In a Tel Aviv café. Laptop. After Google Meet, before Zoom. Morning coffee. Procrastination. A document waiting to be written. And a dog.
In a parallel world, I am the person annoyed by someone entering a café with their dog. But a nice-looking, healthy-looking, young man approached the table in front of me with a tray of food and a matcha. Guessing he’s 30-years-old. Smiles exchanged, me glancing affectionately at the dog. Me? Instinct keeps me in this world, not the parallel world. No objection to the dog in the café. My smile broadens across my face as I gaze. I notice a collar extension strapped around the dog, with “service dog” written in English. I smile more. And cry on the inside. Clearly a dog for coping with trauma.
Complementary anecdote – an elementary school graduation attended the evening before. Our granddaughter. Teachers’ and parents’ remarks recalling the kids beginning first grade under Covid lockdowns, postponing learning skills of classroom presence, through closures under war, running to bomb shelters during classes when school resumed, and smiling and laughing and pulling pranks and doing things sixth graders should.
Several nights later, after weeks of ceasefire, life as usual (except along the Israel-Lebanon border), we arrived to babysit for the sixth grader and her two younger sisters. The protocol is once the preschooler falls asleep, we leave – the sixth-grader can babysit. Routine practice. But this time, before her parents left, the 8-year-old asked, “What if there’s an air-raid siren after you leave?” We had answers. She accepted them.
Back to Tel Aviv. Late afternoon following the service dog encounter. Haim and I met at Azrieli Mall, before heading to the Fresh Paint Art & Design Fair.
The fair includes side events. One, an installation with Israeli paint company, Tambour, celebrating 90 years showing 90 paint cans. Paint, color, hope. The side event: graphically designed multipurpose, empty paint cans for sale. Proceeds for a program treating military service post-trauma. Another side event, postcards designed by renowned artists and unknowns, purchases made in advance. One price, blind purchase –a famous artist’s drawing or not with the online purchase. Proceeds for the Israeli Children’s Fund, for children who lost a civilian parent on October 7.
We had 40 minutes and tickets before the fair for the video-installation exhibit – We Will Rise, the Ziv Koren, photojournalist, and Noam Horev, writer, collaboration. Of course it’s about October 7. Life is.
Before the week’s end, I attended a UCP, Unarmed Conflict Protection, Zoom training by Zazim, an Israeli NGO, collaborating with UCPiP, UCP in Palestine. I must go there, despite concerns, because of concern. For the future – for Palestinian and Jewish children.
Because “We Will Rise” posed Q&As of how adults should tell war to children. Because it’s time we understand: children are telling war to adults.
- Harriet Gimpel, June 27, 2026
Born and raised in Philadelphia, earned a B.A. in Near Eastern and Judaic Studies from Brandeis University in 1980, followed by an M.A. in Political Science from The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Harriet has worked in the non-profit world throughout her career. She is a freelance translator and editor, writes poetry in Hebrew and essays in English, and continues to work for NGOs committed to human rights and democracy.
