As I was typing my previous blogentry fighter jets were flying up in the sky, probably in some form of preparation for the upcoming Commonwealth Games opening ceremony.
I noticed them because it's so rare to hear them here; it's pretty much a bi-yearly event: You get one old F18 to fly over the Yarra on Australia Day, and another sole F18 to fly over Albert Park on Formula 1 day. But through the rest of the year it's a very silent cease fire.
I noticed them because I miss them so much. In Israel you get huge convoys of them. Back in the days of the war in Lebanon I remember sitting on the beach at Tel Aviv and watching entire squadrons of F16s and Cobra helicopters going up and down their "highway" to Lebanon, across the beach. I would always wait in great anticipation for the king of the sky, the most glorious of all airplanes: The magical F15.
I remember how on Israel's 50th anniversary Haim and I went to the beach to watch a four hour long air-show where many different countries came to show off their airforce at the beach. We lied on our backs and watched the sky, which resulted in the skin of my stomach boiling and peeling off for a month. But it was worth it.
When we recently visited the UK we saw many a Tornado and the Euro Fighter (according to Jo's father; I am unable to identify those). And when Jo & I visited Tel Aviv's beach, we saw the king of the snooker again, an Apache helicopter; sadly, no F15E passed by. But whatever passes, my breath and my attention are always taken away for a short while.
Fighter jets are a demonstration of a lot of the bad things in this world; but I can't forget that they are also one of the most glorious things man kind has ever created. Their absence from the Melbourne sky is clear evidence to the fact Australia is an incredibly superior place to live in than Israel, a sane place (and also that it's a much bigger place...). But still, I cannot help but miss the delicate sound of thunderous fighter jets.