An awful anniversary

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Something happened this week and also this week in 1991 that awakened a lot of A words for ABC Wednesday.
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Photo from the Home Front Command website

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How many of you could use the following words in one paragraph? --

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attack, anxiety, anger, atropine auto-injector, anti-anthrax

antidote, air-raid sirens, airtight, absurd, awful

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Fortunately, I think that Israelis over a certain age are the only ones in the world for whom these words push a button.

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It was in mid January, 20 years ago, that the First Gulf War started for us.

The first night a whole salvo of SCUD missiles were fired into Israel from Iraq.

In the next month and a half, a total of 39 SCUDs exploded.

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The worst was that Saddam Hussein threatened that the warheads would carry nerve gas, anthrax, etc.

The worst was worrying about my kids.

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Usually the air-raid sirens came at night and gave us a few seconds to run to our "sealed room," take cover under a table, put on the awful gas masks, and wait to hear our windows rattle and the 4-storey apartment building shake as the missiles exploded around us. (Our family lived near Tel Aviv then.)

Imagine, sealing the doors with masking tape, as if that would save us. ha!

Sometimes we had to wait a whole hour until the army checked the Scuds that had fallen and then sounded the all-clear siren, meaning no toxic agents in the warheads.

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For the sake of the kids I tried to act brave and cultivate coping skills during that dreadful time.

I really surprised myself yesterday when the TV news showed a few seconds of historical film.

Suddenly hearing the siren wail and seeing Scuds explode and set fire to houses set off an uncharacteristic reaction: I burst out crying!

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Apparently all that anxiety had been sitting just below the surface for these 20 years.

It was good to let it out.

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Another Gulf War story

The ubiquitous air raid siren tower

Thanks to all who read yesterday's post and to you who wrote heartfelt comments.

Here is another story from January or February 1991 about the Gulf War.

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I was working then as the Hebrew-English translator of a foreign embassy [which shall remain anonymous] in Ramat Gan. Very early one morning the First Secretary called me at home and said, "Ms. Dina, come quickly please! The embassy was partially destroyed by a Scud missile last night! We all have to work quickly to salvage the papers and equipment." (He meant quickly, before nightfall, when the next salvo would undoubtedly be unleashed on us.)

I came and found that a Scud had exploded in the street, damaging or destroying all the surrounding houses. Our roof had caved in, right onto the Ambassador's desk. What luck that no one lived in that house at night!

The three Embassy personnel and their wives and I started packing up whatever was not broken. Israel's Foreign Ministry would bring a shipping container to put the stuff in, to store until we could find a new place to rent.

His Excellency, in his suit and tie, fielded questions from a front yard full of reporters. He had been keeping a neutral stance toward Iraq till then. The foreign reports kept asking him, "So, Mr. Ambassador, how do you feel toward Iraq NOW?"

Even I was allowed to give one interview, because it was a TV crew from my hometown, Chicago. They were expecting and hoping I'd shout some expletives at Saddam Hussein or shake my fist at the Iraqis or break down and cry, or something dramatic. Sorry to disappoint them. I said something like . . . I was not about to let anger take over inside me, and that all we wanted was to get on with our lives.

My son was on leave from the army that weekend and he came to help too. He found some jagged, twisted pieces of metal from the Scud. Souvenirs from a crazy dictator.

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We had been awake and working a long time. No one thought about food or drink. I was so deeply touched when the Ambassador of Japan came to convey his concern, carrying several boxes of hot pizza! Hawaiian pizza, with pineapple! God bless him. The kind of humility that makes a man great.

We ate, made an end to the packing, and each of us went home, each carrying his government-issued cardboard box with a shoulder strap that everyone had to carry with him during the war. It contained firstaid against chemical warfare--a syringe that you could poke in your thigh (right through your jeans), some kind of powder to put on affected skin, and the gas mask. Oh, and a rubber tube which could be inserted through the mask if you needed to drink water.

Household hint: to stop the gas mask glass from steaming up and obstructing your vision, rub the inside with a raw potato.
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Good-for-nothing gas masks

"Good-for-nothing gas masks"?! Surely you were hoping for a happier topic for my "G" contribution to ABC Wednesday. But after reading a disturbing article in today's Jerusalem Post, I really must vent (pardon the pun).

In his report, handed to the acting Speaker of the Knesset yesterday, State Comptroller Lindenstrauss warned that
1. Gas masks soon to be distributed by the IDF to civilians across the country are not fit for use.
2. The state has not been able to find masks for purchase in overseas markets that would protect infants and children from chemical attack.
3. New masks have not been purchased due to years of bickering between the Defense Ministry and the Treasury over where the budget will come from.
4. Masks currently under development have been found to constitute a mortal danger to their users.
5. The IDF (the army) has no real plan how to distribute masks to us.
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Do you remember the first Gulf War in 1991, when Iraq invaded Kuwait? Well, Saddam Hussein also fired 39 Scud missiles on Israel and he threatened that the warheads would carry nerve gas, anthrax, etc. It was the worst month and a half of my life, mostly from worrying where my kids would be if and when the worst happened. Usually the air raid sirens came at night and gave us a few seconds to run to our "sealed room," take cover under a table, put on the awful gas masks, and wait to hear our windows rattle and the 4-storey apartment building shake as the missiles exploded around us. (Our family lived near Tel Aviv then.) Imagine, sealing the doors with masking tape, as if that would save us. ha!
Sometimes we had to wait an hour until the army checked the Scuds that had fallen and then sounded the all-clear siren, meaning no chemical warheads.
Did you ever try breathing through a gas mask during tense moments? Maybe leaders of every country should try it for an hour.
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So maybe today's State Comptroller report is a blessing in disguise. I, for one, do not really want my old refurbished gas mask returned to me.