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Table of Contents

1. Preface

2. Main Article

Preface

What can I possibly write about at times like this?

Should I even publish this week?

Every Friday, my subscribers await my email. Some have built their routines around reading or listening to it. I can't let them down.

Yet, what topic is appropriate?

Before the war broke, this newsletter was intended to discuss the 3 ups and downs of being a surgeon.

But with all that is happening, how can I write about that?

I can write about coping with stress. But could I compare daily stresses to the chaos of war? That would be ridiculous.

So, I decided to share a few of my scattered thoughts. They're linked together somehow, and a psychologist might explain them better.

But I'll keep them as they are, fragmented, like they exist in my mind.

I pray for the peace of my Israeli readers and homeland.

Issue 59.

Main Article

🔵 Wars

I was born 41 years after the start of World War II.

Only four decades after the Holocaust.

During my childhood, the memories of the Holocaust were fresh. I heard firsthand testimonies from survivors and even talked to them. But now, there’s almost no one alive to tell the story. They exist only in recordings and books. For my children, these stories will be just on text.

Yom Kippur is a Jewish holiday dedicated to fasting and reflecting on one's actions and regrets over the past year.

In 1973, on Yom Kippur morning, we faced an unexpected war waged by our neighboring countries. My parents were 27 and had a 7-month-old baby (my elder sister). After returning from the synagogue, my father found an army draft notice on their home door. 

So he grabbed an apple from the kitchen and went to war. My mother was left with a 7-month-old baby, and wondered if he'd ever come back. My youngest son is now 7 months old. This thought gives me the creeps.

At age 10, I heard sirens for the first time in my life.

It was during the Gulf War, when missiles were launched from Iraq on Israel. Fearing they were carrying chemical weapons, we wore gas masks at each siren alert. And there were many sirens. Carrying my gas mask became a part of my 10-year-old routine. We even decorated the box at school. 

2 decades later, I visited a European museum where they had a recording of a siren they played to the visitors. I remember standing there with a group of tourists from around the world, listening to a siren recording. The rest of the tourists looked terrified. 

Apparently, this was the first time they ever heard a siren. To me, it was just another familiar sound—an integral part of my life.

🔵 Childhood

Demjanjuk was a Nazi that went on trial in Israel in 1987. I was 7.

Up until then, we had only one TV channel, and only one hour a day with kids’ shows. Every day at 5:30 pm

So you can imagine my excitement when a second channel was launched that year, broadcasting as early as 2:00 pm.

So there I was, a 7-year-old, watching whatever was on at 2:00 pm. That was the Demjanjuk trial.

You can imagine the harrowing testimonies of survivors who came to testify against him on this trial.

And as a 7-year-old, I was exposed to the most atrocious stories possible.

Was I traumatized by it? No. Was I scared? No. I just grew into this reality. This is the way it was.

My kids are 5.5 and 9.5 years old.

In this day and age, we shield them from all the bad in the world. Experts tell us to keep them naive until they reach a certain age.

But it becomes harder and harder to do so.

🔵 Being away

I've had two Yom Kippur holidays since arriving in Boston.

The first year, considering my hectic clinic schedule, I thought about not fasting. But then I felt a need to adhere to my tradition. Not fasting felt like denying a part of myself. So, I persevered through work, hungry and thirsty, but I made it. I felt like myself again.

This year, Yom Kippur was a long day in the OR. But I knew I would fast no matter what. I ended up fasting 26.5 hours instead of the regular 25, but I was staying true to myself.

Last week, as war erupted, I watched the news in my Boston home. But when I went to the supermarket, the world outside was like a slap on the face. Peaceful and undisturbed.

This dissonance feels wrong. I remind myself that my fellowship intends to improve my patients' lives. So when I’ll come back home, I’ll serve my patients. And If the sirens will yell, I’ll be at the hospital.

But right now, the calmness of the daily life here feels so wrong when hell broke loose back home.

And it breaks my heart.

Epilogue

That’s it for this issue.

Hope for better times.

Shay