War Diary: But what do I do with the dogs?

If I was keeping a diary, this would be today’s entry

First, I want to thank David Roytenberg of Canadian Zionist Forum for asking me to write up what it is like for me in Haifa these days. You know, as missiles and drones are being launched from Lebanon and, just north of where I live, either landing with a boom or being smacked out of the sky with a boom — sometimes very far north (120 km or 1.5 hours drive) and sometimes not very far (30 km or 30 minutes drive). And, of course, the impending out-and-out war against Iran and Hezbollah that threatens to explode upon us as opposed to these ten months of war of attrition and psychological warfare. Here is a snapshot from yesterday. Click here to read the original on his site.

For ten months, I have not really dealt with how this war is affecting me. I have chatted with friends and we have shared some of our feelings and concerns, but I have not considered myself very much affected. I live in Haifa and so far we have been spared the brunt of what is going on – aside from having let a young man, displaced from Tel Hai, stay in my apartment for a month when I was visiting my younger daughter abroad, aside from having friends with family members in the reserves (my only family here is one daughter, her husband, and two kids), aside from knowing some young people in the reserves, aside from knowing someone who knows someone who was killed at the Nova Festival, aside from having spoken, as a journalist, to members of two hostage families and one father of a fallen soldier, this war does not directly touch me. Yet. There was one alarm in Haifa a long time ago. It seems like years ago. Oct 7^th feels like years ago.

And it feels like yesterday.

And for some reason, with my nerves pulled as taut as an arrow pulls on the bowstring before letting it sail toward the target, I decided to explore how this war is affecting me by writing here and now.

Part I: But what do I do with the dogs?

Never mind me….what about the dogs?

I guess I can get the dogs to sit beside me in my safe spot in my apartment if/when Haifa is under missile or drone attack and alarms go off. But what do I do if I am outside walking them? I suppose you have seen photos of parents covering their children’s bodies with their own to protect them during an alarm, but I don’t recall seeing what people with dogs do. Suddenly I got worried (suddenly? As if there was no reason to be worried before this very moment!)

What does one do when one has a question such as this? One asks Facebook friends for help.

I just posed the question, asking Israeli friends with dogs what they do when an alarm goes off while they are walking their dogs. I’ll come back to this after there will have been time for people to tell me what they do, what they would do if they had a dog, what they would do if they were in Israel, etc. In the meantime, some have attached “care” emojis in response to my post.

Part II: It’s not just the dogs

The dogs are not mine. They are my daughter’s family’s dogs. And there are two of them – mother and daughter. This morning, I picked them up and brought them home to stay with me.

Without going into all the details, I will just tell you that my daughter and her husband have to renovate their new apartment before moving in and the way things worked out, they have to leave their rental before they even get the key to the new place. I am the only grandparent who is willing to have the dogs. I get the dogs so I get everyone. This means my small and cozy apartment will soon be home to three adults, two children and two dogs.

It would be one thing without the clouds of war gathering overhead. Overt war, I mean, as opposed to this war of attrition that has been on a slow boil since Oct 7^th, with missiles and drones launched at us from Lebanon almost every day and often many times a day, just not yet reaching Haifa. What will it be like when overt war actually breaks out as I guess it will?

Part III: Safe at home?

I have no mamad – mamad is the Hebrew acronym for a shelter in an individual dwelling. New buildings always have them and many people have added them to older buildings. Many have not. In my six-apartment building, nobody has.

This means that I have had to pick a spot in my apartment that would provide the most protection. My spot is next to a support beam and under a fortified arch beneath the ceiling, with no outside walls and no windows. My spot is, in fact, in my living room, an open space surrounded by other rooms, an adjoining apartment on one side of me and another apartment above me. So if a missile or drone lands outside the building, shrapnel will not get to me. If a missile or drone comes through the roof of my upstairs neighbour, however, I may not be so lucky. (I am only thinking about that now because I am writing down for you what it is like to be me in Israel in this very moment. Maybe writing a diary is not always therapeutic. )

I think all my neighbours have left the building. I’m not afraid. Being alone in the building is not scary when neighbouring buildings are filled with people and a navy training base is across the street from me. The naval base has all those young soldiers who can rescue me from my collapsed apartment if need be; on the other hand, it is a missile magnet since a military base is a legitimate target. My home is not. But, well…..

Part IV: Daily Life

And this is how my life has been: “but, well…” “yes, but…” “no, but well…” You may or may not get the idea. That’s the best I can do.

My nerves may be as taut as the string on a bow with the arrow pulled back as far as it can go, but I sleep soundly and well. I wake up feeling refreshed, for a short time, before exhaustion overtakes me. Exhaustion overtakes me and I fall asleep against my will in the middle of the day and then I get a whoosh of energy that lets me research and write or do some handicrafts, or go out for a walk, or talk with friends. And each of these things drains me again, more than they did before Oct 7^th.

When I go out, I am astounded to see people casual in their daily lives – shopping, going to work, sitting in coffee shops, swimming at the beach near my home, having ice cream or falafel with their kids -- as if the skies were really clear of the clouds of war, as if there was no threat that something menacing might suddenly pop out of the nothingness aiming to take us down, as if alarms might not suddenly send us scattering to find safety, even though we are told that Haifa is not on alert and we should behave as if, as if, as if …. everything is normal.

But as normal as I probably appear to others -- as they appear to me -- it doesn’t feel normal on the inside. And much as I hate to admit it, I have started using my inhaler several times a day, beginning yesterday. I’m sure there are others who feel as I do on the inside and others are far more anxious and yet others much less so. But it does feel as if life is operating on two different dimensions: the as-if-normal and the what-the-hell-is-going-on!

Do you get the idea?

Part V: Dogs and grandkids

Even though I have devised a very elaborate and wonderful plan to keep them safe with me in my safe spot, if/when the overt war actually happens, my grandkids will probably be relocated to stay with a grandparent who has a mamad. To tell you the truth, I will also feel better if they will be in an apartment with a mamad. The dogs and I will be fine.

I just went back to see how people responded to my question about what to do with dogs when out for a walk. The best two suggestions were: (1) just stay close to home, going back and forth, rather than taking a longer walk; and (2) if caught too far from home, crouch by a wall with the dogs alongside. One snarky person argued with me that I obviously hate dogs to ask such a question as he would give his life for his dogs. Oh. Well. All kinds, right? Someone else thanked me for raising an interesting topic for discussion.

Is this an interesting topic for discussion: What to do when you are out walking your dog and missile alerts go off?  I laughed. I am looking forward to the time when interesting discussions will begin by asking about house plant care, good books, new movies; you know: the stuff of normal daily life.

And as I write this piece, the IDF killed terrorists in Judea-Samaria and southern Lebanon, people in Beirut were videotaped running helter-skelter when Israeli planes broke the sound barrier over their city with loud booms, and Hezbollah “only” launched two missiles at us (so far today).

It gives me no joy to see people working in an office scared for their lives. It gives me no joy to see cities razed to the ground. It relieves me immeasurably when terrorists are killed. And it appears we cannot have one without the other.

And my daughter just called to tell me the kids are sleeping at their other grandparents’ apartment because they have a mamad. Even though the overt war has not yet started. That is how much it feels like it can break out at any moment without warning.

Writing all of this has made me more aware of my stress. Is that good or bad? I think I will set aside any intelligent inner reflection and will put on a disaster movie or a serial killer movie to play like background music while I do some macramé. Or maybe I’ll go for another nap first.

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