"Mom, I'm going with dad to check out the Katyusha, wanna come?" I ask my mother in this weirdest of questions.
Mom looks up from her book, confused. "What?"
"We're going to take pictures of the Katusha," I repeat. I want to ask her again if she wants to join us but I burst out laughing at this completely insane conversation. Mom joins me.
Dad is running over as my laughing turns to shrieking that could be interpreted either way. "What's wrong?" he asks alarmed.
In between my laughs (I'm already tearing), I manage to say, "I just asked mom if she wants to come see the rocket..."
Dad looks at me funny, making sure I'm indeed laughing.
We go out. The streets are empty as no one yet believes this quiet is for real. I'm not sure either, but I hope. Statesmen and politicians may not think it a good move to have a cease fire as of yet, but I have my own selfish reasons to want it, as I'm sure millions of Lebanese and Israelis feel the same.
Well, my hometown has been quite efficient. They've already disarmed the missile (remember it was a dud), hauled it away, covered the hole and patched it up. Nothing to see. Like it didn't happen.
But there are painful reminders of another rocket that fell nearby, and this one exploded. There was no siren before it fell. The wounded from that attack are still in the hospital. One was in critical condition and I want to find out what happened to him.
My parents and I decide to continue and have a little walk. Almost no one is walking. Only a few cars go by, their occupants look at us like we're crazy. Maybe we are.
On the way back we stop by the corner store and get an ice-cream each. The grocer tells us of the Katyusha we went to see. He was here and had seen it. The exact same story our neighbor had told us.
We continue to talk a bit with the grocer, no one else is in the store, then walk back home eating our ice-cream. Back in the war zone. A quiet day that no one trusts. War zone normalcy? Is there such a thing?
Categories: personal, Israel, Lebanon