Friday, October 6, 2023

Robin could do little more than smile. English might be the second language of Israel. English might be required teaching in all the public schools. It wasn’t required teaching in the Yeshivas, though, let alone in the schools for Orthodox girls.

The girl sitting across from her had apparently never studied it. She didn’t even seem to speak Hebrew all that well. Not that Robin did either. The family seemed to speak Russian at home. Perhaps the entire ultra-Orthodox community of Ofakim spoke mostly Russian.

It was strange to be staying with relatives she’d never known. It was even stranger to be attending the bar mitzvah of a boy she hadn’t even known existed until a few months ago. She was sharing a room with a second cousin — or maybe she was a third cousin — a girl who appeared to be twelve or thirteen.

At least Robin had an air mattress to herself. Robin’s older sisters were sharing a double air mattress in another house with a different set of relatives. Robin’s father was sharing a room with the bar mitzvah boy himself.

Space was tight, but there were no hotels in Ofakim. They could’ve stayed in nearby Be’er Shiva, which boasted several fine hotels, but the family would have never heard of it. Because the family was Orthodox, driving or riding in a motor vehicle was forbidden on the Sabbath. Hence, they were staying in the homes of families in the local community. They would walk with them to the synagogue in the morning.

It had been an interesting week! Robin and the rest of her family saw all of the famous tourist sites in Israel. It had been an exhausting trip, and now that she was finally adapting to the seven-hour time change, she’d soon be heading back to the States where she’d have to adapt all over again.

She’d always wanted to visit Israel but hadn’t anticipated the profound feelings she had visiting places that were thousands of years old. The Western Wall in particular elicited a feeling of holiness she didn’t understand.

Mike had been an outstanding tour guide. He took them to spots most tourists didn’t visit. Each morning, he treated them to a phenomenal breakfast of typical Middle Eastern fare. He took them to a variety of outstanding restaurants for lunches and dinners.

No matter where they went, however, there were signs of protest. Sometimes, they had to detour from their planned route or even skip some things. Even in Rehovot, where they’d stayed, there were protests every evening. Jews of all stripes were filling the streets, carrying signs and shouting slogans. They were expressing their strong opposition to what the far-right government called judicial reform. As Robin had come to understand it, should Netanyahu succeed in establishing the power to overrule the courts, Israel might as well not have an independent judiciary.

For the Arens family, it was one thing to see all of this on TV from the comfort of their apartment in New York. It was an entirely different matter to actually witness the protests in person. They’d participated in the Black Lives Matter protests in 2020, but those were nothing compared to what was happening in Israel.

Their time for sightseeing was far too short. Mike dropped them off in Ofakim in the late afternoon. As he drive them there, He explained a little of the history of the town on the way there as gleaned from sources such as Wikipedia:

Ofakim was originally a Bedouin village known as Khirbat Futais, consisting of little more than mud huts along the Beersheba-Gaza highway. Because the Bedouin tribes were often in conflict with each other, the Ottomans built a military fort, just outside of the village. The Ottomans controlled Palestine from the mid-sixteenth century until their defeat at the hands of the British in World War I. The Balfour Declaration of 1917 established the intent for a Jewish homeland in Palestine. Its implementation gained impetus in the aftermath of World War II and the Holocaust.

The British developed plans for partitioning Palestine into separate Jewish and Arab states, but left large holdings of Jewish land within the proposed Arab state, and vice versa. The United Nations partition plan of 1947 attempted to fix that, but the resulting states weren’t even contiguous and the control of Jerusalem was left unresolved. Because the Bedouins were nomads and had few permanent villages, much of their territory was treated as unsettled land and given to the new Jewish state. The fort at Patish Futais became a key target for the Israeli Defense Force in the Israeli war of independence, in 1948.

This history was very different from the one Robin had learned about in school — one in which the Jews had fought for land that was given to them by God. She was coming to realize that the Jews themselves were refugees from other lands — survivors of Germany’s holocaust, victims of Russian persecution and exiles of Northern Africa and of other Arab lands.

Right or wrong, the partition happened 75 years ago and four generations of Israelis and Palestinians had been born since then. Robin couldn’t fathom why some still challenged Israel’s very right to exist.

Mike continued:

Ofakim was established in the mid 1950’s on the site where the Bedouin village had once stood. At first, it was populated by Jewish refugees from Morocco and Tunisia. Refugees expelled from Egypt during the 1956 Suez crisis joined their North African neighbors, followed by exiles of Iran, India and Romania.

 Later, a large contingent of Ethiopian Jews settled there as well. By the early twenty-first century, nearly a third of the residents were immigrants from the former Soviet Union, more than half of whom were ultra-Orthodox.

Apparently, Robin’s family was among that contingent.

When the Arens clan arrived in Ofakim, preparations for the coming Shabbat were well underway and the men were getting ready to walk to the synagogue to recite the Friday afternoon and evening prayers. Although women weren’t excluded, they were too busy preparing the Shabbat dinner to attend. Their daughters were expected to help out in the kitchen, but Robin was a guest. Instead, she was relegated to sitting alone with her cousin while her father went off to pray.

Unable to communicate effectively and with nothing better to do, Robin opened her smartphone and stared at the screen for a minute, trying to decide what to do. She thought briefly about calling her boyfriend, now that Larry was in Israel too, but realized he might be busy and unable to talk.

In the meantime, her cousin started frantically tapping her wrist. She wasn’t wearing a watch, but Robin got the message and nodded her head. The Orthodox didn’t use anything electronic on the sabbath, so she’d have to power down her smartphone before sunset, which was soon.

The Torah said nothing about not using electricity, but lightning was electricity and lightning started fires. Flipping a switch or tapping on a touchscreen was obviously the equivalent of lighting a fire, which was forbidden on the sabbath. Automatic timers, on the other hand, were allowed, so long as they didn’t require human intervention.

Robin thought the whole thing was arbitrary and silly. A refrigerator could be used, but the interior lights had to be turned off so they wouldn’t light when someone opened the door. What was the difference between a refrigerator light turning on and the refrigerator’s compressor kicking in? One involved a door-operated switch and the other a temperature sensor, but both were triggered by opening the door.

Because she wasn’t sure Larry could take her call, Robin sent him a text telling him she’d arrived in Ofakim and would soon have to power down her phone. Moments later, she got his reply:

Larry: Glad U made it. Just starting Shimini Atzeret music prog. Then up all night at SuperNova music fest. Simcha Torah in AM.

Robin: So close and yet so far.

Larry: Maybe I can visit b4 U leave Sun AM?

Robin: Have to be early.

Larry: U can count on it.

