Jumping Over Shadows
Page 19
Israeli relatives call to see whether we are freaked out. Does my daughter have second thoughts now about volunteering for the IDF? Does she want to fly home? That hasn’t occurred to either of us.
A few American Jewish friends are envious that we’re here, but I’m not sure scrambling to the second-floor landing constitutes supporting Israel. Is presence support? Service definitely is, and dealing with these air raids feels like a validation of my daughter’s decision not only to support Israel but to serve.
Later that evening, we sit in front of our flat-screen TV and watch, like most Israelis, the World Cup soccer game between Germany and Brazil. Thankfully, my daughter appreciates a good soccer game like I do, and this will turn out to be the most astounding one of the tournament, as the German team beats the Brazilians seven to one. We cheer, we hop around, we enjoy the frivolous joy.
During halftime, the news comes on. The IDF has launched Operation Protective Edge, calling up thousands of reservists in another war against Hamas in Gaza. I am thankful I don’t know enough Hebrew to understand all the details. It is the kind of situation when the talking heads on TV rattle on about what reportedly happened and what might happen, since they don’t know what has actually happened. I would rather not know their opinions and projections. I’m dealing with the reality. I need to read up on what to do if I find myself on a bus, in a car, or in an open area when the air raid sirens go off.
Tel Aviv, July 9, 2014
The sirens wail again at 8:30 a.m. I’m in my bra, my mouth full of toothpaste, rushing to make another 9:00 a.m. appointment with the Israeli bureaucracy. I struggle into a T-shirt, and we gather on the landing with our neighbors. Everybody is in pajamas, loungewear, or bathrobes. One guy even brings along his coffee mug.
All-clear sirens don’t sound in Tel Aviv; rather, the neighbors shuffle off after the Iron Dome’s interception boom. Later, as we hurry along the streets, I scan shops and buildings. Where to find shelter if the sirens wail now?
Was it like this for my grandparents living through World War II in Czechoslovakia? For Nana in Paris and then in the French countryside? Enduring years of sirens, hours in bomb shelters? Is this what it means to fit war into your life?
That evening, another Israeli friend calls. “You are not worried about the situation?”
“No,” I say.
Not that it’s not serious. People farther south have only fifteen seconds to find cover and have suffered years of these assaults. I wonder how they ever take a shower.
A young Israeli friend messages me: How’s your bomb experience? Not a good time to come visit Israel!
Perhaps I am too stoic, but I think it is actually a good time to be in Israel. As Harry said on the phone after the first air attack, “Now you know, and she knows, what the reality is.”
That night I keep my pajamas on, despite the dead heat of the Israeli summer.
Tel Aviv, July 10, 2014
This morning, sirens interrupt the routine at 7:55 a.m. The booms sound closer than before. One neighbor jokes, “Hamas wants to make sure we get up on time.”
I have a favorite café where I wait, read, and write while my daughter has appointments at the nearby Jewish Agency or the Ministry of Defense or, as now, an interview with the IDF about why she wants to join the ranks of Israeli soldiers. The café has a pleasant atmosphere: tile floors and floor-to-ceiling windows, little marble tables and Viennese-style bentwood chairs, thick coffee and buttery pastries, the honking thoroughfare of Eliezer Kaplan Street and the blazing sun outside, and a stairwell that leads down to a basement where one can wait out air raids.
As we part, I ask my daughter, “Do you know what to do when sirens sound again?”
She nods and is off.
Two hours later she returns, beaming, as usual.
“So, what did they ask?”
“Why I wanted to join.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said that at the end of my life, if I am asked, ‘So, you say your Jewish identity is important to you, but what did you actually do for the Jewish people?’ I can say, ‘I helped defend the Jewish homeland.’”
Tears squeeze up my eyes. I blink and look out at the Tel Aviv traffic.
My daughter is already studying the menu. The highlights in her hair shimmer golden.
“Wow,” I say. “What did they say to that?”
Not taking her eyes off the menu, she says, “They smiled and said, ‘Yoffi.’” Beautiful.
NOTES
[1], page 96: Die Vertreibung der deutschen Bevölkerung aus der Tschechoslowakei, Band 1 (München: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 2004), 342.
Dear Reader,
A writer writes to be read, and there is nothing more precious to me as a writer than to hear from a reader. I would love to hear how Jumping Over Shadows resonated with you and to answer your questions. Feel free to e-mail me at annettegendler@gmail.com, sign up for my newsletter on my website, www.annettegendler.com, and comment on my blog. Many of my ideas for blog posts come from readers’ comments and questions, and having a conversation with my readers is great validation for me.
Lastly, if you could do me the favor of leaving a review of Jumping Over Shadows on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I’d greatly appreciate it.
Thank you for reading and for connecting,
Annette
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book is really the fault of Pinckney Benedict, who, during our discussion of my MFA thesis remarked that, “The story of the past is only interesting in as far as it resonates in the present.” Without his urging, I would not have embarked on telling my own story; I found Resi’s and my grandparents’ story interesting enough.
A big thank you to my friend Helen Valenta, who cheered me on when I wanted to give up, who yelled at me when I didn’t want to undertake the all-important rewrite, and who also happens to be a fierce and fun editor who proofread the manuscript more than once.
Thank you to my friend Barbara Jester, who swiftly applied her sharp editorial and German-spelling skills to the first pages version of the book.
Thank you to Harriet Cooper, Jean Fulton, Elizabeth Garber, and Jessica Handler, who read early drafts and gave me excellent advice.
Many thanks also to my writing group, especially Anne Jay, Julie Dearborn, and Miho Kinnas, who put up with reviewing renditions of various chapters.
Thank you to my friend Miriam Mörsel Nathan, who shares my fascination with the past and the memories we inherited.
Thank you to Erin Reel for her reassurance when I doubted myself and to Brooke Warner for her guidance.
Thank you to Hillary Jordan and Maxim Shrayer for their staunch support during my search for a publisher.
Thank you to the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts for being heaven on earth and for providing the space, more than once, to live with this work. Since my first residence there, all files for this book lived in a folder labeled “VCCA.”
Thank you to the Hemingway Foundation of Oak Park for providing me with a dreamy attic studio for a year, and to the Writers Workspace in Chicago where I found the quiet and industrious presence of other writers most conducive to attempting a daunting rewrite.
Thank you to Natural Bridge, Under the Sun, Kaleidoscope, Tablet Magazine, and the Wall Street Journal, where parts of this memoir were first published as essays.
Thank you to my grandparents, Emil Karl Berndt and Hanne Berndt (born Rößler), who preserved the past for me to reap—without them this book would not have been possible.
Thank you to my parents, who raised me to trust myself, and my brother and sister, who joined some of my travels to the Czech Republic, and who are always there for me.
Thank you to my daughter, who lent her keen and fresh editorial eye to the rewritten version, and who let me feature her in the epilogue.
Thank you to my sons, who had to be quiet and watch many a movie while Mom was writing, and who gave swift, hit-the-nail-on-the-head advice when needed.
The biggest thank you goes to my husband Harry, without whom I would not be who I am, and without whom this story would not exist. Thank you for letting me tell our story.
About the Author
ANNETTE GENDLER is a writer and photographer. Her work has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, Tablet Magazine, Bella Grace, and Artful Blogging, among other publications. She regularly writes for the Washington Independent Review of Books and the Jewish Book Council. After fifteen years in consulting, she left the corporate world in 2008 and has been teaching memoir writing at StoryStudio Chicago and handling communications for her children’s former school. She lives in Chicago with her husband and three children. Visit her at www.annettegendler.com.
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She Writes Press is an independent publishing company founded to serve women writers everywhere.
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