Irit Feingold ’06

Posted on November 17, 2023

I closed my eyes and I remembered that on Friday, the day before the very nature of our lives changed, we went to the beach.

After a week of nights that weren’t nights, I closed my eyes and I remembered us at the beach.

I remembered the feeling of slick shards of seashells on the soles of my feet with every step that we walked. I remembered the weight of the sand that Ayala-Almaz, my daughter, took from the shallow water and spread on my arms and thighs. I remembered the whisper of the waves and the quiet hush that took over everything when I dove into the water as the three of us entered the depths. I remembered the deep sigh that escaped from me when I saw David and Ayala-Almaz coming out of the water, sitting themselves down on the blanket that we spread out and gobbling up watermelon covered in sand. I remembered the pleasant sun of early October that caressed me and helped me believe that maybe there’s some order to my private universe. I remembered all of this and, finally, I succeeded in sleeping.

I’ve already succeeded in managing without David for a month; he’s in the reserves and I am succeeding at managing. There are so many around me who have worse situations than I do, so the proportion [of my burden] or guilt helps me to hold on most of the time. My time during the days moves in small, if extreme, movements. I am solely responsible for Ayala-Almaz now, and every decision that I make feels like it’s life or death. Usually, I hope that she’ll make the decision instead of me. “So, we’ll make hot porridge? Yes! You wouldn’t prefer a pancake? Yes! So, yes to a pancake? No! So, back to porridge? Porr…no…porr.” In the end, she throws it all on the floor anyway. “And what do you say to the idea of going back home to sleep? Even if there’s no shelter? You’ll forgive me if there’s a siren and we don’t have any place to hide?” I’m not even able to mention the real fear of sleeping alone at home after October 7th.

The need to cry the cries of the hostages burns within me. Since this mess began, I haven’t been able to get to the tent encampment protest in Tel Aviv, and when I heard that there was a demonstration in Jerusalem, I felt compelled to go. It wasn’t pleasant for me to ask my mother to watch Ayelet-Almaz again, so I decided to bring her with me.

We got there at the end of a packed day, but she became so curious about the event. We stood on the side of the first crowd, Reform rabbis made Havdalah, and it was nice to hear the voices and to feel part of something spiritual. At some point, Ayala-Almaz saw the poster with the photos of all thirty kidnapped children. Photos of faces, one next to another.

“Oy! Dim! Dim!” [part of the word for children, “yeladim”]. She pointed at the poster and waved her hands excitedly!! I kissed her forehead and said to her that we’ll all be happy to meet the children. “ Dim! Dim! Come!” She put her hands up and signaled them to come to her. “Dim! Take mah-mah!” [baby talk for ‘pacifier’ in Hebrew]. She took her pacifier out of her mouth and pointed it towards the photos. I kissed her again and told her that she is a kind child and a good friend.

At the same time, I felt tremendous distress. I understood that I had exposed her to too much. That suddenly the pressure of recent weeks, the fears and worries that surrounded me had faces and significance. She figured out the puzzle. Now she understands.

We left and I was sure that she would doze off in the car in a second, but the whole drive, she wept bitterly. At first, I thought that many that’s how all of the children in Gaza are crying now. But after a few moments, I understood that she was crying the cries of the mothers. My daughter has a special soul; I need to protect her more.