I have been rolling over these words in y head all day with no luck. What is to be said to resume work on such an intimidating project? further, what exactly do I write? Do I begin where I left off? last week? I last wrote about the fourth of july, a post that eventually became so boring I eventually abandoned it at a full page of writing. The fourth of July will not be first post of the new week. So how about the following Shabbat? I thought it would be so important to touch on, and yet, it was a boring event of which the complete recounting would take about half a page. Not to mention that it has faded a week from my memory and will likely be dull in forced recollection. That is out, at least for the time being, as is the events that followed. The kinneret and the Mikve, Tsfat, the trying night at the Hostel (I spelled it right this time), or the return to the kinneret and the second Mikve. No. Instead I must resume posting here and now. With current events.
As many of you must have been wondering, the rockets have been intense. To be absolutely clear, our campus has been in the shelter exactly four times. The first was a siren. The second was a planned campus drill. The third was a neighboring siren, the alarm was technically only for Tel Aviv. The fourth was a siren that interrupted class and sent us to the shelter for the song session that has been circulating facebook.
I feel no danger. Truth be told, the first siren was exhilarating. I was here! I was part of it! Its happening to me! I looked around the room trying to suppress a giddy smile and was surprised to see people shrieking, their faces frozen in anxious masks of fear. I didn't understand. I don't understand. Students are incapable of thinking reasonably when it comes to the shelter. They giggle and scream. They don't calm down even when the campus director is shouting at the top of his lungs for everyone to sit down. There is no order.
To their credit, most kids are not worried. The initial shock of the first alarm wore off for them and they became just as passive as me. And yet, that was when the problems began. Parents have been calling up their kids all week. one at a time, our number is being picked off by ignorant "guardians" stealing the lives of their own kids because of a misplaced, uneducated, blind fear. We've lost three already, five more will be leaving tonight. To those parents out there, I hope you read my blog. Let AMHSI publicize this so you can know exactly how much you are hurting this program and these kids. You appall me.
The first two left last Sunday. The class visited the grave of Rachel that day, so known she needs no surname. That was the last we saw them before they were bussed off to the air port. We said our goodbyes in the graveyard.
Sabrina was a wonderful girl. She accepted everyone and led a band of misfits in the girls dorm, not that she'd ever accept the title. She was the kindest person in the whole dorm, always thrilled to make the tiniest gesture of goodwill to make you feel included and all with upmost genuineity.
Ari was a rightwing conservative git that had thought Bush really knew how to run the country. After hours of arguments in which I was never quite sure if he would pull a knife on me, we had finally found our stride only two nights before. On those last days we'd argued better than ever. We said goodbye with a firm handshake, a hug, and a solid pat on the back.
They started the avalanche. Michelle left just yesterday, never my favorite person after her insistent rock-throwing, but I'd gotten over my petty grudge and with a few more weeks, we may have been friends... We may not have. The twins, Trevor and Elliott, were bound for the airport that same day, due to what we all thought was a miraculous twist of fate, they announced that they would be in fact staying. I remember the wave of relief that washed over me when I heard. I remember my heart sinking when they found out it would not be the case.
Tonight, we are losing five. The twins, Jared, Sophie, and Austin Bierman. Of all the people that could have left, I'll miss Bierman the most. Bierman, who swore that if his mother sent him home he'd run away and live with his sister in Jerusalem. Bierman, who smashed his favorite lacrosse stick to a mangled wreck when he heard he was going home. Bierman, who gave away half his possessions in what I'm sure is some last hurrah to spite his mother without confrontation. Bierman, who never once let himself be seen with anything but a smile on his face despite the pain he was feeling for leaving.
Last night I wandered the hallway of the dorm aimlessly. The passages of the Holocaust museum were a constant chattering echo in my head as I collapsed, motionless on my bed in what could not have been considered a comfortable position by any means. I stayed there, still. The memory of all the death and destruction and hatred was congealing a sharp pain beneath my sternum. I was angry at the kids for leaving. I was angry at their parents for taking them from us. for the first time in months, I let myself fall into sleep before even realizing it, sad and broken.
I haven't eaten today even as the clock pushes past seven. I only noticed when it reached lunchtime and I still hadn't had anything. At that point I decided to go all in. It's technically a fasting holiday today, although even most religious Jews aren't observant. This is my tribute to the kids who are leaving. This is my testament to my own dedication.
The slightest part of me envies them, and I hate me for it. The more I think, the more I miss the wet, green grass of Seattle. I miss the smell of whiskey. I miss showing my artwork to my dad. I making plans of what to do when I get home. I wish I could be here now. What right do I have to wish for home when my brothers and sisters are being forced home. The program feels like its ending. I can't help but think of home. The most I can hope for is to be able to savor my last two weeks to the absolute fullest. As the councilors keep saying, these are memories that will last a lifetime.
No comments:
Post a Comment