The End of the World

Is this the way the world ends?  For us here it certainly is the end of the world as we knew it. It will never be the same - ever.

 Friday night - erev shabat.  A crescent moon shines in the darkening sky.  Night is falling.

Just two weeks ago, it was October 6, the 50th anniversary of the Yom Kipur War.  I went to the nearby mall - it was packed with people.  All the restaurants and cafes were full. The local humus restaurant is the friday meeting place for the young soldiers on leave.  They were eating, laughing, patting each others backs - young boys, identifiable as soldiers by their haircuts.  Young girls, so beautiful. They were in civilian clothing, the uniform of the young, denims, sandals, T-shirts.  I looked at them and hoped they will never know of war. 

Just two weeks ago, on Friday night, I decided to make dinner.  I haven't cooked during the summer because it has been way too hot and humid, but the weather was lovely two weeks ago.  I made dinner and invited my neighbours.  We ate together, had wine, and spoke of future plans. The one neighbour was going to Cornwall in a couple of days.  I was going to Egypt in December, and then a good friend planned to visit. Two friends, actually - one at the end of October, and one in December. The immediate future seemed as rosy as the wine we drank.

And then came Saturday.  And now we see the photos and names of the people who were slaughtered.  Facebook, social media,  newspapers, TV - photos of babies, young, beautiful faces, families, grandparents, never ever to smile again.  And there seems to be no end, each day more bodies are found.

Today I went to the mall which has been closed for about 10 days, other than the supermarket and the pharmacy.  Once again, it was full - except there were no young soldiers on leave.  Just families, children, vendors. By now I know lots of them -we greet each other, and I see that faces have changed.  Everyone has a look of fear, uncertainty, anxiety. We say shalom, we shrug - it seems that we all feel something terrible is coming.  Two weeks have been full of shock and fear, but worse is to come. A child came running in holding a balloon. It popped, for a second there was silence, then faces registered anger.  "Who the hell gives someone a balloon now?"

"Shabat shalom" we say to each other, shrug, and add, 'hopefully.'

The world as we knew it two weeks ago, will not be the same again - ever.  Maybe this is the beginning of the end.