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Congressman Moore was in his element. He was in Jerusalem, attending the bar mitzvah of the son of one of his major donors, the son of a longtime friend. The congressman had been on a fact-finding mission with three of his colleagues. He’d investigated the recent protests in Israel, on the taxpayers’ dime, and now he was free to pursue his own interests.

Frank Moore was born in Chicago and raised in Skokie, a heavily Jewish, affluent suburb. He was no stranger to the religious customs of the Jewish faith. He’d attended many bar and bat mitzvahs growing up. Indeed, bar mitzvah parties were the social events of the year for seventh graders in Skokie.

Frank’s mother developed multiple sclerosis when he was in middle school. Because his father’s attention was focused on his mother’s treatments, Frank and his sister had to grow up quickly. They learned to fend for themselves.

When he was sixteen, Frank’s family moved to Bethesda, a Maryland suburb of Washington, so that his mother could be enrolled in research studies at the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke. The NINDS was part of the NIH, the National Institutes of Health. His father, who was a prominent astrophysicist, called in all his favors to secure an appointment as the director of the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum; otherwise, the move wouldn’t have been possible.

Frank did very well at Walt Whitman High School, graduating near the top of his class and earning a full-scholarship to Harvard for his undergraduate education. He was disappointed when he didn’t get into law school at Harvard or Yale. However, he was crushed when he didn’t get into the University of Chicago’s law school, also considered to be one of the best in America. To Frank, Chicago was his home and he really wanted to return to settle there.

He couldn’t complain, though. He was accepted by Georgetown Law, which was still among the best. That turned out to be fortuitous for two major reasons. The first was that he met his wife, Julie, when he developed a case of appendicitis. She was an intern at George Washington University Hospital when he presented to the Emergency Department. Taken by the young man's good looks and sharp wit, she stayed with him as much as she could while he waited to be taken to surgery.

The second was that he was able to intern with the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development in the Clinton Administration. When the Secretary went on to become New York’s Attorney General and later the Governor, Frank went with him, serving as a state prosecutor and then an assemblyman. That catapulted Frank into a career in politics.

In the meantime, Frank’s mother passed away, and his father moved to New York, becoming the Director of the Hayden Planetarium and the head of astrophysics at the American Museum of Natural History. Frank’s wife was offered a position as an oncology fellow at the world-famous Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, also in New York City.

Then, the assemblyman who’d represented New York's Lower East Side was charged with corruption. After discussing it in depth, the couple decided to take a leap of faith and bought an apartment in the Seward Park Coöperative, on Grand Street. A vacant assembly seat was an opportunity that might not come again.

Thanks to the support he received from the Governor, Frank won the Democratic primary for the seat and went on to win the general election. He served in the Assembly for nearly two decades, fathering and raising Seth along the way. In the meantime, redistricting after the 2020 census scrambled the New York Congressional Delegation. None of the incumbents lived in the new Tenth District, which included all of Lower Manhattan and part of Brooklyn.

The opportunity to run for a seat in which there was no incumbent was rarity, and Frank didn’t even have to move into the district; he already lived there. Frank jumped at the chance to run for Congress, but faced stiff competition for the seat. With his years of experience as a cabinet staffer, a prosecutor and a state legislator, Frank Moore was exceptionally qualified. He easily won the Democratic primary and went on to win the general election.

Although only a freshman, Frank Moore quickly established a reputation as an outspoken moderate in the Democratic Party. He voted the party line on key legislation and was supportive of the Biden agenda. However, he didn’t hesitate to voice his opposition to a number of progressive measures he felt went too far.

He soon became a regular fixture on both CNN and MSNBC in addition to being seen as a rising star in the Party. The trip to Israel gave Congressman Moore a chance to broaden his foreign policy experience, delving into the right-wing policies that had deeply divided the citizens of a key ally.

Frank worried that if Netanyahu succeeded in his push to consolidate power, there might never be another truly free, democratic election again. In many ways, the situation reminded him of what was happening in the U.S., and what some feared might portend should there be a second Trump presidency.

The delegation met with a number of cabinet officials and leaders of the opposition. The one thing Frank didn’t hear from either side was a way forward in resolving the Palestinian question. By and large, Israelis were satisfied with the status quo and saw no need for an independent Palestinian state. He imagined it was an attitude similar to that among whites in the segregated South; they saw no need for blacks to have the right to vote.

It was clear to Frank that there were elements within the right-wing Israeli government that were hell-bent on annexing the West Bank and expanding the settlements. It was evident they intended to make life under the occupation even more intolerable — so much so that the Palestinians abandoned their homeland in favor of living in other Arab lands.

The blockade of Gaza had already made life there so miserable that it was often referred to as the world’s largest open-air prison. The crazy thing was that it was widely known that Hamas had acquired ample munitions in spite of the blockade. The only ones affected by the blockade were the ordinary citizens of Gaza, whom Hamas too often used as human shields to protect themselves from Israeli reprisals.

The congressman believed that the whole matter of Palestinian self-determination was being ignored at Israel’s peril. In the meantime, while Israelis were busy fighting each other, they weren’t focusing on the threat from Iran and its regional proxies. Those included Hamas in Gaza, Hezbollah in Lebanon and to a lesser extent, the Houthi in Yemen. Efforts to normalize relations with Saudi Arabia might help mitigate that, but they could also serve as a trigger for greater conflict in the region.

For the moment, Congressman Moore put all of that out of mind as he enjoyed the festivities around the celebration of Shimini Atzeret. Tomorrow, the bar mitzvah itself would take place. His friend’s son would lead the Shabbat service.

It would be a particularly holy day, as it was Simchat Torah. The Torah scrolls would be symbolically rewound to the beginning, symbolizing another year in the endless cycle of life. The service was being held in an historic synagogue in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City, mere steps from the Western Wall.

He and the other family members and friends of the bar mitzvah boy were staying in the King David Hotel, which was within walking distance but actually located in the New City, just over the pre-1967 border. It was an older hotel but well-maintained, and had been restored to its original elegance. It was a five-star haven in the midst of troubled times.

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Saturday, October 7, 2023

Larry had been going nonstop since he landed in Tel Aviv with hardly a moment for sleep. He and Dr. Silver had spent their entire visit at Kibbutz Be’eri where they’d worked closely with the kibbutz’s music director. They’d arranged and assembled an extensive musical program for the celebration of Shimini Atzeret. It was the final day of the holiday known as Sukkot, the festival of the autumn harvest.

Tomorrow would feature another holiday celebration centered around Simcha Torah, and a Beatles singalong led by Larry. However, there’d be no sleep tonight as Larry had been invited to participate in the SuperNova Music Festival, which was an all-night affair.

