Any psychologist can tell you that it is much harder to cope with uncertain circumstances than with the most difficult familiar situation, challenging though it may be. So why, in these very uncertain times, are so many residents of the north choosing to stay home? Superficially, inertia ("You want to go where?") and simple Sabra stubbornness ("I'll be damned if I let Nasrallah decide when I take my vacation!") are reasonable explanations, but Haifans' rationales for remaining home are as varied as the people themselves.
A tour of my neighborhood, N'vei Sha'anan, to ask the (very few) pedestrians why they were here netted some unexpected replies.
Michal is here because "until a missile hits near my house, it's just not that scary. I'm not uptight enough (yet!) to leave my home. Home is not only where your heart is, it's the best, the most comfortable, and it at least feels like the safest place to be." Her daughter Gaya adds, "It's hard to be five and a half, because I want the missiles to stop, but I'm just a little girl - no one will listen to me!"
Naomi, who claims that the booms are the Hizbullah's way of celebrating her recent 50th birthday, as well as keeping her on track vis-a-vis her diet, is mostly here for her cat, Nikita. Nikita gets very nervous at the sound of the siren (she's not the only one! Can't we change the melody?), and only Naomi's loving touch has the power to calm her. Perhaps, instead of instructing citizens to go down to shelters, the Homefront Command should insist on group hugs - next to an inner wall, naturally.
Gilad and Omer, both eleven, agree that the siren itself is much more frightening than anything else - even the occasional booms. Moriah, 15, claims that boredom is the main problem: "My dad is working from home, so I've lost the computer. The malls and shops have been closed. Most of my friends have left town. I'm bored! When all this is over, I expect the Ministry of Education to tack a few days on to the summer vacation, so that I can actually have one."
Stuart, 68, noted that when he went to buy a few items from the supermarket, "an announcement told us that a warning siren was currently in effect and continued 'those who want to go to the shelter please proceed in the direction of the storeroom.' The fact is, I didn't see one person make a move to the shelter and those in the check-out lines were zealously guarding their position in the queue."
So, that brings us back to stubbornness.
Although the Technion and Haifa University have temporarily closed their doors to students, at least one institute of higher learning hasn't missed a beat. Haifa's Hesder yeshiva, Yeshivat Or Vishua, at the city's request, has moved to a new location closer to a public shelter, but the Torah study has continued without a break (note: other local yeshivas and kollels, such as Yeshivat Nachlat HaLeviim and Kollel Ziv HaTorah, have recently returned to Haifa after more than a week's break). The head of Or Vishua, the rabbi of the Technion, Rabbi Dr. Eliyahu Rachamim Zini (also a senior lecturer in Mathematics, Talmud and Jewish Philosophy, as well as a black belt in Karate) offers several reasons for staying in Haifa.
"First of all," he says, "to show that neither Nasrallah nor anyone else can scare us. Psychological warfare is an important part of any battle; something our enemies seem to understand better than we do. It is crucial to project an image of normalcy. Luckily, we are a stiff-necked people." (In Hebrew, "a stiff-necked people," am k'shei oref, is a pun. Oref is the word for both "neck" and "homefront".) Although Rabbi Zini is not a sabra, as he was born in Algeria and lived much of his early life in France, it would not be incorrect to say that he "suffers" from the well-known Israeli malady of stubbornness (called "obstinacy" by our detractors and "determination" by our friends).
He continues: "We need to provide an example and raise the morale of our soldiers by demonstrating that we are strong and are continuing our daily routine. It helps them find the strength to fight and to face constant danger." Those soldiers include students at Or Vishua. About half of the fifth year (22-23-year-old young men) has been called up for emergency army service. The entire third year is already mobilized as part of their compulsory military service. The second year is about to begin theirs.
The remaining reasons for staying in Haifa offered by Rabbi Zini are particularly relevant to those engaged in Torah study:
"Since it is our claim that the merit of studying Torah protects us all, it behooves us to continue studying right here, in the north, to extend the protection of Torah to the community. Finally, those engaged in Torah study must demonstrate their willingness to be on the 'frontlines' and to risk their safety for the good of the community. It goes without saying that the risks in Haifa are much less than those in battle."
Those risks, while small, do exist. While far fewer missiles have fallen in Haifa than in Nahariya or Tzfat, the single attack with the highest number of civilian fatalities occurred here (nine killed on Sunday morning, July 16, at the railroad maintenance workshop).
When asked whether people are aware that the yeshiva is still here, Rabbi Zini smilingly answers, "What's the difference whether people know, as long as God knows."
A young student, 21-year-old Ephraim, notes that students at Or Vishua have cleaned and set up shelters for senior citizens, visited wounded soldiers recuperating at Rambam Hospital, as well as participated in small gatherings intended to raise the morale of Haifa residents; so, at least some people are aware of their continued presence in Haifa.
When asked to give an estimate of the number of citizens remaining in Haifa, Ephraim responds, "What's the difference how many are here? Even if we are a small bunch, we will still be the winners of this conflict. Even if missiles hit Netanya, we will still win."
The decision to stay can be affected by something as simple as what floor you live on. Not too many penthouses in Haifa are tenanted right now. I, on the other hand, live a single flight of stairs above the bomb shelter, which may well be a crucial reason for my continued presence in town. As well as the demands of my cat, Calico Lady. As well as my husband's desire to stay near work.
