So, what did Friday's eerie silence bring us?

On Friday, April 24, 2020, I wrote here (below) of an eerie silence having descended upon our neighborhood and city. It seemed a strange silence. Did it bring us anything?

Yes, it did. But not what we'd expected.

Now, it's Sunday, April 26, 2020. The silence has lifted.  

That silence didn't bring rain or thunder, lightening or storm. Instead, it brought  an almost-choking fog of sand.

A desert sandstorm. 

We do get sandstorms here. We are, after all, in the desert. Such storm aren't exactly pleasant, especially if you have respiratory difficulty. But they're not customarily--so far as I can remember--preceded by such an eerie silence.

Here's how a sandstorm surrounds us. It looks (to me,  at least)  like a thick, white cloud,  perhaps even a fog. Often, when we first see such a storm, one can't determine if it's fog, rain or sand. It just descends upon us and blocks out everything.

For example, from our house, we can look beyond our backyard and see Jerusalem, about 4 miles from us. Normally, we can see Jerusalem's buildings clearly. But not Friday. On Friday past, all we could see was a white fog-like cloud. The world on the other side of that cloud was completely blotted out.

Going to the front of our house, looking out from our front porch, we can  often see Amman, Jordan, some 50 miles away. Yes, we can see that far. But only on a clear day. 

The best time to see Amman is at sunrise because at that time of day the sun, rising to our East, comes up above the horizon from the other side of Amman. The sun shines brightly from behind buildings there. Of course, those buildings are far away. But with the sun behind them, we can  see their silhouette. Most especially, we can see one single structure--a twin tower reaching to the sky, silhouetted in the bright sun. 

But on Friday past, we could see nothing. There was only a white, fog-like cloud hanging everywhere from the sky, covering everything in sight. 

Actually, the white cloud was much closer than Amman. It just wasn't so close as to blot out the next neighborhood over from us, some 800-1,000 yards away. The buildings of that neighborhood were still visible--but only barely. The 'fog' hung about the buildings, seeming to wait until it--the fog--would ultimately consume them.

But then, it got dark. We couldn't tell if the dust fog had succeeded in gobbling up those buildings.

We were, as they say, 'socked in'. By the time Shabbat began, the air outside felt dry. The air felt thick with dust--very thick. 

We closed doors and windows. We remained indoors (because of the coronavirus pandemic, people our age are still being cautioned here to avoid crowds, which includes shul--synagogue--so as Shabbat began, we stayed away from shul and davened--prayed--at home by ourselves).

Overnight Friday, we had rain. Nothing severe. When Shabbat dawned, the air was clear--and free of dust. The sky was 'Partly Cloudy'. The air outside felt cool, almost cold--which here in the desert means probably a temperature in the 60s. During the day, it rained lightly 4 times between 6 am and 1 pm, then stopped. 

Altogether, that eerie silence of the day before turned out to be nothing to concern us. By Shabbat morning, the birds had returned. Their songs filled the air. Everything returned to normal.