Originally planned for another location, it had been moved at the last moment to Kibbutz Re’im, just two miles away. He and the professor arrived two hours early to help set things up. The festival began at midnight and festival-goers continued to arrive throughout the early morning hours. It was a rave in which the music never stopped, but an educational experience as well.

Larry was surprised to learn that SuperNova festivals were international events, with the first being held in Brazil, 23 years earlier. Billed as a trance music festival, it offered a surprising degree of music diversity with a lot of Israeli folk music, alternative rock and pop music thrown in, augmented by the lights, lasers and heart-pounding amplification more typical of a rave.

Attendees indulged liberally in drinking and pot consumption, as well as perhaps the use of other mind-altering substances. Even if Larry had wanted to partake of alcohol or cannabis, there just wasn’t time for it. The festival organizers kept him busy managing the soundboard and controlling the other audiovisual effects. The equipment was state-of-the-art and similar to equipment he’d learned to use at LaGuardia High School.

At times he even had the opportunity to play along with the featured bands. In addition to Astral Projection and Man With No Name, both of which were Israeli bands that were well known outside of Israel, plenty of new talent was featured as well. When the band members discovered that Larry was an accomplished musician, they invited him to jam with them on stage. Larry had a blast… until the moment everything changed.

It began at 6:30 in the morning, just as the sun was starting to make its appearance in the eastern sky. Larry was enjoying the music, playing an accompaniment on keyboard when a loud cacophony of pops was heard in the west.

It sounded like fireworks, but not the usual pop-pop-boom heard at the start of a fireworks show. No, it was like the grand finale of a fireworks extravaganza with a constant barrage of pops and booms. All across the western horizon, streaks of light could be seen ascending into the dark sky. Then there were loud explosions as some of those rockets landed on the festival grounds.

At first Larry didn’t know what was happening. It felt like he’d been dropped right into a battle scene from a movie. His mind couldn’t process the fact that what he was witnessing was real. He stood still as a statue and only when he felt himself being pulled off the stage did he realize someone had been shouting at him for a minute or more.

“We have to get out of here,” one of the band members yelled at Larry. “The Iron Dome isn’t programmed to protect open spaces like this one. It only protects cities, towns and villages. We need to get out of here!” Even then, Larry was having trouble understanding what the young man was saying.

The missile barrage continued.

An explosion nearby finally motivated Larry to move. He let the young man pull him in the direction of a van parked behind the stage. Another two band members joined them as they piled into the van, with Larry in back. They took off toward the nearby kibbutz, when Larry noticed men on motorcycles approaching them. At first he thought they’d come to rescue them, but then one of riders raised a rifle and shot at them directly through the windshield.

The driver, whose name Larry didn’t even know, slumped forward and the van slowed to a stop. Another man on a motorcycle fired an automatic weapon into the passenger side of the van’s front seat. The head of the young man seated there literally exploded, spraying Larry with blood and what was left of his brains. Larry was certain he’d be targeted next, but the windows on the side of the van were painted, and he was less visible in the shadows.

Although still in a panic, Larry had the good sense not to follow his instincts and run. Still, he had no idea what to do. The young man next to him motioned for Larry to lower himself into the space in front of the back seat. Larry did so, not quite understanding why. Then the young band member lay down on top of him, pulling the seat back down over both of them. Only later would Larry realize that he’d lowered the seat back into the cargo position, making the van appear to be empty.

Moments, later, Larry heard the back doors swing open and then what he swore must be Arabic. Someone climbed inside and started rummaging around. Larry was certain that they’d lift the seats and expose his hiding place, but instead he heard laughter. Then there was the distinctive sound of someone pissing. He felt a warm liquid dripping on his face and he smelled the odor of urine. Finally, the voices receded.

All around him, he could hear the constant staccato of gunfire and the screams of people. He knew that Dr. Silver was out there somewhere. However, trying to help her would almost certainly only get him killed. He felt warmth in his groin. Only then did he realize he’d pissed his own pants. He was paralyzed by fear, but it was the fear that kept him alive.

The gunfire continued, accompanied by the terrified screams of the concert attendees.

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Robin didn’t sleep well at all. In addition to sleeping on an air mattress, she was in a strange room in a strange house which made its own noises. She was with a distant cousin she’d never known before. Then there was the constant ticking of the alarm clock.

She wasn’t allowed to wear a watch and had to keep her smartphone turned off, but an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock apparently was fine. Wound and set before sunset, it tick-tocked incessantly all night until going off with the chickens, just as the sky started to lighten.

Not more than a few seconds after her cousin shut off the ringing of the alarm, Robin was suddenly blinded by a bright light. She looked up in time to see her cousin pulling her hand back from under the desk lampshade. Stunned, Robin exclaimed in English, “You turned the light on!” Confused at first, her cousin suddenly realized what Robin was trying to say. So she lifted the lampshade off and showed how she merely slid a knob at the base of the light bulb, uncovering the internal LED elements. The bulb, it seemed, had never been turned off. Robin couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the way the Orthodox got around the limitations imposed by the observance of Shabbat.

Robin had already showered before going to bed. Only one bathroom was available for two adults and three children. While she waited her turn, she proceeded to dress as best she could by the light of the desk lamp. When she finally emerged after brushing her teeth, she headed toward the kitchen. There, she found a breakfast reminiscent of the ones she had at home with the same heavy, dark Russian bread that was the staple of a Russian breakfast.

Spreading a slice with butter, she added a slice of cheese from an assortment on the table. Smoked whitefish, pickled herring and roe eggs accompanied the bread. She was surprised there was coffee but then spotted a coffee maker with a built-in timer. The coffee was strong — more like the Turkish coffee served in the Middle East than what she was used to at home. Even so, she enjoyed having it for breakfast.

It was as they were finishing up with breakfast and getting ready to go to the synagogue that it began. The town was only about twenty miles from the border with Gaza, and even at that distance, the sound of the launch of a barrage of rockets was unmistakable. Moments later, she could hear a popping sound overhead. Simultaneously, loud sirens sounded, warning people to take shelter.

Without even realizing it at first, she felt herself being dragged with the family down a set of stairs into a room under the house. Only when she was seated did she notice the walls of concrete and the steel door through which they’d come — a door that was now closed and bolted behind them. It suddenly dawned on Robin that this was a rocket attack, probably launched by Hamas from Gaza, and that the family had retreated into a dedicated bomb shelter and safe room.

Even inside, she could still hear the constant barrage of rockets being launched from Gaza and the popping noise overhead. It dawned on her that she was hearing the sound of rockets being intercepted by the Iron Dome rocket defense system. Suddenly, there was a loud boom. It was the sound of an explosion of a rocket that had reached the ground. Actually, she realized she felt more than heard these sounds.

