Yaldut Israelit

Ayala Snir

Israeli girl wakes up in the morning, washes the nightmares off her face. She eats a small breakfast of Telma cornflakes, then heads to the bathroom and brushes her teeth.

Israeli girl gets dressed in uniform, a t-shirt printed with her school’s logo. She brushes her hair into a tight, high ponytail so the sand and dirt of the day stay out of her golden brown locks. Israeli girl slips on her brown boots that every Israeli owns. She kisses Israeli mom goodbye, and leaves the apartment, locking the door.

Israeli girl walks to school with Israeli dad and Israeli dog, the trio embarking on the daily journey. She crosses the street holding Israeli dad’s hand tightly, and he protects her from the dangers of the street. Israeli girl reaches the locked metal gate of Israeli school. She greets Israeli security guard, catching up about her latest jump-roping skills.

Israeli girl walks to class, slightly rushing because she “runs on Israeli time”. She makes it to her seat right as the bell rings, indicating that the time for Israeli education has begun.

Israeli children hear the siren. They yell “Az’aká!,” an alarm of danger.

Israeli children cry for Israeli mothers that are at work or at home and not with them during this time of crisis.

They run to the computer lab, Israeli school’s makeshift underground shelter. Israeli teachers mask their fear.

They prioritize their students’ safety, even though the rockets are equally targeting them. Israeli teachers take attendance to make sure no Israeli student was left behind. They quickly wipe away the tears of their heavy eyes, to invoke Israeli children’s confidence in Israeli survival.

Israeli girl gets dressed in uniform, fully olive green. She brushes her hair into a tight, high ponytail so the smoke and debris of the day stay out of her dark brown locks. Israeli girl laces her black boots that every Israeli soldier wears. She is kissed by Israeli mom goodbye, and leaves the apartment, locking the door.

Israeli girl walks to the bus stop with Israeli dad, the duo embarking on the weekly journey. She crosses the street holding Israeli dad’s hand tightly, and as he lets go, she understands, he could never protect her from the dangers beyond the street.

Late-summer evenings

Ayala Snir

Late summer evenings when the thick air holds the dimmed, yellow hue of sunsets awaiting to occur. The golden glow before puffed clouds combust into the colors of rose fields and apple orchards.

Light breezes sway the hairs on my arm and cool off the humidity that lays on my skin.

I stretch my body in the grass, amongst ladybugs and ants and crickets that will soon commence in their night-time symphonies.

Leaves of the approaching autumn shed from their branches, slowly cascading.

Descending, like the shadows of streetlamps on the sidewalk as the sun sets.