There are sirens and there are sirens.

The Yom HaShoah siren sounds at ten in the morning. Two minutes. The country stops — cars pull over, people stand on sidewalks, a cashier freezes mid-transaction. I learned this as an adult immigrant, which means I learned it self-consciously: feet together, hands at my sides, watching other people to make sure I was doing it right. What happens in the body is odd. The sound is piercing, insistent — everything a warning signal should be — and yet the body settles. It goes still. Something that........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)