Robin couldn’t imagine how these people lived with this sort of thing on a daily basis. She couldn’t know that they didn’t. She couldn’t know that this was a rocket attack unlike any Israel had experienced before. She couldn’t know that at that moment, Hamas terrorists were infiltrating the Negev, deep into Israeli territory, and she was right in the middle of it all.

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Congressman Moore was just stepping out of the shower when he heard the sirens go off. Knowing that rocket attacks were not uncommon, he didn’t give it much thought at first. He had absolute faith that the Iron Dome would intercept any errant rockets headed his way. Besides which, the hotel was built to withstand a direct hit from a missile with only minimal damage.

Attacks on Jerusalem were extremely rare in any case. It was a simple fact that as imprecise as the rockets were, there was no way to target Israelis without the possibility of striking Palestinians instead. In Jerusalem, the much greater danger was from suicide bombers than rocket attacks.

When the sirens didn’t stop, he became curious but still didn’t think there was any imminent danger. He continued to dress and get ready for the bar mitzvah. He took his time to get dressed in his best formal wear.

When the sirens continued to sound, he checked the usual news sites on his phone, but there was nothing posted on what might be happening in Israel. He flipped on the TV, but the commentators seemed to be as uninformed as he was.

Had the congressman installed the security app that all Israeli citizens relied on, he’d have at least been notified about the rocket attack. Even so, the Israeli security forces were in the dark with respect to the extent of the attack. Nor were they aware that Hamas had breached the Gaza security fence and was operating deep within Israeli territory.

Checking himself in the mirror and satisfied that nothing was out of place, the congressman headed to the elevators and down to the conference floor. There, an elaborate brunch was being held in the bar mitzvah boy’s honor. People were milling about and serving themselves from the ample buffet line.

Spotting his friend and donor, he headed up to the man and said, “Saul, congratulations. It’s hard to believe your son is now a teenager!”

“Don’t remind me,” his friend answered. “I’ve heard it’s all downhill from here.”

“He’s a great kid, and if he’s anything like my Seth, you don’t have much to worry about.”

“Yeah, but Seth turned out gay.”

Trying not to wince, Frank More responded, “Yes, and I love his husband as if he were my own. Seth has made me proud. He never got into drugs, he went to Stuyvesant, and now he’s a junior at Columbia. What more could I ask for?”

“I know that,” Sol replied. “It’s just that I’m not really prepared to deal with having a gay son — not that my Joseph has shown an interest, either way.”

“Chances are that he’s straight; it’s not like he has any say in the matter, nor do you.”

“Yeah, I know that, but we all have thoughts about what we want for our children. You can’t tell me that your thoughts included having a gay son.”

Sighing, Frank Moore replied, “Truthfully, it never even entered my mind. It turns out my own father’s gay. I think that somehow, I knew that, even in my childhood. Likewise, I knew Seth was gay even before he did.”

“More power to you, Frank,” Saul responded. “Of course I’ll accept and support Joey if he’s gay, but it would take some getting used to.”

After a brief pause, the congressman asked, “By the way, do you know what’s going on with the sirens?”

“There’s nothing much in the news media,” Saul answered. “Not even in the Israeli media. The emergency notification on my phone says there’s a rocket attack underway from Gaza, but those usually only last a few minutes. Hamas lobs some rockets at us and we lob ten times more back at them.”

“By which time, Hamas has already retreated into their reported tunnel network, so it’s the innocent civilians who take the brunt of Israel’s retribution,” the congressman observed.

“So what’s Israel supposed to do?” Saul asked. “Do nothing? We can’t help it that Hamas uses their own people as human shields. Maybe if we hurt enough children, the Gazans will get rid of Hamas and elect a legitimate government.”

“That’s a pretty callous attitude, Sol.”

“So is using children as human shields,” came Saul’s retort.

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Larry lost track of the time as he lay still in the concert van at the SuperNova festival. He was hot and soaked in urine and sweat. His attempts to talk to the band member who’d saved him went unanswered. Larry tried shaking him and even pinching him but observed no reactions; he didn’t even flinch. Finally, he checked for a pulse in his neck and found nothing.

There was no light in the recess they shared, so Larry felt around and eventually realized there was a hole in the guy’s chest. One of the bullets that had been fired at the driver must have passed through and struck the guy lying on top of him. Not only was Larry trapped in a van with continuing gunfire all around him, but he was trapped under a corpse.

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Robin, too, lost track of the time. The safe room wasn’t designed for more than short-term use. They’d already been trapped inside for at least an hour. Probably even longer. It didn’t help that it was Shabbat. The room was only illuminated by a single dim emergency light.

She really needed to piss and if there was a toilet, she couldn’t find it in semi-darkness. But the sirens continued their stressful wail, and the sound of rockets reverberated through the streets. The occasional explosions were becoming more frequent as the Iron Dome was pushed beyond its limits.

And then came the sound of automatic weapons fire.

Robin couldn’t stand being in the dark any longer. She got up and searched the walls until she found what she knew must be there. Next to the doorway was a light switch. Flipping it on, the room was suddenly illuminated in bright light. There were gasps from everyone else.

“You can’t defend against what you can’t see,” Robin exclaimed, even though she knew the others didn’t speak English. “This is war. War doesn’t break for Shabbat.”

“You are right,” the father responded in halting English. “The great rabbis debated the exceptions to Shabbat in the Talmud. It is considered a mitzvah to break Shabbat to save a life. That is especially true in times of war.” So he did speak English.

The father then went on to speak to the family in Russian, most likely explaining the same thing. In the meantime, Robin found a small door and gratefully used the toilet inside. She wasn’t about to piss herself if they were attacked.

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Congressman Moore grew increasingly concerned as the sirens continued unabated. The incessant wailing already had been going on for close to two hours, yet there still was little information in the Israeli media. A handful of booms even were heard overhead, suggesting that some rockets had been aimed at Jerusalem and intercepted by Iron Dome.

He downloaded and installed the English-language version of the Haaretz app which provided live reports. Haaretz, pronounced Ha-aretz, literally meant, ‘The Land’. It was the preeminent Israeli daily newspaper. The lack of information was shocking.

Initial reports told of a single casualty and scores of wounded from the rocket attacks. It was hard to believe that so few had been affected in the midst of the continuing bombardment. However, first-hand accounts were beginning to emerge on social media. Coming from the kibbutzim and towns near the border, they told a vastly different story.

Hamas had mounted a full-scale attack from Gaza, breaching the border fence in numerous locations and attacking the kibbutzim nearby. There were reports of massacres and of abductions and of sexual assault. There were multiple reports of a savage attack on the SuperNova music festival, near Re’im.

