Trees in the park after a Pride party. The parade was scheduled for Friday, but cancelled because of the war. The park has a public bomb shelter.
By my five-year-old. “Hazakot” are air raid sirens. “Miklat” is bomb shelter. The “sweety man” was a man giving out candy with pride flags stuck inside. I let the kids have two each.
My kitchen windowsill last week — chamomile, oregano, chilies, mint that I propagated, basil.
The same windowsill after a ballistic missile hit a couple of blocks away.
Tel Aviv.
One night, I forget which because every day feels like a week and night a year, we were told to go to the shelter at midnight and did not get the all-clear until missiles fell at four-thirty. We lay outside on the ground while we waited for the siren and watched the sky.
Distracting them from the booms in the public bomb shelter with Gabby’s Dollhouse and crisps. We started with just an emergency bag (first aid kit, torch, water, snacks, dog food, etc.). On day two we added a pillow. On day four, blankets. On day five, an inflatable mattress…
… until our generous friends invited us to stay at their flat, with a bomb shelter room inside. I brought the kids’ bedsheets and their favourite toy to help them feel at home.
I’ve been thinking about you, Rachel! These pictures are really telling a story of a surreal parenting experience. And that solar system picture 🥺