I type this furiously, just as I’ve furiously WhatsApped, emailed, taken phone calls, and edited everything in sight over the past few days.
I have decided to take five minutes off to clear my head and offer you a glimpse into my reality. (Disclaimer: Obviously, others are going through a hell of a lot more.)
I feel such a responsibility to create magazines that will provide our anguished readers with a sense of commiseration – without patronizing anyone, employing false cheer/cliches, or becoming outdated due to the frenzied news cycle.
The usual features are cut out, since who wants a recipe or a tour recommendation at a time like this? I need more personal perspectives than usual, and there are more pages to fill (I await more ads).
At the same time, the lives of everyone I rely on to make these magazines happen – my fellow editors, journalists, proofreaders, and graphic designers – have suddenly, feverishly, become more hectic and fraught.
This is due to the challenges of reporters having to cover their usual beat, but on steroids; and the need to look after children with school canceled, and somehow explain to young ones what is going on in a way that won’t traumatize them for life (too badly). And, oh yeah, sending relatives off to war and then being unable to sleep a wink.
Or all these challenges at once.
This is, of course, in addition to the garden-variety horror at basically everything that has occurred since the morning of October 7, which we’re all experiencing.
And, for me, the added grief I have been grappling with since last December when I lost my brother – which had receded slightly but is now top of mind as I try to put myself in the shoes of victims’ family and friends. At the same time, I am grateful my experience has made me better understand the healing journey ahead of all of us.
Given the circumstances and how quickly things are changing, I willingly accept article ideas late, adjust layouts frequently, and extend submission times – which is why I received the majority of items today (Tuesday), one on top of the other, and will still be getting articles, photos, and text tweaks tomorrow morning, on deadline day.
Everything is coming fast and furious. Everyone is upset and distracted. Everyone is existentially tired.
I am, too. But working gives me a sense of purpose and gets me out from under the covers in the morning.
Working in the news amid Israel's ongoing war
What’s work like?
Well, first of all, I’ve been doing the remote thing, since honestly, I’ve been nervous about venturing even a little afield from home.
I miss my colleagues and my Mr. Coffee machine.
Today, I had breakfast/coffee around 1:30 p.m., and after 5 p.m. shoveled in some thoughtfully dropped-off leftovers.
I had meant to work out this morning and take a much-needed shower, but that will be happening when I sign off (hopefully... as my “musk” is getting to me).
This whole thing is giving me COVID vibes, in the sense of duty to readers I felt then, the sheltering in place and emptier streets, combined with the run on supermarkets.
And with it all, the oxymoronic desire to hide from the news due to the trauma of it all. Even if the mind adapts, there are only so many hits the heart can take.
Instead, I actively seek out updates (often from sources other than the Jpost site – we have been under frequent cyberattack). I scroll social media like a woman possessed.
The news gets ever more heartbreaking as a close friend tells me she is frantically searching for her cousin, who was last seen at the nature party.
In between, I answer the lovely family, friends, and acquaintances from all walks of life who regularly check in on me. (“Yes, I’m safe – physically.”)
Luckily, I swore off alcohol (for a while) after the chagim free-for-all, or I’d be making an epic wine run that would kill both me and my wallet.
Tomorrow, I hope to gather my courage and go into the office to supervise sending my issues to print. (Wednesday spoiler: I made it!)
I hope to then have a moment to breathe, to call the handyman to fix a light that’s been out for weeks.
I want to go see my parents in Arnona (normally a bus ride away, but now might as well be in Nahariya) and pay a shiva call to parents of lone soldiers. I want to be there for a friend who lost a dear one before the holidays, and whose pain might get swallowed up by our collective gaping wound.
I want to step outside and breathe fresh air from actual trees, not my own carbon dioxide.
I will do that when the magazines are sent to print. I’ll hope that I’ve done well by everyone, and myself, and will try to let go of any postprint typos that crop up. Then I’ll take a deep breath. I’ll step out into the sunshine, or maybe the rain, which has taken up residence in Jerusalem over these past few days – right on time, in what seems like the answer to our newly reinstituted geshem prayer, but to me casts an appropriate gloom.
I’ll feel so lucky to be able to exhale on a personal level, though it’s going to be years before Israelis as a whole even begin to contemplate it.
Wishing us all safety, unity, and compassion, I remain, Erica Schachne.