15 Minutes

My hometown has been all over the news in the last few days, but it’s not the kind of fame anyone wants. I was born and raised in Nahariya, Israel, about six miles from the Israel-Lebanon border. It’s a beautiful little resort town popular with both Israelis and tourists. It is bordered by the Mediterranean Sea on the west and small agricultural communities known as Kibbutzim in every other direction.

Downtown Nahariya boasts a creek that runs through the middle of town, flanked by eucalyptus trees and outdoor cafes. Little bridges cross the creek- the Venice of the Middle East. The creek and the promenade that surrounds it end in a wide spread of beaches and beach front restaurants.

If you want to catch a glimpse of the place where I was born, just turn on CNN. Anderson Cooper has been reporting from there for a full day now. As I sat glued to my television set, the sun slowly came out behind Cooper, revealing the streetlamps and eucalyptus trees I remember so well.

Every neighborhood in Israel has community shelters- sci-fi looking structures that jut out of the ground in sharp concrete triangles. When I was young we used to have parties in these shelters. We played spin the bottle and danced. We were 11 years old. We didn’t get it. During katyusha attacks, my parents believed we would be safer at home than running through the streets to the shelter, so they would place my brother and I in the shower (the inner most room in our tiny house) and shoved pillows on all the windows. Once, when my father was out of town, my mother took us to the shelter during a bombing. We thought it was exciting. We got to be with our friends and stay up all night playing games. I cannot even imagine what my mother must have been going through at that time. I long now for the ignorance of youth.

This is not how I wanted to revisit my memories of my beloved hometown. I can’t pretend to understand what is happening there, or have the answers to this ancient war. I just know that bombs are destroying streets I used to play in as a child. I know that my best friend’s parents have fled their home and are now safe with her in Tel Aviv, although her mentally handicapped uncle refused to leave and was left behind in Nahariya with a week’s supply of food and water. I know that is it 6:00 a.m. in Israel and the familiar sound of katyushas are coming from my television set and that old fear in the pit of my stomach has returned, even though I am safe in St. Paul. I know I will probably stay up tonight and watch the day unfold in Israel, wait for my friend to get on IM so I know she is safe too.

If it sounds like war, it is.