The alarm clock beeped incessantly.
Obnoxiously.
It was Friday morning and I felt shattered as I had worked very late the night before. I could see it was still was dark outside. In denial, I pulled the warm covers over my head, suddenly remembering there was a method to this madness;
I had a mitzvah to do.
This thought energized me. Soon, my husband and I were in the car, a full pot of steaming coffee (our consolation prize) between us.
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Election day here feels like a national holiday. Schools are out, offices are closed and many stores are shut.
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A siren wails. We stop and stand in silence.
Children close their math books,their small chairs scraping the floor as they stand. Doctors put down their stethoscopes and pause. Cab drivers stop on the highways. Busses screech to a halt, passengers put down their Sudoku, fold their newspapers, close their cell phones. TV commercials hawking the driest diapers flicker off.
Sirens wail from Eilat to Kiryat Shemona and from Tel Aviv’s bustling bursa stock exchange to the dusty cow sheds in the Jezriel Valley. We stop. We think. We remember. We cry.
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