A Day at the Park

Monday, January 5, 2009 at 8:30pm

As the daily family life of booboos and bandaids, runny noses and lego cities continues here in our homes, the war on terrorism in Gaza continues and the threat of the dreaded suicide bombings and civilian murders seeps deeper and deeper into every grain of our happy existence here. The fact is that it’s been a part of our lives for… ever since I can remember really. We go about our days doing what families do, carpool, birthday parties, playing in the playground, smiling, laughing and living, all while subconsciously taking in our surroundings and analyzing and assessing for danger. Our eyes dart to every Arab street worker, every personal bag left a little too far from its owner, and we make cautious eye contact with every Arab stranger we pass. That’s life under threat. Where suicide bombers kill us while we ride the public bus, where a bag left unattended could be a bomb packed with screws waiting to explode in a playground.

A couple of days ago I took my kids to the playground, my four youngest dollies. Moshe was heroically standing on the seesaw with his arms out as it went up and down, up and down, with my four year old daughter ZC on the other side, giggling innocently, looking up at her big brother. I sat on a bench nearby, squeamishly peeking from the corner of my eye, holding my breath. I told him to sit down before he hurts himself. The baby was sitting on a spinning toy which makes me dizzy to look at, with my 7 year old daughter Peanut (yes, we call her peanut, what can I say) slowly turning, smiling proudly at her baby, saying, “Yaldah gdolah! (Big girl!)” in her usual sing song voice. I was chatting with other mothers; there were about six of us in this tiny little playground. Everything in Israel is tiny; there is not a whole lot of space here in a country the size of New Jersey.

I was scanning the park as I usually do, keeping track of where each of my kids were, and listening to the other mommies talking about their brothers in Gaza and husbands in the reserves, who a few days ago received their orders to report to the bases. They were passing out little scraps of paper with the full names of their soldiers so that we would know who we’re praying for. The scraps were landing on my lap as my attention was on a white plastic grocery bag sitting in the corner of the park. I pointed and asked calmly, “Shel mi ze hasakit? (Who’s bag is that)?” Everyone turned and squinted to see the bag sitting up against the wall, looking ordinary in every way, except that it was not connected to us or anyone around us. The mothers were frowning now, eyes darting from one to another, everyone asking at the same time, “Who’s bag is that? WHO’S bag IS that????” Some were calling their kids over, away from the threatening bag. We discussed the bag for a few seconds, which looked so average, and the lump inside it, and what we thought could be in it. Nobody though, was willing to look inside it.

The kids were by our sides now and to our great relief, the armed security guard from the little mall behind us was walking casually our way. We flailed our arms and pointed at the little bad bag. He glanced over in the direction of it and instinctively reached for his gun which was swung over his back and pulled it more within reach, darting his eyes in all directions… He was motioning for us to back away while asking not-so-calmly, “Who’s bag is this?” Then a little louder… “WHO’S BAG IS THIS??!!”

Behind him, running down the path, we could see a young mother waving and smiling, and yelling, “It’s mine! It’s mine! Don’t diffuse my eggs!”.

She was smiling, embarrassed. It was her groceries, she had been there just a few minutes before with her chubby toddler and had forgotten her bag. The guard swung his gun to his back again and we were all laughing. The kids had regained their positions on the playground and it was as if nothing had happened just a few moments before. The guard looked at her with relief and smiled, wagging a finger at her. He walked on. We said thank you in his direction but he didn’t even turn around. It was all run of the mill, just a day at the park.

When we arrived back home and I sat in the bathroom waiting for the bath to fill, my Peanut walked in and began getting ready to get in. She asked why everyone was so relieved today at the park, after all this sort of thing happens all the time. I looked at her as she answered her own question. She slipped into the warm water. “The Arabs are angry now. They will probably try to hurt us more soon.” I nodded.

Then she said, “I need toys in here Mommy.”