Amazon Still Delivers During the War

It has been over a year since the war started, and some days, things feel overwhelming with alarming sounds and emotions. Some days feel normal, measured by my pre-war life. The juxtaposition is startling. All I know is that war sucks, my friends, and I hope it ends soon.

Below is an excerpt from the start of the war highlighting the juxtaposition so perfectly.

At this point during the war, we were stuck in our house, living in terror and stress. We know that there has been an infiltration into Israel, a massacre, and we have no idea if they caught everyone or if they are coming our way. There were lots of sirens. We boarded up our windows and barely left the house. We are simultaneously stocking up the bomb shelter and planning our escape. Yet, strangely, some things remained the same.

We were in the bomb shelter because of yet another siren. Our nerves are spent.

Due to falling shrapnel and other rocket debris, we are required to stay in the shelter for ten minutes after the rocket launch. Most people have shelters in their homes or apartments, and there are mobile bomb shelters all over the city for people to use when the siren goes off. Public shelters are located within stores or buildings or in iron-enforced concrete boxes on the side of the street. They look uninviting, but they are life-saving.

The clock is ticking, and we have three minutes left. Suddenly, our front gate opens. Why is someone walking up to our front door when it is not safe to be outside? Is this a member of Hamas who infiltrated Israel four days ago and finally made it to my house? Will I lose my husband if he goes upstairs to see who is at the door? Four days of war have made me very jumpy. 

My husband brushes aside my nervousness and walks upstairs, leaving me and the kids in the bomb shelter. I kept the bomb shelter door open a crack, just in case he had to run back downstairs. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I have no idea what will happen, and I am waiting for my life to flash in front of my eyes. 

He goes upstairs. After an eternity—okay, one minute—he returns to the shelter carrying an Amazon package filled with goodies ordered from life before the war. How can this be? All my fears now turn to worry, "did you ask the driver to join us in the bomb shelter?" I asked.