That, and my rock-bottom conviction that leaving Haifa would be infinitely worse than leaving Anatevka. Isn't Israel supposed to be our permanent home? It certainly has nothing to do with stubbornness. Ask anyone who knows me.
A tour of my neighborhood, N'vei Sha'anan, to ask the (very few) pedestrians why they were here netted some unexpected replies.
Michal is here because "until a missile hits near my house, it's just not that scary. I'm not uptight enough (yet!) to leave my home. Home is not only where your heart is, it's the best, the most comfortable, and it at least feels like the safest place to be." Her daughter Gaya adds, "It's hard to be five and a half, because I want the missiles to stop, but I'm just a little girl - no one will listen to me!"
Naomi, who claims that the booms are the Hizbullah's way of celebrating her recent 50th birthday, as well as keeping her on track vis-a-vis her diet, is mostly here for her cat, Nikita. Nikita gets very nervous at the sound of the siren (she's not the only one! Can't we change the melody?), and only Naomi's loving touch has the power to calm her. Perhaps, instead of instructing citizens to go down to shelters, the Homefront Command should insist on group hugs - next to an inner wall, naturally.
Gilad and Omer, both eleven, agree that the siren itself is much more frightening than anything else - even the occasional booms. Moriah, 15, claims that boredom is the main problem: "My dad is working from home, so I've lost the computer. The malls and shops have been closed. Most of my friends have left town. I'm bored! When all this is over, I expect the Ministry of Education to tack a few days on to the summer vacation, so that I can actually have one."
Stuart, 68, noted that when he went to buy a few items from the supermarket, "an announcement told us that a warning siren was currently in effect and continued 'those who want to go to the shelter please proceed in the direction of the storeroom.' The fact is, I didn't see one person make a move to the shelter and those in the check-out lines were zealously guarding their position in the queue."
So, that brings us back to stubbornness.
Although the Technion and Haifa University have temporarily closed their doors to students, at least one institute of higher learning hasn't missed a beat. Haifa's Hesder yeshiva, Yeshivat Or Vishua, at the city's request, has moved to a new location closer to a public shelter, but the Torah study has continued without a break (note: other local yeshivas and kollels, such as Yeshivat Nachlat HaLeviim and Kollel Ziv HaTorah, have recently returned to Haifa after more than a week's break). The head of Or Vishua, the rabbi of the Technion, Rabbi Dr. Eliyahu Rachamim Zini (also a senior lecturer in Mathematics, Talmud and Jewish Philosophy, as well as a black belt in Karate) offers several reasons for staying in Haifa.
"First of all," he says, "to show that neither Nasrallah nor anyone else can scare us. Psychological warfare is an important part of any battle; something our enemies seem to understand better than we do. It is crucial to project an image of normalcy. Luckily, we are a stiff-necked people." (In Hebrew, "a stiff-necked people," am k'shei oref, is a pun. Oref is the word for both "neck" and "homefront".) Although Rabbi Zini is not a sabra, as he was born in Algeria and lived much of his early life in France, it would not be incorrect to say that he "suffers" from the well-known Israeli malady of stubbornness (called "obstinacy" by our detractors and "determination" by our friends).
He continues: "We need to provide an example and raise the morale of our soldiers by demonstrating that we are strong and are continuing our daily routine. It helps them find the strength to fight and to face constant danger." Those soldiers include students at Or Vishua. About half of the fifth year (22-23-year-old young men) has been called up for emergency army service. The entire third year is already mobilized as part of their compulsory military service. The second year is about to begin theirs.
The remaining reasons for staying in Haifa offered by Rabbi Zini are particularly relevant to those engaged in Torah study:
"Since it is our claim that the merit of studying Torah protects us all, it behooves us to continue studying right here, in the north, to extend the protection of Torah to the community. Finally, those engaged in Torah study must demonstrate their willingness to be on the 'frontlines' and to risk their safety for the good of the community. It goes without saying that the risks in Haifa are much less than those in battle."
Those risks, while small, do exist. While far fewer missiles have fallen in Haifa than in Nahariya or Tzfat, the single attack with the highest number of civilian fatalities occurred here (nine killed on Sunday morning, July 16, at the railroad maintenance workshop).
When asked whether people are aware that the yeshiva is still here, Rabbi Zini smilingly answers, "What's the difference whether people know, as long as God knows."
A young student, 21-year-old Ephraim, notes that students at Or Vishua have cleaned and set up shelters for senior citizens, visited wounded soldiers recuperating at Rambam Hospital, as well as participated in small gatherings intended to raise the morale of Haifa residents; so, at least some people are aware of their continued presence in Haifa.
When asked to give an estimate of the number of citizens remaining in Haifa, Ephraim responds, "What's the difference how many are here? Even if we are a small bunch, we will still be the winners of this conflict. Even if missiles hit Netanya, we will still win."
The decision to stay can be affected by something as simple as what floor you live on. Not too many penthouses in Haifa are tenanted right now. I, on the other hand, live a single flight of stairs above the bomb shelter, which may well be a crucial reason for my continued presence in town. As well as the demands of my cat, Calico Lady. As well as my husband's desire to stay near work.
That, and my rock-bottom conviction that leaving Haifa would be infinitely worse than leaving Anatevka. Isn't Israel supposed to be our permanent home? It certainly has nothing to do with stubbornness. Ask anyone who knows me.