Coping With Terror

I wasn't planning on putting this on my blog, but my life as a mommy has been hijacked since yesterday morning, and I can't seem to get it back.

There was a terror attack in Jerusalem yesterday. Two men walked into a synagogue during prayers wielding a meat cleaver, knives, and guns. Four men were slaughtered. Twenty four orphans left on one street.

A young boy ran from the carnage. His father followed after him and became an easy target.

The crimson-stained prayer shawls and the blood splashed across the floor.

I can't.

One of the first fears that flashed through my mind was "How will I explain this to my kids?" I imagined Boo having nightmares, Bub refusing to let my husband leave his sight. How would my kids be able to cope?

Then a second image flashed into my mind. What about that child who ran away from his father, leaving him to the hatchet of a terrorist?

My mind blinks, and is blank.

I went through the motions yesterday. Gave my kids a snack. (Don't think about those other kids, half a world away.) Threw a load of laundry in the washing machine. (Those bloody prayer shawls!)

My kids wanted to play a game with me. Apparently I was the evil lion and they were the king, queen, and pet bear who were trying to defend the castle. I was roaring, defying their majesties. And then Bub cocked his fingers and made a shooting noise.

My heart shatters from the blow. My mind blinks furiously, trying to rid itself from the images.


I must do something. My husband walks through the door and my heart seizes once again. Why do I deserve this? What of those women whose husbands will never saunter in through the door again?

My husband went to synagogue this morning. I was juggling diapers, lunchbags, cereal boxes. An ordinary morning.

Wasn't yesterday?