Herzliya....
This weekend, a fellow kibbutz volunteer invited a few of us to spend Shabbat at his home in Herziliya, a town about 5 km north of Tel Aviv, right on the beach. Alon (our host) is blessed with an American father and French mother which worked out nicely since the visiting party consisted of two Americans and a Frenchman. We spent the day yesterday walking along the beach until we found a more private section along the shore, sheltered by cliffs and algae covered rocks. There, we found that those who shared the beach with us were a more liberal sort. I received (shocking!) my first real sunburn of the summer.

After the beach and a delicious meal at a Chocolate-themed restuarant (Antoinette!) Jeremy and I set out to prepare a French style dinner for 6. We made a decent gratin dauphinois and took pictures to send his mother. A few friends from Kibbutz were in town so we had a Ketura Reunion night. It's been great to get off kibbutz for a few days and back into reality. I will always be more appreciative of two-day weekends after my time here in Israel.

In other news, there seems to be this war and yes, it affects our lives in strange ways.
How do we feel the effects of the war? Mostly, it's psychological; sometimes it's a little funny if you can stomach the dark humor.

A few examples:
Friday night dinner, after noting that Jeremy (french) nor I knew how to say bomb shelter in French, we asked (par hasard) where the bomb shelter was in the building. I had thought, in all honesty, that Hertzliya was out of missile range. Wrong. It hasn't been hit, thank god, but apparently it was an appropriate and wise question. Hello, welcome to our house....Shabbat Shalom...hows the chicken? .. the bomb shelter is down the stairs to your right, if you see the cat, take him wwith you... please pass the rice. Fast forward to the next morning. Sara and I are sitting on the couch sharing some rice when she notices a siren in the background. Uh, Rachel, what's that noise? (Rachel's frozen and nonresponsive.) A tense 10 seconds follows before we realize that the source of our petrification is the neighbor's alarm clock.

Thursday night at Ketura is pub night. The youngings all had to this abandoned warehouse to dance and drink beer in an alternate location. It is the apex of the week and we await it eagerly. This week, however, the pub shut down early. Why? The normal bartender had been called up for reserve duty in Lebanon and taken with him the key to the beer fridge.

On the busride norht, many soldiers were heading north, called up suddenly to immediate posts in northern locations. On Shabbat, with bussed stopped and with few people driving north, they had little idea about how to get to their locations and in some cases lacked specific details about where they needed to be. We sat near two soldiers - one a shlumpy looking 38 year old hotel worker who had been called suddenly and told to pay his own way on the bus. (The army would reimburse him later.) The other, a baby-faced boy who spent the four hour trip on the floor between the seats, spending his last few moments of calm and relative freedom in the dirty aisle of an Egged bus. (He refused to take the seats we offered him, since we had paid for them and as a soldier his ride was free.)

What else? 30 families from up north have joined us on kibbutz. I have spentsome time with a young couple from Tiberias. They are crashing at the kibbutz for now and were technically required to leave on Friday. Alon and Jeremy gave them their roomkey for the weekend and we have plans to put them up as long as need by, even if it's a clandestine approach. There is copious food on the kibbtuz and more than enough extra mattresses around; only kibbutz bureaucracy prevents us from taking in hundreds more refugees. AS volunteers, we want to do what we can to help. In haifa, my friend Yael tells me that sirens go off every half hour, sending workers to bomb shelters and preventing normalcy and productivity at her the workplace. She says she feels silly running up and down the stairs of the bombshelter all day long. A hospital in Haifa has been hit repeatedly and they had to relocate the maternity ward to an interior wing of the building. One peice of advice I've heard more than once is to stay away from North-facing windows. Why? The missiles are coming from that direction. Noted.

How am I feeling? Personally, I am lucky to be out of the fray. The more I read, the more I am understanding and supportive of Israel's reaction. There is very very little Israeli opposition to the government's response, although an anti-war rally took place in Tel Aviv last night. I can't forget that Israel withdrew from Gaza and southern Lebanon in exchange for promioses of peace. I can't forget that Israeli soldiers were taken from inside of Israel. I can't forget that the US, england, France, any country would do the same thing if they were attacked suddenly and unprovoked on their own soil. I can't forget that Israel has to fight for it's very existence and that Jews, without Israel, are a wandering and unwelcomed tribe with no safe place to go. (except maybe the US, for now. ) yes, maybe some members of Israel's government awaited this moment for an excuse to hit Hezbollah, but it seems that as an organization, Hezbollah has spent the last few years building up stockpiles of weapons instead of working on infrastructure, schools or even the Palestinian cause. But what do I know...I am of late overwhelmed by a desire to help. Not that I want to make aliyah, not that I think I could be of much use to the Israeli army.... but I do want to help in some way...

I admire the strength of the Israelis, their resolve to contunus life as normal as much as possible and their acceptance of the continous battle taht alone enables them to keep their country. I am awed by the thousands of new immigrants from the US and Canada that are arriving weekly, leaving behind their calm and successful lives for an unknown beast, were even without war, life can be a headache of bureaucratic disorganization, crappy schools and corruption.
For me, I don't think I could choose this life - maybe I'm lazy, maybe I'm weak, but as much as I love this country and feel a connection to it, I don't feel compelled to move here. It may be my homeland, but it doesn't feel like my home.