RED ALERT BY ZELDA DVORETZKY

The bus was crowded when I climbed aboard, but a young woman offered me her seat, moving her huge backpack to one side to let me through. She was a tourist from France, traveling with her twin sister, and I unlimbered my once- excellent French to answer her questions, first about where to leave the bus near the Baha’i Gardens, and later, about Israel in general. Since they both worked in the wine industry at home, I told them what I could about Israel’s successes in viticulture and wine making, and wished I knew more.

I ended up inviting them home for coffee before they returned from their sight-seeing, and they, like so many visitors, were amazed by the peaceful tenor of life here as opposed to the impressions given in the foreign press and media. I told them of returning from rehearsals, concerts, classes alone at night, using public transportation and my own two legs, totally unafraid.

But this reminded me that we have had times when this peace wasn’t present or universal.

I wrote this poem last November when the number of missiles from Gaza multiplied, exceeding all preceding numbers, and taxing all existing warning systems. Broadcasts were interrupted to supplement the sirens, and keep people in specific areas aware of specific dangers. These radio warnings were called Tsevah Adom: Red Alert.

Tsevah Adom

Tsevah Adom


Kol haMusika is on as always,

but now a voice interrupts the

sanity and order of Mozart and Bach

with the insanity and disorder

of our world.


Breaks the delicate web of a fugue

with “Tsevah Adom, Ashdod,

“Tsevah Adom, Be’er Sheva.”

I make the bed while people

dash for shelter In Be’er Sheva

and children dive for cover in Ashdod.


A tenor sings Puccini as I chop vegetables.

“Tsevah Adom, Be’eri, Ashkelon

Be’er Tuvia” and human beings

cower in doorways, huddle in stairwells.

“Nessun Dorma” indeed.


No one sleeps in Israel,

nor in Gaza, except those who

fire the missiles or build them

or buy them instead of books;

who dig pits to hide launchers

instead of foundations

for houses and schools.



Where are the leaders who will heal

this flailing, suffering beast

called the Middle East

that tears at itself in

anger, pain and misery?


Where are the ones who will

help us hear the music again?




Zelda Dvoretzky was born in New Jersey and grew up in New York. She earned degrees from City College of New York and the University of Michigan, after which she wrote copy for the electronic and print media, and worked in public relations, editing and teaching. She retired to Haifa in 1997, is a member of Haifa Writers, Israel, an organization of writers of poetry in English, and the Haifa Chamber Choir. Zelda stays busy learning Hebrew, teaching English, and keeping in touch with grandchildren, family and friends in Texas, California, and, of course, Haifa. zeldahaifa@gmail.com