Wasn’t Larry Sanders staying in a kibbutz near the border with Gaza? Wasn’t he supposed to attend the music festival? Wasn’t the Arens family attending a bar mitzvah in a town near the border? The more he thought about it, the more the congressman became concerned.

Finally, the IDF acknowledged that Hamas militants had breached the border security fence and that a full-scale defense mobilization was underway. All reservists were ordered to report immediately. Civilians were encouraged to volunteer to help where they could. There was an urgent need for blood. Those living near Gaza were urged to carry guns if they had them. They were told not to hesitate to use them.

A large television was brought into the conference room and tuned to CNN International, which broadcast continuous updates on the situation as it unfolded. The military commander of Hamas, Mohamed Al-Deif, released a pre-recorded message that operation Al-Aqsa Storm had begun. He claimed 5000 rockets had been fired into Israel. Jesus.

In the meantime, the father of the bar mitzvah boy made an announcement:

My friends, this isn’t exactly the bar mitzvah we’d planned for my Joseph. It was my dream that my son would be bar mitzvahed in the old city of Jerusalem. It was my dream that it be within sight of the Western Wall. What could be more holy than to be bar mitzvahed on Shmini Atzeret and Simcha Torah? It’s not often that a boy turns thirteen on Sukkot. It’s not often that the holidays happen to occur on Shabbat. We thought we were truly blessed.

Israel was experiencing a period of unprecedented peace. The Iron Dome kept us safe, and so we became complacent. It seemed we were even on the verge of establishing full diplomatic relations with Saudi Arabia. We all wanted to believe that Israel’s history of violence was behind it. We wanted to believe that the path forward was clear. We should have known better. The enemies of peace had other plans.

Although the attack seems to have been limited to Gaza, there is no guarantee that elements in the West Bank won’t join in. Sadly, it isn’t safe to hold a bar mitzvah in the old Jewish Quarter. We’ve been told we must not proceed there. After discussing it with the rabbi and the hotel, we’ve settled on a plan to hold it here. The hotel already has the facilities to hold a Shabbat service, including an Ark and Torah scrolls.

We’ll still have a dinner after the bar mitzvah. My son will give his prepared remarks. However, it would be inappropriate to hold the festivities we had planned. Besides, I’m sure you’ll want to keep abreast of the news. As things stand now, Ben Gurion is still open. Our charter flight back to New York will leave in the morning as planned. I suggested we leave earlier, but that’s not possible.

If you’ll indulge us so that the hotel can get things set up, Joey’s bar mitzvah will begin in the room next door at 11:00. In the meantime, please feel free to grab another cup of coffee or nosh on some of the excellent food the hotel prepared for us. Take a moment to kibitz with each other, and while you’re at it, it wouldn’t hurt to pray for Eretz Yisrael.

Recognizing that he had a responsibility to his country, Congressman Moore approached his friend and excused himself, explaining the need to call Washington. Ordinarily, Frank would’ve tried to contact the Speaker first, but there was no speaker. Indeed, Congress was in recess. Instead, he tried contacting the office of the House Minority Leader, Hakeem Jeffries, but it was still very early and Congressman Jeffries couldn’t be reached.

Realizing that he was perhaps the only government official outside of the diplomatic core who was in Israel at the moment, the congressman decided he should probably contact the White House. Retreating to his room, he used his smartphone to contact the White House switchboard. He was stunned when he heard the President’s voice after waiting only a few minutes. Obviously, the President was already awake.

“Frank, how are you?” the President asked. “I’ve been told you’re in Israel; are you safe?”

“I’m fine, Mr. President. The only information I have is what’s reported in the local media and on CNN. The sirens have been going off continuously for over four hours. There have been the sounds of occasional explosions overhead. There’s more being reported from social media than is coming from the Israeli Government itself.”

“Are you on a secure line?” the President asked.

“I’m on my own cellphone,” Frank answered.

“That isn’t secure. Not at all. The encryption isn’t end-to-end. It’s better than a hotel phone, but not by much. Where are you staying, Frank?”

“I’m at the King David Hotel in Jerusalem,” Frank answered.

“That’s good,” the President responded. “You should stay there for now. As you know, my predecessor moved our embassy to Jerusalem, but we still operate out of the one in Tel Aviv. The embassy in Jerusalem is right on the border with East Jerusalem and far too vulnerable. We’d have a hell of a time defending it against a full-scale attack.

“I realize you’d probably like to return to the States as quickly as possible. I don’t want you taking a commercial flight. I’ll make arrangements to get you home as soon as it’s safe. I’ll see to it that a secure phone is brought directly to your room. Don’t talk to anyone about today’s events over any phone line unless it’s from the secure phone on call with a secure phone.”

<> <> <>

Larry had reached his limit. The heat was overwhelming. The smell of piss, shit, sweat and rotting flesh was overwhelming. The air — what little was left of it, was fetid. Larry was slowly suffocating. He couldn’t remain where he was without at least lifting the seat back to let in fresh air. More than that, he was sick and tired of staying still for however many hours it had been since the rocket attacks began.

The sound of the staccato of automatic gunfire continued in the distance, but he had to take his chances. He needed to find professor Silver… and he needed to see Robin. He imagined she was probably safe, but she was close enough to Gaza for him to worry. What if one of the rockets got through the Iron Dome and landed on Ofakim? He had to know!

Desperate and beyond exhausted, Larry slowly eased the seat back up and out of the way and then struggled to extricate himself from under the corpse of the man who’d saved his life. Finally, he broke free, opened the door and looked around. All he could see in his vicinity was death. Countless bodies littered the ground. It was eerily silent except for the rat-tat-tat of distant gunfire and the buzzing of flies. He had no idea where to go or what to do. He only knew that he had to get away from where he’d been.

Suddenly, a large, battered Range Rover drove up right next to him and the driver shouted, “Boy! Boy! Lehechanoos! Bimheroot!”

At first Larry was confused until he realized that rather than the English word boy, the driver had shouted the Hebrew words bo-ee, meaning come here. Not understanding the rest but in no position to argue, Larry opened the door and found the vehicle was already packed with concertgoers. He climbed over several people and landed in back, in the cargo area, where precious little space remained.

A young man next to him started speaking to him rapidly in Hebrew, but Larry barely spoke the language and understood even less. His only instruction had been in what was needed for his bar mitzvah. He’d learned only enough to recite the prayers and his Torah portion, without even understanding them.

Larry responded by saying a phrase he’d learned out of necessity. “Ahnee midahbear rok kitzat Eevreet,” which translated as. I only speak a little Hebrew.

“Are you American?” the young man asked in flawless English.

“Yes,” Larry answered.

