It's hard to write about what's going on over here and I almost can't, but it's important for all to know the feelings and emotions that go on here in Israel after a terror attack, the likes of which have not been seen since 2008, until recently.
It's not been a great few weeks for us over here. It's usually evident when I wake up in the morning, and with great trepidation check the news, all the while wondering what exactly I might find today.
We haven't quite recovered from the shock of the Itamar attacks, and now along comes something else, an attack less personal in nature perhaps (or maybe not at all), but hitting much closer to home. The "kiosk" (small vending booth) where the bomb was placed is right at the bus stop that we take in and out of Jerusalem, to and from Beit Shemesh. The fog (familiar in nature from the days after the Itamar attack) that fills my head and makes it unable to concentrate on the mundane is back. The kids have questions, I don't really have answers. Or if I have answers, I only hope and pray that they are good enough. It's eerie that the past few days the weather outside has been just that; foggy and rainy.
Earlier in the day, my youngest brother S called me from Be'er Sheva, saying that school was closing due to all of the incoming missiles and mortars from Gaza, and that he was on his way to stay with us for a few days. He first takes a bus to Jerusalem to the Central Bus Station and then crosses the street to catch the 417 to RBS. While he was on the bus from Be'er Sheva entering the city, the bomb went off across the street, partially blowing up the 74 bus. I can't even think about if he had caught the previous bus from Be'er Sheva, and had been standing in that exact spot a mere ten minutes later. I can't think about it, and I won't, because, thank G-d, he wasn't.
Or my sister D, who was on her way to our house for her birthday dinner with us, who would have been on that very 74 bus to meet S at the 417 stop had she not had to make a stop first. Had she been on schedule, she would've been on that bus. I can't think about it, and I won't, because thank G-d, she wasn't.
Exactly 24 hours earlier I stood in that spot, (N actually playing with the telephone that you see blown to pieces in the news) with my six kids on our way back to RBS waiting for the 417, my kids counting how many 74s had passed us. What if we had been one day earlier, on our way home, in that exact spot? I can't think about it, and I won't, because thank G-d, we weren't.
But it's these thoughts that plague me now constantly, even though I promise myself I won't think about them. The "What ifs?", the "What about next times?". I guess this is the exact goal of and definition of Terrorism. Making us doubt and fear our every move.
I am so incredibly thankful for all of my family being safe and sound, but I almost feel guilty expressing such thoughts. One of my kids, B, said to me, "But how can we thank Hashem for keeping us safe and not having the bomb go off when we were there, when other people were there when it did go off? How can we say thank you when other people got hurt and killed? It doesn't seem nice. "
No, it doesn't seem "nice" at all, does it?
So, we wake up (or just get out of bed for those of us that aren't really sleeping) and send our kids off to school, away from us, out of our protective arms. We sigh as they close the door behind them and hope, and PRAY that they will be safe and sound. We pick up the pieces, we try to clear our heads of the fog, and we continue living. We keep moving.