Eilon, Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Hello friends
Yesterday the fighting slackened displaced by an eerie calm. People somehow assumed that Hezbollah would follow the lead of the general suspension of bombing, and life imitated normalcy in such places as Haifa. Someone went to Nahariya and discovered that the three shops he intended on patronizing were open for business. He availed himself of the reduced bus service to Nahariya but the scheduled bus back was canceled, forcing him to search for an expensive taxi. .
We continued our part-time work schedule as we have been doing throughout this crisis. In the bottom land orchard a Katyusha was unearthed from the softer soil and displayed like a trophy of a king Chinook salmon rather than the blunt-nosed southern Katyusha. [It now reposes in our office trailer, where you are welcome to visit].
Although there was a cessation of the type of aerial bombing that has earned Israel so much criticism and rancor, there was a constant aerial presence in our area. Throughout the day you had to strain for signs of hostility in our region. The sound of distant muted explosions was seldom heard.
The entire community, in an outpouring of grief and sympathy, gathered at the village cemetery for the funeral of a sixteen-year old boy who died on Saturday from injuries incurred in an ATV road mishap. His family had vacated Eilon for the week, seeking safety and sanity at a southern resort. Hundreds of people attended the burial, accompanied by a military escort in full battle regalia that loitered around its patrol vehicle. There was an uneasiness about holding a funeral with hundreds of mourners attending, and we were requested to leave the area immediately after its conclusion. The only sound, beyond the weeping of family, or the vexing cascade of wails and moaning of an inconsolable grandmother, was the scuffing of the sandy surface, the crunch upon the gravelly paths, and the snapping of desiccated twigs underfoot.
The funeral was held rather late, and got underway in the shadows of late afternoon. From graveside your average summer haze purled and faded into a fuzzy southern hillside. Shortly after we wended our way through the exiting throngs, the artillery resumed its bellowing. The neighborhood dogs barked in the transient moment between blows and the landscape fell prey again to our emerging night-time uncertainties.
Love-Barry