In 2000, I participated in a Vipassana course, which was then in its temporary home in Moshav Hatzva in the Arava. These were my ten days of questioning – I sought answers to the meaning of life and received more questions. One of the foundations of Buddhism, on which Vipassana meditation is based and which is repeated often in the course, is: Anice. Its meaning: Everything is temporary. Everything and everything keeps changing, constantly.
I don't remember a time in my life when change was so present and rapid as in recent years. I thought of Anice in March 2020 when the coronavirus broke out and literally shut us down. Then, among other things, bookstores closed and with them, in a way that was not just metaphorical, my first prose book – The Mermaid. From trips to bookstores across the country, where I met him on the respected stages, to "a closed garden, no path to it, no road." (Rachel Blubstein). There is no need to mention how many more amputations and constant change have slapped us in the face since then.
And here I was, thinking about Anice again, while I was at the MMD on the night between last Thursday and Friday. Three days full of books and what I experienced in between at the Book Week celebrations, which opened on Tuesday, June 10.6.2025, XNUMX. There was not a dull moment, from heartwarming meetings, interesting conversations, we shared laughter and pain and words – as we built: the books. In the Sarona complex, everything that defines us "with the book" gathered. The stories about what was and what is now.
Join the Writers' Circle Eli Sharabi, with his book: kidnapped, the first-person narrator of his experiences during his 491 days in Hamas captivity. At our booth, I added a few words next to the book by my friend, the author Michal Edmoni She remembered her blessing, found embraced in her son's arms, ravine, both were murdered by Hamas in her home in the Gaza village on that damned October 7th. Another Aniche to think about, who would have believed it would be like this.
Many people and children attended the fair, and for me, to talk about books, to give a platform to books of all colors and genres, and that this is what we gathered for, is a great joy. There was an alarm on the opening night. But it turns out that the Tel Avivians "got used to" the daily alarm of the Houthi missile, and after a few minutes of sitting on the floor (at the booth next to the Chaser who came to sign his book, and on the path next to me, where I sat with one of my publisher friends), which probably wouldn't have helped us too much if the missile had landed among us, everyone appeared as if nothing had happened, they didn't even talk about it.
At the end of Thursday evening, with longing for my daughters and my husband, I set out back to the Jordan Valley. The journey was very long and in the end, at half past midnight, I was reunited with my loved ones. It should be noted that they were very considerate of me in the timing of the bombing of the Iranian reactor. Just before "enriched Iranium" was released (my husband's wit), I managed to take a shower and smell good before a cold sweat washed over me in the MMD. A piece of Anice in front, as they say. How many lives have been cut short and not even a week has passed, how many homes have crumbled, how many anxieties have taken root.
Tomorrow evening, Book Week was supposed to close, but what remains locked are the books in the wooden boxes, and the gusts of experiences we left there hover like ghosts, not understanding where we went and when we will return. However, if there is one thing my beloved Anice taught me, it is that this too will change, even the bad will pass, change is in all directions. In the meantime, until our ship reaches a safe harbor, take care of yourselves and find solace in books, you can always count on them to tell us a different story. And as Rabbi Shalom Shebazi wrote, back in the 17th century, "If the gates of the generous are closed, the gates of the Most High will not be closed," and I make room for hope and prayer in my heart.
your,
Lily Milat