>> ... Next Generation ...
The Wandering Jew
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Gas mask? No problem
for Lauren Mein
W
hen my husband and I went
to buy groceries last week,
we wandered around the
mall first, people-watching and window-
shopping. We passed by a
large store I had never seen
before, bereft of merchan-
dise. There were three long
tables in the middle of the
room, where people formed
lines, apparently waiting for
something important.
"What are they selling
there, folding tables?" I
quipped.
My husband, Tomer, looked
over to where I was pointing
and smacked his head. "Oh,
that reminds me! Do you have your ID
with you? We need to pick up our gas
masks."
Right. Add that to the grocery list:
Milk, bread, eggs ... gas masks.
After getting over the initial shock, I
found myself smacking my own head.
I had momentarily forgotten where I
was living: a tiny country
surrounded by less-than-
friendly nations who want
nothing more than to see it
destroyed. And with news
suggesting that Iran is closer
than ever to building a nucle-
ar weapon, compounded
by recent strikes on Israeli
embassies in Asia, it would
seem as though Israel is
(once again) teetering on the
brink of total destruction.
But it's business as usual
in the Hummusland.
We are nothing if not prepared. There
are bomb shelters in every neighbor-
hood, and every residence built within
Winter Fun
Hillel of Metro Detroit ice skaters
glide around Campus Martius.
the past 20 years is required to have its
own cement-and-steel-encased "safe
room."
At my in-laws' house, theirs doubles
as the laundry room and pantry. So if
we were ever in a situation (God forbid)
where we had to move in there, we
would have enough cookies, dried fruit
and snacks to last us a few years. Plus,
our clothes would always be clean.
History and circumstance have forced
Israel into a state of perpetual bipolar
disorder; our Prozac is our determina-
tion to survive. And although a cure
exists, it's unlikely to be on the market
anytime soon.
"We live in a bizarre reality," affirmed
one government official, in response
to recent rocket fire from Gaza. "We
switch from emergency and then back
to routine. We've lived like this for many
years."
These thoughts flooded my mind as
we stood waiting for our government-
issued gas masks. I looked at the other
people in line — some on their cell
phones, others glancing at their watches
impatiently. No one seemed the least
bit disturbed — the strongest emotion I
saw was mild annoyance at the wait.
And then I saw a man trying a gas
mask on his baby. The baby fussed a
little but not as much as I would have
expected given that the mask resem-
bled something out of a sci-fi horror
flick. I still can't shake that image from
my mind. When I tried my mask on, I
was freaking out, trying not to hyper-
ventilate. The baby, for its part, seemed
to be handling the situation with a lot
more finesse, making me wonder if
perhaps reacting calmly to crises was
an inherently Israeli trait.
How is it that Israelis can go on with
their daily routine, seemingly inured
to the constant threats around them?
Israel is an incredibly determined little
country, like the 'Little Engine that
Could' in the classic children's story, if
that little engine were constantly being
fired upon with missiles. We try to be
positive, while vacillating between
hope and horror. It's a weird seesawing
of drastically opposing emotions that
grips this nation, and it's been going
on for so long that it's commonplace.
Of course, this stoicism comes with
a darker side. When life is a battlefield,
you cannot afford to show any signs of
weakness. And when you painstakingly
built a country up from swampland
with blood, sweat and tears, self-reli-
ance becomes a cardinal virtue.
But sometimes you can take it too
far. Close-knit relationships are built on
trust and sharing vulnerabilities, and
Israelis don't like to depend on others.
As a psychologist might say, "Israel has
trust issues."
Despite all that, I feel pretty safe here.
With my gas mask and husband in tow,
and a bomb shelter stocked with cook-
ies, I have all I need. When you live in a
place that is constantly threatened with
annihilation, you learn to appreciate life
more, but you also learn to just deal.
What can you do? Stop going to
work? Keep your kids locked inside
all day? It's like the old saying about
the meaning of all Jewish holidays,
"They tried to kill us, we survived ...
let's eat!" Except in the case of Israel,
they're still trying to kill us. And we're
still surviving. And eating. And going
shopping and waiting in line for three
hours to go skiing at Mount Hermon.
When all is said and done, you can't
stop living ... you have to keep chug-
ging along, hoping against hope that
everything will eventually work out OK.
Yeah, we're a little bipolar over here.
But we're working through it. In the
meantime, would you please pass the
hummus?
Lauren Meir is a Metro Detroit native who
lives and works as a freelance writer in
Israel.
Left: Wayne State students
Molly Walker of Oak Park and
Alex Tsuker of Southfield.
Below: Katie Cassell, a graduate
of Eastern Michigan University
from Woodhaven.
H
illel of Metro Detroit students braved the cold as well as the crowds for
Winter Blast to spend an evening skating at Campus Martius Park in
Downtown Detroit on Saturday, Feb. 11. The event, chaired by Oakland
Community College student Nate Lerner, was just one of the social programs spon-
sored by HMD this winter.
Participants skated, enjoyed great live music and thawed out in the warming
tent, where they socialized and drank hot Starbucks coffee (which was donated for
the event). After the skates were returned to the rental office, participants gathered
at the Hard Rock Cafe to continue their night of hanging out. ❑
March 8 2012
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