The Gas Masks
What constitutes an “Israeli”? Somebody that eats hummus and falafel? The short temper but the super-big heart? Safely being able to navigate Tel Aviv traffic? Or…
We are now officially Israelis. My family and I, that is. It took about five years for it to finally hit me—we are really Israelis!
What, might you ask, was the catalyst that finally brought this fact to my attention, even though we have been blessed to live here for almost half a decade? Was it my now fluent command of Hebrew? (not!) Was it the rite of passage of making my very own homemade hummus? Was it navigating Israeli bureaucracy without finally shedding a tear at the end of yet another frustrating and time consuming process? Or perhaps, it was my nonchalant attitude and slight shrug of shoulders as I walked up to my bank to make an urgent deposit—only to find they were on strike for about a week? No, no—it was none of those things. The one thing that truly and absolutely made me aware of my existence as an Israeli, was—drum roll, please—
The gas masks.
Photo courtesy of www.israelmilitary.comWhen the postings began in our local e-mail list about ordering them, I, as a law abiding and conscientious citizen, complied. I duly called, ordered, and paid for delivery, and felt I had done my part in heeding the message of Home Front Command. I had done what I had set out on my list for that morning—bread, cheese, milk, make Dr. appointment, call principal about urgent issue, pick up dry cleaning—and oh, yes! Order gas masks! (That would never have made it on my to-do list in America).
The day finally arrived. Our friendly (yes, there are lots of friendly people in Israel) and courteous postal delivery man arrived bearing a few boxes in all kinds of sizes. I thanked him profusely, set the packages on the table, and rubbed my hands in anticipation, as I would finally get a glimpse of this object which was supposed to make a life and death difference for all Israeli citizens.
Except it was really anti-climactic, because splattered all across the boxes in big hard to miss lettering were dire warnings—and I repeat—dire warnings about not opening the masks until further instruction from Home Front Command, in Hebrew, English, Russian—and yes, Arabic ( I won’t go there). I couldn’t believe it! The sealed boxes sat undisturbed while I myself became more disturbed at the notion of an entire country in a panic trying to figure out how to use these contraptions—olim, such as us, who had not been here during the Gulf War, trying to maneuver ourselves and our loved ones through a process so foreign and so—alien (no pun intended). And then I realized the one element that was missing from this whole picture, and like everything in this holiest of Lands, it was finally revealed to me when I needed clarity.
Emunah. Hashem. These masks are my hishtadlut (effort) —I ordered them , and put them away in my husband’s office, where they will, be’ezrat Hashem, remain in their boxes until the coming of Mashiach. But until Mashiach is revealed, I need to put my trust in Hashem, and not in Home Front Command. Or the newscasters, or any of the other media outlets that constantly proclaim that the end of our Nation is near (chas v’ shalom) or any other such dire prediction in a similar vein. Does the situation look bleak? Sure it does! Is it best to be prepared? Of course! But we’d do better putting our faith in The One who can really protect us, and not only in a bio-chemical resistant gas mask.
The other day while speaking with someone overseas, the usual question made to those of us living in The Holy Land finally sprouted in mid-conversation.
“How are ‘things’ in Israel?”
Cactus things? Weather things? Political things? Anti-ballistic missile things? What ‘things’ ? I responded by saying that things here, at least on the surface, are calm. I go shopping , I go to shiurim, take the kids to the doctor, and go to the bank (when it’s not on strike). Those are the ‘things’ in Israel, and those things are fine. The ‘things’ that CNN reports to breakdown our emunah—well, I steer clear of those ‘things’ because Hashem—and only Hashem can predict the outcome. Why should I worry about ‘things’ in Israel? Instead of wallowing in the endless pool of doubt fed to us by a sensationalist media, I have taken the ‘ignorance is bliss’ approach—and put my faith where it counts—in the Commander in Chief of the whole world, Hashem—for it is He, and only He—who decides how ‘things’ in Israel—and everywhere else—will be.
The other day the phone rang, and one of the kids picked it up. Of course, being that we are in Israel, some recording started in rapid Hebrew. As our son stood listening, my Husband and I (the non-Hebrew speakers) huddled about trying to glean information.
“Nu?” I said, “Who was it?”
Hanging up the phone, and with a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “Something from the Army..”
“THE ARMY?!” I hysterically interjected.
“….something about ordering emergency food, supplies—I don’t know…” he walks away, totally unfazed, while I stand there with pictures of Armageddon running through my head. I look at my child, my Israeli child—American born, replanted in this holy soil, and I watch the first buds of emunah. While I, raised on CNN and popular media, have not yet gotten the message like I thought I had. I, like everyone else, have my setbacks. But I try not to be too hard on myself, for I am a work in progress. Yes, I will continue to do my hishtadlut and follow the orders of Home Front Command as they come. But most importantly, I will do my best to follow His Commands, with as much emunah as possible.
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