but got tiring after a while, and it was a bit awkward when we were talking to the parents. We weren't really sure what was taboo - we never knew if we could ask a woman if her husband was there, or how many children she had - what was striking a nerve? Who among these happy faces was missing forever? All the people were normal and friendly, but we knew that every person there was somehow connected to tragedy.

Then, jsut as we were beginning to be tired of the whole thing, they moved us into a large Bedouin tent to have a very fancy festive meal. They had beautiful tables set up for us, and we were told to mingle and sit with the Israelis. It turns out that two American boys, instead of having big Bar Mitzvah parties, had opted to donate the money to One Family instead, and this huge party for these people was in place of their Bar Mitzvah celebration.

My friend Adina and I sat with some Israelis - a woman and her son, a man, his wife, and thier son and daughter. We chatted idly, played with thier kids, and exchanged small talk - and then one of the people in chare of our mission spoke. After he spoke, they circulated some of the awareness booklets we had been putting together, booklets with pictures of all the people killed in this Intifada.

It was then that the woman next to us (the man was her brother) flipped through the book until she found a particular picture - Tirza Polansky, killed May 18, 2001. Her mother, killed in a suicide bomb outside a Netanya mall. She had her brother and his wife started telling us about her. The kids started smiling and talking about thier Savta (grandmother). They were eager to tell us, desperate to get thier story out. It was amazing how important it was to them that we were there, and interested, that we cared.

We're sealing up our room tonight. I've been told (though it's not been verified) that we're supposed to be carrying out gas masks around with us from now on. We're not to open them until the governmnet tells us to, but we're supposed to have them with us. They come in cardboard boxes with a strap for easy carrying.

We've got a radio, bucket, towels, water, cookies, flashlight, batteries, for the sealed room, and a bomb shelter in the basement of our building just in case. I'm not afraid. I doubt anything will happen in Jerusalem at all. The general attitude of the coutnry is that they just want to get it over with already.

I'm still happy I'm here.