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Life in northern Israel
Aug. 6th, 2006 02:26 pmAugust 2, 2006
More rockets have just hit near the hospital. It's now 2:00 PM and already today more than 150 rockets have slammed into Israel. Upon hearing the sirens, the run to shelters and moving quietly to interior spaces is almost becoming routine. How quickly we adapt. How utterly exposed we are. Two days ago, the amazing staff of Emek Medical Center completed the transfer of 180 patients from the top floors to lower floors in only five hours. The immense logistical operation demanded doubling up and tripling some departments, arranging that only mobile patients would be bedded near the windows facing north and maintaining order throughout the ordeal.
Our hospital's bed capacity has suddenly dropped from 500 to 300. Our top floors are now ghost wards with no signs of life ... void of patients, families, nurses and physicians. Waiting for what nobody wants to contemplate. This war has taught us that we need to seriously rethink our building planning and architecture. The rocket reality that has been unceremoniously thrust upon us is already demanding far reaching decisions.
Larger blast resistant security areas must be now planned as the smaller security rooms per department do not meet today's needs. Rocket wars are suddenly reality and this situation demands stronger roofs, fortified walls, shatter proof windows and more protected areas throughout the hospital campus. The foundations for our new Surgical Complex are already being poured and our CEO, Dr. Orna Blondheim, has ordered our architect to immediately upgrade the existing Master Plan to include the safety factors reflecting this new reality of rocket warfare. We estimate that these upgraded specifications will cost nearly another million dollars.
The Home Front Command has ordered the immediate implementation of specialized clear chemically treated sheets to be affixed to all our exterior windows. These technologically advanced filaments prevent glass from shattering due to the concussion of a rocket or bomb (much like automobile windshields). Emek has 8,000 sq. meters of exterior windows and we are already covering the glass facing north. More contractors are being rushed in as the massive job needs to be completed within a matter of days.
Haifa's Rambam Hospital was faced with a complicated logistical problem. They needed to clean out an underground area of their facility because, like us, they were ordered to move patients from the upper floors to lower levels. Their basement area was extremely dirty and they didn't have the necessary equipment to deal with the urgent challenge. They contacted us because they had heard about our custom-sized motorized street sweeper. We immediately arranged for a special truck to pick up our sweeper and we sent them our operator as well ... for as long as it takes to get the job done.
We have now treated more than 150 victims of this war ... men, women, children and soldiers. Every rocket that slams into our little country only deepens our resolve to rid ourselves once and for all of the demented menace of the north.
August 3, 2006
With things happening as fast as they are, it seems that as soon as I finish one update for you that something else happens that you should know about. Yesterday afternoon Afula was struck by another barrage of deadly long range Fajr missiles. Several fell around our hospital and others in and around Afula. Miraculously, nobody was injured ... physically. Today, throughout the Human Resources corridor of offices, less than half the employees have shown up for work.
They all live in and around Afula and the drive to and from the hospital has become like running the gauntlet. One young woman, Olga, was driving home up the hill towards Nazareth when rockets blasted into the side of the road where she had just moments before passed by. She was too afraid to risk the drive in today. At the last moment, I had decided to visit my daughter and grandson in Afula instead of driving straight home. That left turn instead of making my normal right turn may have saved my life as I would have been driving very close to where that missile landed.
Every day, every hour you may hear similar stories ... "I just walked out of that room when the katyusha came slamming through the roof and onto where I was sitting" ... "The neighbors moved south two days ago and today their home was destroyed by a direct hit" ... "The missile landed in the middle of a residential neighborhood and didn't explode" ... "I felt and heard the steel ball bearing pellets whiz by my head during the explosion. I cannot believe that I am here talking about it".
Are we witnessing miracles or just blind luck? The difference between the two is faith. This is a war of blatant Islamic aggression against a nation whose only sin is to have been born Jewish. The loss of every life leaves an unfillable gap in our people and every injury is felt by us all. But something inexplicable is happening. Literally thousands of rockets and deadly missiles are being sent against Israel, enough to have killed many thousands.
