Entry 1 – Sunday, October 22, 2023
My family left Tel Aviv about a week ago, as decided by the Canadian Ambassador to Israel, who sent all diplomatic families with children under 16 out of country, under an evacuation order to be revisited in 30 days.
They left on Sunday or Monday and maybe arrived in Canada on Tuesday. Days are not my specialty at the moment.
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced as profound and sustained sense of relief as I have since they left. Seeing their smiling, peaceful faces in the boring and beautiful suburbs of Toronto is almost indescribably uplifting for me.
Grandmas, grandpa, uncles, aunties, cousins and friends have welcomed them with warm, kind, loving embraces.
On my end, being in an empty home alone feels extraordinarily quiet. Going from an active family of four with two little ones, to a family of one feels a bit like a sound and energy vacuum. But at least they’re safe.
I’ve been working so much that there hasn’t been too much time for reflection. Perhaps a good thing. When I reflect, my head usually spins and my gut wrenches.
The news is brutal. The children, the pain, is tough to watch as a father. The Tel Aviv reality is normalish, which also somehow feels upside down. Iced coffees and parks and poke bowls, mixed with posters of the missing and taken.
I feel best at home or at the office. Where I can design at least some of the context of my experience. Bomb sirens go off and I play records. I sweep the floors, water the plants and even put up all our pictures on the walls. In forced anticipation for my family’s return into this comfortable apartment. Hoping, maybe impossibly, that we might be able to pick up where we left off when / if they return. To a country that will never be the same. To a city that we were just beginning to settle into, that now feels like one of the world’s possible next targets.
I have several go bags packed. I used to laugh off the idea of go bags, now I wake up early to pack and repack them. I have a pouch, backpack, two duffel bags and two suitcases ready next to the door. I carry my passport in case, God forbid, I’m not at home and need to leave. This all seems, officially and unofficially, unlikely, but not impossible.
Dalia says Aleksander heard an ambulance on their second day back home and told her they need to ‘go to the room’ (aka bomb shelter). My colleagues tear up when discussing their kids and how they’re doing. Several co-workers have been to several funerals. Gazan children go to sleep and sometimes wake up, or not, under the rubble of their homes.
Feelings are big.
And here I happen to be, just off the epicentre of these big, global feelings.
So far, mostly in exhausted but stable solitude.
Will my family come back or will I get picked up with my bags before then? Time will tell.
And then I’ll tell you.
Entry 2 – Saturday, November 3, 2023
I’ve entered into the Heart of Solitude.
It’s been three weeks since my family left.
The first was spent working long days and closely in touch with them. The second was a hollowing out. Then, since missing Aleksander’s birthday last weekend, I’ve mostly been inside out.
My home and soul are quiet. Too quiet. I seem to be living almost entirely in their absence. I tear up when I see pictures of my kids. My voice wobbles when I speak with them over the phone. I look at parents with their kids here and stare somewhat blankly.
I got bad news this week then good. It looks like we won’t be separated beyond mid-December. Six more weeks of solitude. It’s not a great amount of time but at least it’s not indefinite.
I’m hoping that, somehow, I may be able to see them before then.
Meanwhile, I flip channels on the couch, do squats with water jugs in the living room, go to African mass on Saturday mornings, play music and do my job.
It’s a very bizarre place to be outside of my solitude. November mornings here are sublime for their light and weather. People drink coffee on patios and play with their babies on blankets in the park. Gaza is about 70kms away. A 45 minute drive on a Canadian highway.
If you go out for food at about 8pm, something like a third of people have guns. I dare not talk about current events with almost anyone because I don’t really know anyone and I definitely don’t know what anyone is thinking about current events. But I can feel the rawness and anger in the air. More often bordering on righteous rage.
So I try to keep to myself. Sheltering back in my Solitude. Dreaming and praying of when I’ll see my family again. And maybe more importantly, as time goes on, when we might be able to settle back into a normal life. You know, no bomb sirens, or life altering Hezbollah speeches. Just grocery trips and tying shoe laces.
Breakfast and snuggles and daycare and kicking the ball in the hallway. Kissing my sweet baby’s cheeks and making him smile. Holding my wife’s hand and helping her with the boys.
Regular life in a regular place.
Entry 3 – Tuesday, November 14
The thirtieth Day of Solitude.
BUT IM FLYING HOME ON FRIDAY FOR A VISIT SO WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE ANYMORE??!!!?!?!
LEEETTTTTSSSSS GOOOOOOO
Dad In The World 