“You look too young to have attended the festival,” the man commented. However, he appeared to be only a little older than Larry was.

“I know. I’m sixteen, although you don’t look much older,” Larry responded with a smile.“I came here with a professor from the Juilliard School of Music, in New York. She recruited me to help with the bands.”

“You are a student at Juilliard?” The young man asked in surprise.

“Actually, I’m a junior at LaGuardia High School…”

“I’ve heard of it!” the young man interrupted. “It’s a famous performing arts school in New York.”

“Performing arts, music and fine arts,” Larry explained. “I’m hoping to get into Juilliard, maybe even next year.” Then after a pause, Larry added, “By the way, I’m Larry.”

“I’m Yanni,” the young man responded, “and in answer to your question, I’m nineteen, but look younger.”

“Do you know what’s going on?” Larry asked.

“No more than you do,” Yanni answered. “Obviously, the rockets were from Hamas, but they’ve never mounted an attack like this before. They came in on motorcycles and in pickups. I even saw one fly in on a paraglider, and they started shooting at everyone. I don’t know how they missed me, but I knew the only way to survive was to play dead, so I hid under some of the bodies of those already dead.

“I stayed hidden for I don’t know how many hours, and then I heard this truck pull up right near me. I thought that was gonna be it, but then I saw the driver was Bedouin and there were others he was rescuing.”

“He’s Bedouin?” Larry asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Yanni answered. “The Bedouins are Arabs, but they’re Israeli citizens, and they do a lot of the work on the kibbutzim around here. There’s no love lost between the Bedouins and Hamas. They get bombed, just like we do, but their territory doesn’t have the protection of the Iron Dome.”

“Iron Dome doesn’t protect the Bedouins, even though they’re Israeli citizens?” Larry asked in shock.

“It’s not deliberate, but each missile intercepted by the Iron Dome costs us nearly a hundred thousand USD, so they only intercept missiles bound for known cities, towns and villages. The Bedouins have few permanent villages, and their settlements aren’t on any map, so they’re not protected.”

“That’s kinda crazy,” Larry stated.

“Yes, but they’re the ones rescuing us,” Yanni countered. “Where is the IDF?”

That was a very good question. Where was the Israeli Defense Force?

<> <> <>

Robin assumed she was safe with the family of second and third cousins. They were huddled in a safe room that doubled as a bomb shelter. It was in the basement of a house made of concrete block. The steel front door was reinforced, and bars protected all the windows.

The door to the windowless safe room was also made of reinforced steel. The sound of breaking glass was unnerving, but what harm could the terrorists do with bars in the way? But then there was the smell of acrid smoke. The walls were fireproof but the furniture was not. All it took was a couple of Molotov cocktails to set everything ablaze and fill the house with smoke and toxic fumes. The safe room was ventilated, but it drew its air from within the house.

The designers had never considered the possibility that terrorists would use fire and smoke as a weapon. Otherwise, they’d have made the safe room air-tight, with its own reserve air supply. Instead, the oxygen in the safe room was quickly depleted. Gasping for air, the family had no choice but to leave the safe room and exit the house through the front door, where terrorists were waiting for them.

Two men with long guns guarded the door. One of them grabbed the young daughter by the front of her dress and literally ripped it off her, leaving her in only a training bra and panties. When he yanked her panties down, one of her brothers tried to step in front of his sister. The other terrorist aimed his weapon at the boy and shot him in the head. When the mother screamed, he re-aimed his weapon and shot her as well.

A third terrorist drove up and said something in Arabic. The second terrorist grabbed hold of Robin and shoved her into the back of the SUV which then took off with a sobbing, petrified Robin inside.

<> <> <>

The alarms on both boys’ phones sounded at the same time, waking them from what had been an all-too-short night. They’d attended a Shimini Atzeret party at the MIT campus Hillel in celebration of the last night of Sukkot. When they finally returned to their dorm room in Maseeh Hall, it was after midnight. Although the attack in Israel had already begun, they were clueless. They were keyed up from the party and feeling randy. They never missed an opportunity to make love.

Now, it was scarcely four hours later. The incessant sounds of their smartphone alarms were telling them it was time to rise. It was Saturday, traditionally a day for college students to sleep in. However, Freck and Kyle were active in Hillel and committed to participating in Shabbat services. Not that they were religious, but they enjoyed the camaraderie and friendship they found there.

More importantly, it was the holiday of Simcha Torah, with the symbolic rewinding of the Torah to the beginning of Genesis. The other students were counting on them. They weren’t about to let the lack of sleep get in the way of attending the service. At least there would be a kosher brunch afterwards.

Although the boys were observant, they weren’t Orthodox. They saw no reason to forego modern conveniences such as smartphones. Thus the first thing they did after silencing their alarms was to check their email and social media, and to scan the headlines via the New York Times app.

“Holy fuck!” Freck exclaimed as he sat bolt upright in bed.

“I don’t believe it,” Kyle chimed in as he scanned the posts on his smartphone. “They attacked a music festival at Re’im. There’s firsthand reports coming in that it was a massacre. Isn’t that the one Larry was supposed to attend?”

“They also attacked the kibbutz at Be’eri,” Freck stated aloud. “That’s where Larry was staying. And the police in Ofakim are in the midst of a standoff with Hamas militants even now. That’s where Robin, Josh and the entire Arens family are attending a bar mitzvah.”

“Josh didn’t go, thank God,” Kyle reminded his boyfriend. Kyle was an atheist, but he couldn’t help but use the common expression.

“Holy crap, there’s a post on social media with a video showing Robin being forced into an SUV,” Freck exclaimed.

“You sure it’s her?” Kyle asked.

Rather than answer, Freck handed him his phone.

“Shit, you’re right!” Kyle responded.

Little did they know it at the time, but they’d just confirmed the identity of the first known American taken hostage by Hamas on October 7.

<> <> <>

The sound of his smartphone ringing woke Josh up from a deep sleep. It was Saturday, and he and his boyfriend, Dave, had been up much of the night. Their classes at Stony Brook University kept them busy during the week. Friday nights were a time for romantic dinners, movies and making love.

At first Josh was disoriented and didn’t even recognize the incessant sound of his phone ringing. Finally it stopped for a bit before starting again. The fog slowly cleared from his brain, and his boyfriend started to stir. Finally, he realized his phone was ringing. He found it on the nightstand next to his bed. Looking back at him from the lock screen was Francis ‘Freck’ San Angelo’s smiling face.

Answering the phone, he said, “What the fuck do you want on a Saturday morning?”