But, they are somehow missing their intended targets. Empty houses. Empty chairs. A left turn instead of a right. Miracles? Luck? History will look back on these events and ask many questions while making even more observations. Theologians will offer their input into the unexplainable. Yes, some of our people have died painful deaths. And many more bear the scars of physical trauma. But the Islamic madmen will have to explain to their bosses and sponsors why they missed their targets and so miserably failed.
Israel's Emek Medical Center continues to fortify its windows, treat patients in cramped facilities and do what it does best ... exemplify humanity at its best. And you, dear friends are full partners in our quest.
Shabbat, August 5, 2006
With IDF F16's and F15's thundering past my windows, I will attempt to share with you what it feels like to live in Northern Israel these days. Most events you have been hearing about via the media, but others you will not. What I experienced yesterday evening is one such unreported event. I drove home from the hospital along the Jezreel Valley (Armageddon) route that had already received several long range missile hits (I mentioned them in earlier updates). As I drove, I realized that it could happen again at any moment. I found myself looking at the sky to the north above the hills of Nazareth, as it is from there that they come.
How did I feel? Helpless. Fatalistic ... it's going to happen or it won't. At peace with myself ... because I knew that I was doing what any Israeli my age can do these days ... keep going and hope for the best. It was Friday, just before 5:00 PM and I had just received a most encouraging phone call from the United States. Somebody may be interested in helping us to get our new security enhanced Surgical Complex built. A ray of hope.
I had just sat down in my living room to watch a TV news update when the local air raid sirens moaned their ominous warnings. I quickly walked through my kitchen into my bomb shelter
(also my laundry room) and sat down in the folding chair I had sat in too many times already. I then realized that I was barefoot as I had forgotten my sandals in the living room.
Oh, well. Twenty seconds later it began. The first deafening explosion was behind my home and to the left, closer than ever before. The building shook and I felt the reverberating concussion. A send later the second blast was to the right of the first, shaking the steel reinforced concrete walls and me within them. Then the third, even closer, erupted somewhere to the side of my home.
I understand the random trajectory of rocket barrages and knew that the next one could bring down the walls of my home.
The fourth imploded somewhere directly opposite the first two, in an area facing my neighborhood. The noose was closing in around me, my neighbors and my life. The noise was sickening and it shook my soul. Yes, I was shaking and my heart felt suddenly too heavy in my chest. I knew that I was in the safest place possible at the time, yet I also knew how vulnerable and face to face with mortality I was. Then, silence.
How long to remain in my shelter? Visions of a man and his 15 year old daughter killed the day before as they stepped out of their shelter after a katyusha attack filled my mind. Another random rocket suddenly landed in their front yard and snuffed out the light of their lives. How long to wait? When would it be safe to move ... move around my own home? My town? My country?
More jets are streaking by overhead as I write these words, drowning out the soft music I'm trying to listen to. After about five minutes, I slowly exited my shelter. The first thing I did was to slip into my sandals and run upstairs to the second floor windows to look around my once quiet neighborhood. On one side, I saw two plumes of smoke from the first two rockets and on another side I saw an even bigger cloud of dust and smoke from the third. They all were about 200 - 400 meters from my home.
The fourth, I could not see. My shell-shocked neighbors were slowly emerging from their homes, everyone looking for evidence of the barrage that was aimed at us all. The shock of having lived through that assault sank in, while knowing that the next one could come at any time. Two joggers were down the street when the first two missiles hit. One, the slower one, took shrapnel in his shoulder. The other one, uninjured, assisted his friend until help arrived. The windows of a few homes were blown out, but quite miraculously nobody else was wounded ... physically. Once again, luck or a miracle?
It took me a few hours to calm down after that attack and my neighbors said that I had gone white. I'm not surprised as I knew that my old heart was not pumping as it should. So, how does it feel to live in Northern Israel these days? Strange. A previously unknown air of vulnerability heavily fills the atmosphere. We know that our children, neighbors, colleagues and relatives are at this moment fighting in Lebanon to silence the guns aimed at our hearts. We also know that an enemy, yours as well as ours, is fueled by inexplicable hate and an unfathomable desire to see
us all dead.
I do not feel afraid, yet incredibly sad. Deeply saddened that humanity has given birth to such blind, suffocating evil and hatred. G-d willing, I will return to our hospital, that Emek Medical Center
and do my small part to promote sanity.
