Yom HaShoah

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is known colloquially in Hebrew as Yom HaShoah. At 10:00 a.m. this morning, all over the country, sirens went off.

And everything came to a sudden, still halt.

People. Cars. Buses. Everything.

Those who were driving stopped, pulled over, and stepped out of their car as the sirens blared through the sky--a chilling reminder of the tyrannical butchery of the past, a haunting harbinger of what could lie ahead as the Jewish people look to avert a similar fate with Iran.

Standing beside Rehov Chaim Levanon (Chaim Levanon Street), Ryan, Dustin, Dominique, and myself stood still and watched as several young Israeli students, frozen in place, gazed up toward the sky, perhaps wondering the very same thing as us. The older Israelis, standing beside their cars and taxis, gazed down at the ground.

The wail of the sirens finally came to a halt after two minutes. As the final crescendo came to a terrifyingly poignant end, I noticed someone across the street walking as if nothing was out of the ordinary--in complete defiance, disrespect, of everything and everyone that was around her.

A young Muslim girl, covered head-to-toe in her hijab, strolled down the sidewalk toward class.

There was no need to confront her or ask her why she had not stopped. Her actions did all of the talking.

As she passed by, I fixed her with a knife-like glare. She shifted her gaze in my direction, eyes darting rapidly, and quickened her pace--the symbolism of her flippant inhumanity burning itself into my mind and my heart.