The Taxi

Every day, at 2 pm, taking a cab with Daniel on our way back from the kindergarten, I get my reality shock: the taxi driver listens to the news. The anchor’s voice, calm and reassuring, tells about the day’s toll of deaths (usually on the Palestinian side, sometimes on the Israeli), about terminations of people whom he defines as seniors in one Palestinian terror organization or another. (Yes, that’s the term used by the media here: not assassination, or murder, but termination). About barricades and barriers, settlers threatening in civil war if forced to leave their settlements. Olive trees are being rooted out.
All this, I realize, is taking place about 30 minutes’ drive from where I am.
I panic. I want to put my hands on Daniel’s ears. I ask the driver to lower the volume. He does it reluctantly.

I will walk back from the kindergarten at 2 pm every day.

Comments

[lubovsky joseph]

buble dearest
it seems you are eager to protect your bouble shild, so you turned the reality shock into reality walk :)