Human Writes: Who Am I?

A selfie with history | Non-Fiction | Fresh Soup

Image by francescoch

A couple of weeks ago, my neighbor, Eli, came over to sit on my balcony with me. Eli is one of the happiest, most optimistic people I know, but that evening he was as pale as a ghost and looked in a state of despair and confusion. A very close friend of his had just been informed that his 21-year-old son, a soldier doing his compulsory military service in Gaza, had been killed. Eli, who used to be a combat officer and had three children – one of them close to army age – looked destroyed. We didn’t talk much. Mostly, we sat in silence. At some point, when the silence became intolerable, he got up, said he had to make dinner for the kids, and left.

Less than twenty hours later, Eli and I met again, at his wife’s birthday. The party had been planned long before the tragedy, and after a year filled with grief and death, and it didn’t even cross anyone’s mind to cancel. It was at a bar with a view of the sea, the beers were cold, and there was 70s dance music playing, all of which helped us forget the Israeli hostages who’ve been languishing for more than a year underground in Gaza, and the Palestinian children being bombed above ground. The sea breeze caressed my face. It was that time of year when the sun feels good and nothing is too hot or too cold. The Bee Gees sang “Staying Alive,” and for a moment, I felt the joy washing over me, leaving no room for fear or pain or guilt.