Larry Rich
Emek Medical Center
Afula, Israel
More rockets have just hit near the hospital. It's now 2:00 PM and already today more than 150 rockets have slammed into Israel. Upon hearing the sirens, the run to shelters and moving quietly to interior spaces is almost becoming routine. How quickly we adapt. How utterly exposed we are. Two days ago, the amazing staff of Emek Medical Center completed the transfer of 180 patients from the top floors to lower floors in only five hours. The immense logistical operation demanded doubling up and tripling some departments, arranging that only mobile patients would be bedded near the windows facing north and maintaining order throughout the ordeal.
Our hospital's bed capacity has suddenly dropped from 500 to 300. Our top floors are now ghost wards with no signs of life ... void of patients, families, nurses and physicians. Waiting for what nobody wants to contemplate. This war has taught us that we need to seriously rethink our building planning and architecture. The rocket reality that has been unceremoniously thrust upon us is already demanding far reaching decisions.
Larger blast resistant security areas must be now planned as the smaller security rooms per department do not meet today's needs. Rocket wars are suddenly reality and this situation demands stronger roofs, fortified walls, shatter proof windows and more protected areas throughout the hospital campus. The foundations for our new Surgical Complex are already being poured and our CEO, Dr. Orna Blondheim, has ordered our architect to immediately upgrade the existing Master Plan to include the safety factors reflecting this new reality of rocket warfare. We estimate that these upgraded specifications will cost nearly another million dollars.
The Home Front Command has ordered the immediate implementation of specialized clear chemically treated sheets to be affixed to all our exterior windows. These technologically advanced filaments prevent glass from shattering due to the concussion of a rocket or bomb (much like automobile windshields). Emek has 8,000 sq. meters of exterior windows and we are already covering the glass facing north. More contractors are being rushed in as the massive job needs to be completed within a matter of days.
Haifa's Rambam Hospital was faced with a complicated logistical problem. They needed to clean out an underground area of their facility because, like us, they were ordered to move patients from the upper floors to lower levels. Their basement area was extremely dirty and they didn't have the necessary equipment to deal with the urgent challenge. They contacted us because they had heard about our custom-sized motorized street sweeper. We immediately arranged for a special truck to pick up our sweeper and we sent them our operator as well ... for as long as it takes to get the job done.
We have now treated more than 150 victims of this war ... men, women, children and soldiers. Every rocket that slams into our little country only deepens our resolve to rid ourselves once and for all of the demented menace of the north.
August 3, 2006
With things happening as fast as they are, it seems that as soon as I finish one update for you that something else happens that you should know about. Yesterday afternoon Afula was struck by another barrage of deadly long range Fajr missiles. Several fell around our hospital and others in and around Afula. Miraculously, nobody was injured ... physically. Today, throughout the Human Resources corridor of offices, less than half the employees have shown up for work.
They all live in and around Afula and the drive to and from the hospital has become like running the gauntlet. One young woman, Olga, was driving home up the hill towards Nazareth when rockets blasted into the side of the road where she had just moments before passed by. She was too afraid to risk the drive in today. At the last moment, I had decided to visit my daughter and grandson in Afula instead of driving straight home. That left turn instead of making my normal right turn may have saved my life as I would have been driving very close to where that missile landed.
Every day, every hour you may hear similar stories ... "I just walked out of that room when the katyusha came slamming through the roof and onto where I was sitting" ... "The neighbors moved south two days ago and today their home was destroyed by a direct hit" ... "The missile landed in the middle of a residential neighborhood and didn't explode" ... "I felt and heard the steel ball bearing pellets whiz by my head during the explosion. I cannot believe that I am here talking about it".
Are we witnessing miracles or just blind luck? The difference between the two is faith. This is a war of blatant Islamic aggression against a nation whose only sin is to have been born Jewish. The loss of every life leaves an unfillable gap in our people and every injury is felt by us all. But something inexplicable is happening. Literally thousands of rockets and deadly missiles are being sent against Israel, enough to have killed many thousands.
But, they are somehow missing their intended targets. Empty houses. Empty chairs. A left turn instead of a right. Miracles? Luck? History will look back on these events and ask many questions while making even more observations. Theologians will offer their input into the unexplainable. Yes, some of our people have died painful deaths. And many more bear the scars of physical trauma. But the Islamic madmen will have to explain to their bosses and sponsors why they missed their targets and so miserably failed.
