October 7th: Nahal Oz from Terror to Triumph
Between Blue and Blues: Homecoming Through Eyes Haunted by War
Stepping off the plane in Los Angeles, the morning sun kissed the tarmac, and my beloved, Danna, waited to drive us to the ocean, where I marveled at the serenity—looking, as if for the first time, from Lifeguard Station 56 at the meeting line between the blue sea and the bluish sky. As we strolled, friendly greetings of “hello, good morning” echoed around us. I took many deep breaths, thinking, “I am back, and it’s so different.” It felt like a space between spaces, where the dust of Israel still clung to my skin, and the echoes of the October war resonated in my bones. How does one surrender to the black hole of not knowing what’s next? How do I touch the edges of the sadness, sharp as shrapnel yet soft as hummus on my tongue and not getting cut? The experience at Kibbutz Nahal Oz—the rumble of tanks and the quiet resilience of the people—holds the promise of a consciousness shift—a space ripe with wisdom, waiting for me to grasp its pulse. But for days, nothing appears evident but the deep sadness.
I felt the urge to visit the Getty Center to see art and lose myself in what it offers. Art has always been a sanctuary for me. Perhaps, within the enchanting world of the current exhibition of William Blake, I’d encounter the transformative experience I longed for. And maybe I would gain some clarity within this liminal space I tread.