The words that Freck spoke would haunt him all his days. “There’s been an attack in Israel,” Freck explained. “It’s bad, Josh. Hamas fired thousands of rockets into Israel. They broke through the border fence and sent hundreds of terrorists into the kibbutzim and towns around Gaza. There was a massacre at the Re’im music festival. I don’t know about your dad or about Sarah and Stacey, but there’s a post on Instagram showing Robin being taken hostage.”

Josh was in shock. He didn’t know what to say or do. The bottom had just fallen out of his life. Freck continued, “I’m gonna arrange for a car to pick you up and take you home, so you won’t hafta take the train. Don’t worry about the cost – it’s on me. You and Dave are family, Josh. You can count on me and Kyle, no matter what.

“Speaking of Ky, he’s on the phone with Dave’s mom right now. She’ll be expecting you. We’ll both be down there as soon as we can. We have a commitment to the Hillel here at MIT. Something tells me our friends there need us right now as much as you do. We’ll make a reservation on the Acela Express for early this afternoon.

“I know you don’t need more bad news, but Larry was at the Re’im music festival. According to reports, most of the attendees got out safely, but hundreds did not. My next call is gonna be to Seth. His dad’s in Israel right now. Perhaps as a congressman, he can find out about your family and Larry.”

Josh reacted with stunned silence. Seeing his boyfriend just sitting there with his phone in hand and shaking, Dave pried the phone out of Josh’s hands and asked, “What did you say to Joshy? He’s practically catatonic!”

“There was an attack in Israel early this morning,” Freck explained again. “Hamas fired thousands of rockets into Israel. They breached the Gaza border fence. There are reports they killed hundreds. Maybe thousands. The one thing we do know is that they took Robin hostage…”

“Fuck…” Dave responded softly.

“We don’t know the whereabouts of Josh’s dad, or his other two sisters, or if they’re even alive. We don’t know about Robin’s boyfriend, Larry. He was in the midst of a massacre and may have been killed or taken hostage, too. We’re gonna try to find out from Seth’s dad, who’s in Israel right now.

“In the meantime, I’ve arranged for a car to take you home. Ky just got off the phone with your mom. She’s expecting you. Ky’s making reservations right now for the train to bring us home this afternoon. Like I told Josh, you’re our family. We’re gonna be there for you.”

“Jesus, Freck. I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem nearly enough.”

“Just take care of your boyfriend,” Freck responded. “He’s hurting more than any of us could possibly know.”

<> <> <>

Seth woke up alone in his bed. His husband, Asher, had taken Larry’s words to heart and recently returned to helping out at his family’s restaurant, the Ragin’ Cajun. That meant getting up before sunrise, even on a Saturday. He wouldn’t be able to do so come January, when he’d go back to school at NYU for the first time since the stabbing.

For now, however, getting back into his old routines was the best way to recover from the trauma of the stabbing that nearly took his life. He still had trouble eating his own cooking, but he was coming to terms with his limitations and learning to deal with them.

It was earlier than Seth usually got up on a Saturday, so something must’ve woken him up. He’d slept through the commotion of his husband getting out of bed and taking his shower, but he was used to that. Checking his phone, he found a message from Asher. Opening it, he read, ‘Huge attack in Israel. Don’t know if our friends are OK.”

What the fuck? Larry was over there, and Robin, and her sisters and their father! Shit, his dad was over there. He was in Jerusalem at a bar mitzvah. His mom had been invited, too, but she was an attending physician and couldn’t get away.

Speaking of his mother, she’d be in the midst of rounds with her patients, many of whom would have the TV on in their rooms. She probably knew as much about what was going on as anyone. Perhaps she’d even heard from Dad. He was just about to send her a text, asking her to call as soon as she could, but then his phone rang.

Seeing Freck’s face on the screen, he answered, “Hey, Freck. Did you hear about Israel?”

Not only had Freck heard, but he filled Seth in on what he knew so far and on his and Kyle’s plans to take the train down to be with their friends.

Seth was shocked to hear that Robin had been taken hostage. He promised to contact his father to try to get more information. Knowing about Robin was bad enough, but at least he knew she was alive. Not knowing about Robin’s family or about Larry was even worse.

Seth was glad to hear that Freck had arranged for a car to bring Josh and Dave home. They shouldn’t have to face the situation alone. At least Seth had Asher.

After saying goodbye to Freck, he realized he’d yet to speak to his husband. First, though, he needed to talk to his mom and then to his dad. He quickly texted her, asking her to call back as soon as she could. He asked about contacting his dad as soon as possible.

He’d scarcely begun to talk to Asher when she called. Rather than ending the call, he conferenced her in. “Hey Mom. I’ve got Ashe on the call too. I’d just started talking to him when you called.”

“Hi boys,” she began. “The news out of Israel is terrible, isn’t it? I’ll sure be glad when Dad’s back home.”

“It’s much worse than you can imagine,” Seth replied, and then he went on to tell both his mother and his husband about his conversation with Freck.

“Oh dear,” his mother replied. “Dad’ll want to hear from you about all of that. Perhaps you can send him a link to the video of Robin’s abduction. Photos of the rest of the family would help too, but they might need DNA samples to identify their remains if it comes down to it.” My God! Seth couldn’t help but wonder if all physicians thought like that.

“From what Dad said when he called, the attackers were brutal,” she went on. “Many of the female victims were sexually assaulted and mutilated. Some were beheaded. There were video posts showing the attackers playing soccer with their heads. Of course, those have since been taken down.”

“Holy fuck,” Asher responded.

“Jesus,” Seth chimed in. “I can’t tell Josh any of that. He’s already a basket case as it is.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “However, I felt you should know what we’re up against.” She went on to tell Seth how to download and install an app that would encrypt his texts and voice, and decrypt his dad’s, so he could communicate with him on the secure phone the President had sent to him. “You’ll have to wait to talk to Dad, though,” she added. “It looks like he’s being interviewed on CNN right now.”

Grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV in his and Asher’s bedroom, he switched to CNN and turned up the sound. Indeed, his father was in the midst of an interview, live from Jerusalem via Zoom.

“Thanks, Mom. I’m watching him now.”

“As soon as I finish writing my notes, I’ll try to get someone to cover my service,” she replied. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything new,” Seth added before disconnecting the call.

<> <> <>

Larry was walking around in a daze. He’d been taken to a Bedouin village that had been heavily damaged by the initial bombardment. All around he could see rubble The dwellings weren’t all that substantial to begin with, and there were shells of burned-out cars. Yet all of that barely registered. He was soiled with the urine of one of the terrorists, as well as with his own urine. His clothes were stained with the blood of the young man who’d saved him. Dried blood and brain matter covered his face. Under better circumstances, he’d have wanted nothing more than a shower and a change of clothes. At the moment, he didn’t even care.