Israel's Emek Medical Center continues to fortify its windows, treat patients in cramped facilities and do what it does best ... exemplify humanity at its best. And you, dear friends are full partners in our quest.
Shabbat, August 5, 2006
With IDF F16's and F15's thundering past my windows, I will attempt to share with you what it feels like to live in Northern Israel these days. Most events you have been hearing about via the media, but others you will not. What I experienced yesterday evening is one such unreported event. I drove home from the hospital along the Jezreel Valley (Armageddon) route that had already received several long range missile hits (I mentioned them in earlier updates). As I drove, I realized that it could happen again at any moment. I found myself looking at the sky to the north above the hills of Nazareth, as it is from there that they come.
How did I feel? Helpless. Fatalistic ... it's going to happen or it won't. At peace with myself ... because I knew that I was doing what any Israeli my age can do these days ... keep going and hope for the best. It was Friday, just before 5:00 PM and I had just received a most encouraging phone call from the United States. Somebody may be interested in helping us to get our new security enhanced Surgical Complex built. A ray of hope.
I had just sat down in my living room to watch a TV news update when the local air raid sirens moaned their ominous warnings. I quickly walked through my kitchen into my bomb shelter
(also my laundry room) and sat down in the folding chair I had sat in too many times already. I then realized that I was barefoot as I had forgotten my sandals in the living room.
Oh, well. Twenty seconds later it began. The first deafening explosion was behind my home and to the left, closer than ever before. The building shook and I felt the reverberating concussion. A send later the second blast was to the right of the first, shaking the steel reinforced concrete walls and me within them. Then the third, even closer, erupted somewhere to the side of my home.
I understand the random trajectory of rocket barrages and knew that the next one could bring down the walls of my home.
The fourth imploded somewhere directly opposite the first two, in an area facing my neighborhood. The noose was closing in around me, my neighbors and my life. The noise was sickening and it shook my soul. Yes, I was shaking and my heart felt suddenly too heavy in my chest. I knew that I was in the safest place possible at the time, yet I also knew how vulnerable and face to face with mortality I was. Then, silence.
How long to remain in my shelter? Visions of a man and his 15 year old daughter killed the day before as they stepped out of their shelter after a katyusha attack filled my mind. Another random rocket suddenly landed in their front yard and snuffed out the light of their lives. How long to wait? When would it be safe to move ... move around my own home? My town? My country?
More jets are streaking by overhead as I write these words, drowning out the soft music I'm trying to listen to. After about five minutes, I slowly exited my shelter. The first thing I did was to slip into my sandals and run upstairs to the second floor windows to look around my once quiet neighborhood. On one side, I saw two plumes of smoke from the first two rockets and on another side I saw an even bigger cloud of dust and smoke from the third. They all were about 200 - 400 meters from my home.
The fourth, I could not see. My shell-shocked neighbors were slowly emerging from their homes, everyone looking for evidence of the barrage that was aimed at us all. The shock of having lived through that assault sank in, while knowing that the next one could come at any time. Two joggers were down the street when the first two missiles hit. One, the slower one, took shrapnel in his shoulder. The other one, uninjured, assisted his friend until help arrived. The windows of a few homes were blown out, but quite miraculously nobody else was wounded ... physically. Once again, luck or a miracle?
It took me a few hours to calm down after that attack and my neighbors said that I had gone white. I'm not surprised as I knew that my old heart was not pumping as it should. So, how does it feel to live in Northern Israel these days? Strange. A previously unknown air of vulnerability heavily fills the atmosphere. We know that our children, neighbors, colleagues and relatives are at this moment fighting in Lebanon to silence the guns aimed at our hearts. We also know that an enemy, yours as well as ours, is fueled by inexplicable hate and an unfathomable desire to see
us all dead.
I do not feel afraid, yet incredibly sad. Deeply saddened that humanity has given birth to such blind, suffocating evil and hatred. G-d willing, I will return to our hospital, that Emek Medical Center
and do my small part to promote sanity.
Larry Rich
Emek Medical Center
Afula, Israel