When he first arrived, he’d been offered food and water, but he wasn’t hungry. The Bedouins had shown enormous grace and hospitality in the face of their own suffering. Larry was in shock. He didn’t quite know what to do or how to proceed.

He saw others using their phones to contact loved ones. More than an hour passed before someone asked him if he wanted to borrow theirs. It was only then that he realized his smartphone had been in his pocket all along. It was his lifeline.

He tried calling and texting Dr. Silver and Robin but received no response from either one. Finally, he had the sense to call Robin’s brother, Josh, who’d stayed behind in the States. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Larry! are you okay?” Josh practically shouted into his phone.

“I don’t know,” Larry answered honestly. “I’m not even sure what happened. There were rockets landing and there was shooting. I hid in a van under a dead guy who saved me. Then a Bedouin rescued me and brought me to his village. I haven’t been able to reach Professor Silver or Robin, so I called you.”

“Dave and I are on our way home,” Josh replied. “Freck arranged for a car to pick us up, God love him. The only thing we know is that Hamas terrorists killed hundreds — maybe thousands – of people in the towns and kibbutzim around Gaza. And they took hostages.

“Larry, they got Robin. She’s alive, but she’s one of the hostages. There’s a video of her being taken on Instagram. That’s the good news. We don’t know anything about the rest of my family. The town where they were staying was one of the targets of the Hamas attack. They may have been taken hostage, too, or even killed.”

When Larry failed to say anything, Josh asked, “Larry, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Congressman Moore is in Israel right now,” Josh responded. “Seth’s been in touch with him. If you could use your phone to send me your location, I can forward that to Seth, who’ll send it to his dad. We’ll get you home…”

“I’ve gotta find Robin!” Larry exclaimed. “And Dr. Silver!”

“But you can’t do it on your own, Larry. You need help. There’s no one better than Congressman Moore to do that. Fuck, I was ready to enlist in the IDF. Dave reminded me that my family will need me when they come home. If they come home.

“Trying to find Robin by yourself will only get you killed. She’s gonna need you when she gets out of wherever they’re keeping her.”

“I can’t live without her, Josh,” Larry exclaimed.

“How do you think I feel, Larry?” Josh responded. “Not only was my sister taken hostage, but for all I know, the rest of my family are all dead. We need each other, man. Freck and Kyle are coming down, and there’s Seth and Asher, and Tanner and Zach, and Simon and Craig.

“But first I need you to send me your location. I’ll forward it to Seth’s dad. Do you know how to share your location?”

“I think so,” Larry replied.

Moments later, Josh received a message with Larry’s location. He responded, “Thanks Larry. Hang in there. You should hear from the congressman soon.”

<> <> <>

The members of the MIT Hillel were in shock. Even the orthodox students didn’t hesitate when the rabbi turned the TV on. They made quick work of going through an abbreviated Shabbat prayer service, with barely a mention of Simcha Torah.

Freck and Kyle remained glued to the TV as they ate, watching events unfold in the Middle East, compliments of CNN. The world might be falling apart around them but the food had already been prepared. It was the weekly Saturday kosher brunch — a feast fit for a group of hungry teenagers and twenty-somethings.

Freck texted Josh to make sure that he and Dave had been picked up. They were safely on their way. Josh texted back that Larry had called. He was pretty shaken up but otherwise okay. That was the one bit of good news he’d heard all morning.

It was bad enough that Kyle and Freck had friends over in Israel. It was bad enough that one of their friends had been taken hostage. Several of the members of the Hillel had family who lived in Israel. A few of them had family living near Gaza. Between evacuations in the north and overloaded networks, most calls and texts just weren’t being answered. Not knowing if they were okay was the worst thing.

A few of the students at the Hillel that morning were Israelis. They’d completed their mandatory service in the Israeli military, but as with all Israeli citizens, they were obligated to nearly lifelong service in the reserves. With the universal call-up in effect, they were obligated to return to Israel as soon as they possibly could.

Before long, it was time for Freck and Kyle to return to their dorm. They packed a few essentials and headed to Boston South, where they boarded the Acela Express. On the high-speed train, they followed the news coming out of Israel closely on their phones. The news became increasingly dire with each passing hour. Even into the night, the IDF was fighting Hamas militants and had yet to clear them from their land.

The one bit of good news was that Larry was with Congressman Moore. The two of them would be flown on a military transport to Cypress, where they’d catch a flight back to the U.S. Dr. Silver, the professor with whom Larry had traveled, was okay as well. However, she was staying behind. She’d lost friends and family members in the massacre at Kibbutz Be’eri and opted to attend their funerals.

The trip to Penn Station’s Moynihan Hall would take four hours. Then they’d take a C-Train to the 86^th Street Station. It was a short walk to Freck’s mother’s brownstone. They debated staying with Kyle’s dads up in Riverdale, but the Upper West Side was much more centrally-located to all their friends. Hell, Larry’s family lived on the next street, in a brownstone that was behind and kitty-corner to theirs.

The boys weren’t sure how long they’d stay in New York. They wanted to be there to support their friends, but in a way, it would be therapeutic for them too. They didn’t know how long they could take time off from their classes before they’d risk losing credit for the semester. The one thing they knew was that they wouldn’t be the only kids taking time away from class because of friends or family in Israel.

They also talked about the antisemitic backlash that would certainly result when Israel retaliated against the attack. An Israeli counterattack was inevitable. Although not as numerous as the Jewish students, there were many Muslim students on campus including some Palestinians. They too had family in the Middle East. Some of them would be directly impacted by any action Israel took in Gaza.

On top of that, many students, faculty members and perhaps even the administration at MIT were strongly anti-Zionist. Harvard was even worse. Not that Israel was blameless, particularly when it came to the occupation and the settlements in the West Bank. But the brutal slaughter of innocent Israelis, particularly the children, could never be justified. Freck and Kyle feared that their coming days would be marred by frequent protests. They had no idea how right they were.

<> <> <>

Robin had no idea as to the time. It had been hours since she was shoved into the back of an SUV with a black hood placed over her head. It was the last time she’d seen any daylight. She’d been given a small amount of water but had yet to be fed. She had been stashed in a dingy cell with barely enough light to see her hands in front of her.

The cell sported a toilet in the corner and a thin mattress on the concrete floor. That it was a cell was obvious, as there were bars across one end, no window and a dank countenance. The one thing she was certain of was that it was underground. She was cold and exhausted, but too afraid to even think of laying down and going to sleep.

Finally, a young bearded man wearing a kaffiyeh unlocked and entered her cell. He handed her a piece of bread, which she devoured, and followed it with a small cup of water. When she’d finished, he smiled at her, lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties. She was powerless to stop what came next.